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The Suicide

From The Sun, September 17, 1914.

“Farewell, false world,” he wildly cries
    And registers despair.
The frightened damsel vainly tries
    To grab him by the hair.

Into the rushing tide he flops
    Despite the maiden’s squeal.
The operator never stops
    The progress of his reel.

“You did it like a pair of clams,”
    The chief yells from the shore.
“Some action to it now, you hams!
    Go over it once more.”

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