_An awful night!_ I do believe it's snowing!
Who from his "ain fireside" would wish to roam?
Only a fool would go--and yet I'm going--
To Mrs. A.'s At Home!
The burden of At Homes! The bore of dressing!
I must be wielding razor, brush, and comb
(The snow has almost stopped--Come, that's a blessing!)
For Mrs. A.'s At Home.
Why am I going? Well, to me the reason
Looms large and clear as Paul's cathedral dome:
The reason's--NANCY, whom I met last season
At Mrs. A.'s At Home.
Hi, hansom! Off we go! Although sweet NANCY
Since then has vanished like a fairy gnome,
Yet I shall see her (sweet conceit) in fancy
At Mrs. A.'s At Home.
"Thankee, my lord!"--he's earned that extra shilling,
We've come along, the horse is flecked with foam--
Slowly upstairs I go, the rooms are filling
At Mrs. A.'s At Home.
Then--why, good heavens! No! It isn't fancy!--
"Can it be you? I heard you were in Rome.
Just fancy meeting you"--the real NANCY!--
"At Mrs. A.'s At Home!"
To-night and NANCY--rhyme excuses fiction--
Might, if I sang them, fill a ponderous tome:
_A perfect night!_ I breathe a benediction
On Mrs. A.'s At Home!
* * * * *
[Illustration: A DISTINGUISHED AMATEUR.
"ACH! DAT IS A PUTIFUL ZONG, LATY PEACOCKE, AND YOU BRONOUNCE CHERMAN
VERY VELL--POT VY DO YOU BLAY ZE AGGOMBANIMENT IN B NATURAL?"
"THE SONG'S WRITTEN IN B NATURAL, HERR MAESTRO."
"ACH ZO! ZEN VY DO YOU ZING ZE MELOTY IN B VLAT?"
"OH, _REALLY_, HERR MAESTRO! I DON'T PRETEND TO BE A _PROFESSIONAL_,
YOU KNOW. I ONLY SING JUST TO PLEASE MY FRIENDS!"]
* * * * *
"THE LIGHT FANTASTIC!"
His task demands sinews and nerves
As tough and as supple as hickory;
He's done if he stumbles or swerves,
This Titan-like pet of Terpsichore.
What wonder he seems strung on wires
From the tip of his trunk to his very toe,
Performing a feat which requires
The joint skill of BLONDIN and CERITO?
Ah, JUMBO! stretch balance-wise tail-whisp and trunk,
For you'll never get through if you fumble or funk.
Scarce "light" is his ponderous form,
And his footing is hardly "fantastic."
It makes one grow nervous and warm
To watch this colossus gymnastic.
Can't "trip it,"--although he may _trip_,--
His tentative toes throb and tremble;
He waggles his tail like a whip:
There's danger, but _he_ must dissemble;
And though he an imminent downfall may dread,
Must walk o'er the bottles with confident tread.
For Titan to dance on a tub
As steady as--CECIL'S majority,
Is easy, but--oh! there's the rub--
The bottle-trick has the priority.
It comes first "by special request,"
And there isn't a chance of evasion.
Poor JUMBO must fain do his best,
Though he'd rather postpone the occasion.
Titan-_Turreydrop_ now on St. Stephen's new floor
Can't choose his own figures or steps any more!
There are plenty of "turns" he'd prefer,
And numbers of tricks he'd do better.
His "Gradation Dance" made a great stir.
But, alas, for the goad and the fetter!
As his enemies pipe he must dance,
To public opinion he's plastic;
And so, with a dubious glance,
He essays this untried "Light Fantastic."
From bottle to bottle slow picking his way,
As an overture forced to the programme he'd play!
* * * * *