Ah, how
the biting cold stimulates me! It lashes my lungs with handfuls of
needles, and makes a _bonbon glace_ of my charming nose. The rollicking
frost-sprite will blow his madness into me. She'll laugh and He too,
leaving his scratching-paper, to see me vie with the leaves in bounds,
leaps and wild whirlings, resembling a floating flurry of gray smoke
rather than a Cat. To the top of a tree! Down again! Then seven turns
after my tail! A perilous backward leap! A vertical jump, with aerial
_danse du ventre_! Girations, sneezes, careering from the real to the
dream, until in terror of myself, I come to a sudden stop.... Everything
turns before my eyes. I'm the center of a strange, spinning world ... In
my bewilderment (half-feigned) I'll make a little moo, like a cow, which
will bring them both running to me,--She laughing, and He fearing
something wrong. That will suffice to sober me, and with a bold front
and noble mien, I'll regain this cushion near your altar, O Fire!
TOBY-DOG
This hearth-stone burns the horny pads of my feet. What shall I do?
Move away? never! I'll toast to death rather than give up this
redoubtable bliss.
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