The Antique, Long-Bodied
Chairs Paired Off In Couples And Led Down A Country Dance; A
Three-Legged Stool Danced A Hornpipe, Though Horribly Puzzled By Its
Supernumerary Leg; While The Amorous Tongs Seized The Shovel Round The
Waist, And Whirled It About The Room In A German Waltz.
In short, all
the moveables got in motion, capering about; pirouetting, hands across,
right and left, like so many
Devils, all except a great clothes-press,
which kept curtseying and curtseying, like a dowager, in one corner, in
exquisite time to the music; - being either too corpulent to dance, or
perhaps at a loss for a partner.
My grandfather concluded the latter to be the reason; so, being, like a
true Irishman, devoted to the sex, and at all times ready for a frolic,
he bounced into the room, calling to the musician to strike up "Paddy
O'Rafferty," capered up to the clothes-press and seized upon two
handles to lead her out: - When, whizz! - the whole revel was at an end.
The chairs, tables, tongs, and shovel slunk in an instant as quietly
into their places as if nothing had happened; and the musician vanished
up the chimney, leaving the bellows behind him in his hurry. My
grandfather found himself seated in the middle of the floor, with the
clothes-press sprawling before him, and the two handles jerked off and
in his hands.
"Then after all, this was a mere dream!" said the inquisitive
gentleman.
"The divil a bit of a dream!" replied the Irishman:
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