tant rehearsals
for the Christmas and New Year's parties; and more especially for the
dance on Twelfth Night, the anniversary of my brother Charlie's birthday.
Just before one of these celebrations my father insisted that my sister
Katie and I should teach the polka step to Mr. Leech and himself. My
father was as much in earnest about learning to take that wonderful step
correctly, as though there were nothing of greater importance in the
world. Often he would practice gravely in a corner, without either
partner or music, and I remember one cold winter's night his awakening
with the fear that he had forgotten the step so strong upon him that,
jumping out of bed, by the scant illumination of the old-fashioned
rushlight, and to his own whistling, he diligently rehearsed its "one,
two, three, one, two, three" until he was once more secure in his
knowledge.

[Picture: Mr. John Leech]

No one can imagine our excitement and nervousness when the evening came
on which we were to dance with our pupils. Katie, who was a very little
girl was to have Mr. Leech, who was over six feet tall, for her partner,
while my father was to be mine. My heart beat so fast that I could
scarcely breathe, I was so fearful for the success of our exhibition.
But my fears were groundless, and we were greeted at the finish of our
dance with hearty applause, which was more than compensation for the work
which had been expended upon its learning.

My father was certainly not what in the ordinary acceptation of the term
would be called "a good dancer." I doubt whether he had ever received
any instruction in "the noble art" other than that which my sister and I
gave him. In later years I remember trying to teach him the Schottische,
a dance which he particularly admired and desired to learn. But although
he was so fond of dancing, except at family gatherings in his own or his
most intimate friends' homes, I never remember seeing him join in it
himself, and I doubt if, even as a young man, he ever went to balls.
Graceful in motion, his dancing, such as it was, was natural to him.
Dance music was delightful to his cheery, genial spirit; the time and
steps of a dance suited his tidy nature, if I may so speak. The action
and the exercise seemed to be a part of his abundant vitality.

While I am writing of my father's fondness for dancing, a characteristic
anecdote of him occurs to me. While he was courting my mother, he went
on