I'm nuts upon good old November--sometimes--though, when fog isn't on, and there ain't _too_ much drizzle, A spin through the sububs about ten o'clock, on the fifth, when the place seems aflare and a fizzle With bonfires and fireworks, and up through the tree-tops the rockets go whizzing and busting like winking; Wy, somehow it makes me feel just like a boy again; not a bad feeling, at least to my thinking. Some years agone, on a damp, misty Guy-night, a jolly-faced gent, with one eye, and a bundle As looked like a parcel o' props, came towards me a-trottin' as brisk as 'is short legs could trundle; "Take me to Tooting?" 'e garsps. "_At_ a price, Sir," I arnsers 'im sharp. "Right!" sez 'e; "put a name to it!" "Fog's thickenin' up, Sir," I sez. "If you're game to say--so-much--I'm on." And the old gent _was_ game to it. Fust we'd a liquor, and then 'e sez "Fireworks!" a-bossing 'is bundle with one heye a-glitter. "Don't blow us up, Sir. I ain't got no licence to carry hexplosives," I sez with a titter. "Young 'uns a-waiting at Tooting," 'e sez; "so drive sharp, and I won't be too tight on the pocket; I do like a good firework frolic, with boys, though I blew this heye out--_as_ a boy--with a rocket." "Plucky old cock, and most pleasant!" thinks I, tooling off at full trot with old BROCK. "Here's a barney!" But I was a mossel too previous this time, as I jolly well found when arf way through my journey. Just this side o' Balham the fog grew--well black! There ain't no other word for it. Black as Thames banks are, And thick as their mud. It you arsk _where_ we got, you carn't know what a London Pertikler's queer pranks are. We got _everywhere_ save to Tooting, I fancy. Slap on to a common, bang into a river, Or something dashed like it; I stuck to the box till my fingers were ice and my spine all a-shiver; Then took out my lamp, and led _Molly_ a mile or so. 'Twasn't no good. We pulled up in a medder, Aside of a ditch wich I bloomin' near plumped in. "Hillo!" sez old BROCK. "That was nearly a header!" _Tarblow Vivong!_ Not so very much _vivong_, though, seeing the lot was 'arf dead with the chatters. "Well," sez old One-heye, "where _are_ we, I wonder? Two guys--_without bonfires!_ As mad as two 'atters To try it so fur. 'Ave a nip! Ah! that's better. Don't grizzle! Neat brandy, like love and like ire, works In warming one up. If we _could_ draw attention. By Jove! 'Appy thought!! _We will let off some fireworks!!!_"