USED UP.

Hand me my light gloves, James;

I'm off for the waltzing world,

The kingdom of Strauss and that —

Where is my old crush-hat?

Is my hair properly curled?

Call in the daytime, James.

Think of me, wo n't you, James,

When I am rosily twirling

The “Rose of a garden of girls,”

The Pearl among circling pearls,

In a mesh of melodious whirling?

Envy me, wo n't you, James?

For a heart lost along with her fan,

For a nice sense of honor flown,

For the care of an invalid soul,

And tastes far beyond my control,—

I have for my precious own

The fame of a “waltzing man.”

If I do n't come, come for me, James.

Ah, the waltz is my mastering passion!

The trip-tripping airs are as sweet

As love to my turning feet,

While I clasp the fair doll of fashion,

My fiancée. But come for me, James.

The heart which I lost — it is strange —

I've been told it will yet be my death;

And I think it quite likely I might

Waltz once too often to-night,

In spite of the music and Beth.

Death's a difficult move to arrange.

Pray smoke by the fire, old boy,

And find yourself whiskey and books.

If I should not turn up, then, at two

Or three, you will know I need you.

If I'm dead, you must pardon my looks

As I lie in the ball-room, old boy.