Never a word my cabman spoke—­
    No audible reply—­
  But, oh, a thousand scathing things
    He thought; and so did I.

  “What ails thee, Ancient Milliner? 
    What means thy ashen hue? 
  Why look’st thou so?”—­I murmured, “Blow!”
    And at my word it blew.

PART II.

  The storm-blast came down Edgware Road,
    Shrieking in furious glee,
  It struck the cab, and both its doors
    Leaped open, flying free.

  I shut those doors, and kept them close
    With all my might and main;
  The storm-blast snatched them from my hands,
    And forced them back again,

  It blew the cabman from his perch
    Towards the horned moon;
  I saw him dimly overhead
    Sail like a bad balloon.

  It blew the bandbox far away
    Across the angry sea;
  The English Channel’s scattered with
    Silk and passementerie.

  The silly horse within the shaft
    One moment did remain;
  And then the harness snapped, and he
    Went flying through the rain;
  And fell, a four-legged meteor,
    Upon the coast of Spain.

          First Voice.
    “What makes that cab move on so fast
    Wherein no horse I find?”

          Second Voice.
    “The horse has cut away before;
    The cab’s blown from behind.”

  Then just against the Harrow Road
    I made one desperate bound—­
  A leprous lamp-post and myself
    Lay mingled in a swound!

  And cables snapped, and all things snapped;
    When the next morn was grey,
  The Telegraph appeared without
    Its “Paris Day by Day.”

PART III.

  Oh, cheapness is a pleasant thing,
    Beloved from pole to pole! 
  To get a thing at one-and-four,
  For which your friend pays twopence more,
    Is balm unto the soul.

  And cheaper than that Hansom cab
    Whose tale I’ve told thee thus,
  Far cheaper it had been to take
    The stately omnibus!

  To take the stately omnibus
    Where all together sit;
  Each takes his ticket in his hands,
  Obeys the Company’s commands,
    And pays his pence for it.

  And if you would not find yourself
    Wrecked in the Edgware Road,
  Do not be vulgar and declare
    You wish you may be blowed!

* * * * *

[Illustration]

The “MASHER’S” Answer,

    [Dr. Arabella Kenealy, in the Westminster Review, is severe on the
    young men of the day for not dancing, and avoiding matrimony.]

  Bless me, Doctor Arabella,
    Hard a lady’s hand can strike! 
  Do you really mean a fella’
    Is to dance; just when you like? 
  Why so savagely sarcastic,
    That we will not “take the floor”
  And account the “light fantastic”
    An unmitigated bore?