In _La Polka_, before commencing the figures we have just described, there is a short introduction (of which we give a sketch), consisting of four measures, danced thus; leading your partner from her seat, and giving her her place in the circle, and placing themselves _vis-à-vis_, you take her left hand in your right, and make the first step four times—first forward, then backward, forward again, and then backward, taking care to gain ground in the forward steps; you then start with the first figure. [Picture: The Drawing-room Polka.—Introduction] There was a furore about the Polka; not only in dancing it, but there was an absolute mania for naming articles of dress after it. Ladies wore Polka hats, Polka jackets and Polka boots, and men had Polka ties. Jullien published a new Polka about every fortnight, and the whole people were Polka mad. Here is a street ballad on the subject: “JULLIEN’S GRAND POLKA. Oh! sure the world is all run mad, The lean, the fat, the gay, the sad— All swear such pleasure they never had, Till they did learn the Polka. _Chorus_. First cock up your right leg—so, Balance on your left great toe, Stamp your heels, and off you go To the Original Polka. Oh! There’s Mrs. Tibbs, the tailor’s wife, With Mother Briggs is sore at strife, As if the first and last of life Was but to learn the Polka. Quadrilles and waltzes all give way, For Jullien’s Polkas bear the sway, The chimney sweeps, on first of May, Do, in London, dance the Polka. If a pretty girl you chance to meet, With sparkling eyes and rosy cheek, She’ll say, young man, we’ll have a treat, If you can dance the Polka. A lady who lives in this town, Went and bought a Polka gown, And for the same she gave five pound, All for to dance the Polka. But, going to the Ball one night, On the way she got a dreadful fright, She tumbled down and ruined quite The gown to dance the Polka. A Frenchman has arrived from France, To teach the English how to dance, And fill his pocket—“what a chance”— By gammoning the Polka. Professors swarm in every street, ’Tis ground on barrel organs sweet; And every friend you chance to meet Asks, if you dance the Polka. Then over Fanny Ellsler came, Brilliant with trans-Atlantic fame; Says she, I’m German by my name, So best I know the Polka. And the row de dow she danced, And in short clothes and red heels pranced, And, as she skipped, her red heels glanced In the Bohemian Polka. But, now, my song is near its close, A secret, now, I will disclose, Don’t tell, for it’s beneath the rose, A humbug is the Polka.