She went at such a bewildering pace Nobody saw the lady's face, But only a ring of emerald light From the crown she wore on that fatal night. Whether the stilts were propelling her, Or she the stilts, none could aver. Around and around the magnificent hall Mrs. Mackerel danced at her own grand ball.
"As the twig is bent the tree's inclined;" This must have been a case in kind. "What's in the blood will sometimes show--" 'Round and around the wild stilts go.
It had been whispered many a time That when poor Mack was in his prime Keeping that little retail store, He had fallen in love with a ballet-girl, Who gave up fame's entrancing whirl To be his own, and the world's no more. She made him a faithful, prudent wife-- Ambitious, however, all her life. Could it be that the soft, alluring waltz Had carried her back to a former age, Making her memory play her false, Till she dreamed herself on the gaudy stage? Her crown a tinsel crown--her guests The pit that gazes with praise and jests?
"Pride," they say, "must have a fall--" Mrs. Mackerel was very proud-- And now she danced at her own grand ball, While the music swelled more fast and loud.
The gazers shuddered with mute affright, For the stilts burned now with a bluish light, While a glimmering, phosphorescent glow Did out of the lady's garments flow. And what was that very peculiar smell? Fish, or brimstone? no one could tell. Stronger and stronger the odor grew, And the stilts and the lady burned more blue; 'Round and around the long saloon, While Mackerel gazed in a partial swoon, She approached the throng, or circled from it, With a flaming train like the last great comet; Till at length the crowd All groaned aloud. For her exit she made from her own grand ball Out of the window, stilts and all.
None of the guests can really say How she looked when she vanished away. Some declare that she carried sail On a flying fish with a lambent tail; And some are sure she went out of the room Riding her stilts like a witch a broom, While a phosphorent odor followed her track: Be this as it may, she never came back. Since then, her friends of the gold-fish fry Are in a state of unpleasant suspense, Afraid, that unless they unselfishly try To make better use of their dollars and sense To chasten their pride, and their manners mend, They may meet a similar shocking end.