But when the dance was o’er, and arm in arm (The full heart beating ’gainst the elbow warm) We passed into the great refreshment hall, Where the heaped cheese-cakes and the comfits small Lay, like a hive of sunbeams, brought to burn Around the margin of the negus urn; When my poor quivering hand you fingered twice, And, with inquiring accents, whispered, “Ice, Water, or cream?” I could no more dissemble, But dropped upon the couch all in a tremble. A swimming faintness misted o’er my brain, The corks seemed starting from the brisk champagne, The custards fell untouched upon the floor, Thine eyes met mine. That night we danced no more. There was an imitation of Leigh Hunt, entitled “A Nursery Ode,” in _Warreniana_ (London, 1824), but it had little merit as a parody, and is of no present interest. Another short imitation was published, about forty years ago, in _The Puppet Showman’s Album_, describing the author’s sentiments on viewing that celebrated _danseuse_. CARLOTTA GRISI. _By the Author of “Niminy-Piminy,” “A Pot of Treacle,” &c._ She floated towards us from the wreathing crowd Of peachey nymphs, and swam a breathing cloud, Less with a regulated kind of motion, Than like a bird scarring the breast of ocean. I thought and said――“In roseate light she swims, Guided, not lifted, by those slopy limbs, And wants in air a sister sylph to meet, While Earth heaves upward, sick to kiss her feet.” But when she ceased that sort of moveless gliding, Her gauzy garments round her form subsiding, And dashed through all that wonderful display Which poet ne’er described, and never may―― The whirl――the twist――the turn――the start――the bound, The step――the spring――the leap――the fling――the round; The backward bending, and the bold gyration―― The leg for ages in one situation. The sparkling, glittering, dazzling, flickering feats Which made us jump, delighted, in our seats, And then came down, and in child-dalliance pouted, While you, and I and everybody shouted, And hurled our flowers with vigour almost rude (One felt that flowers were such a creature’s food). I gave up simile――it wasn’t easy―― All I could say was “_That’s_ CARLOTTA GRISI!” ――――:o:―――― SONG OF OCTOBER. (_After Leigh Hunt._) October, month of bird and song, And ivy on old walls, Trailing some dreary pile along, From which hard mortar falls. Come hither, spider, you and I Have long been friends together; Approach, old brute, and tell me why You love October weather; Perchance, old spinster of the grove, You come in autumn days, To spin your yarn, as if to prove Life is a webby maze. _Punch’s Almanac._ 1846. ――――:o:―――― MANNERS AND CIVILITY. Let Laws and Commerce, Arts and Science die, But leave us still our old Nobility!