THE BENEFICENT BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  SYMPATHY.

Mamma (to Cook)—­“AND MRS. STUBBS, THE CREAM WITH THE APPLE-TART YESTERDAY OUGHT TO HAVE BEEN WHIPPED.”

Ethel (who has a grateful remembrance of the dish in question).  “OH, MUMMY DEAR!  ‘OUGHT TO HAVE BEEN WHIPPED!’ I THOUGHT IT WAS PARTICULARLY GOOD!”]

* * * * *

APRIL SHOWERS;

OR, A SPOILED EASTER HOLIDAY.

(A VACATION CANTATA.)

Master George (stretching forth his fingers to feel if the shower is
abating) sings:—­ Rain!  Rain! 
        Go away! 
      Come again
        Another day!

Master Arthur (gloomily).  Pooh!  Rain won’t go away, not in these
times,
    By being sung at to old nursery rhymes: 
    Especially in such a voice as yours!

Master George. Needn’t be nasty, ARTHUR!

Master Robert. How it pours! 
    Thought we were going to have a real jolly day,
    And now it’s set in wet, to spoil our holiday.

Master George. Always the way at Easter.  Shall we trudge it?

Master Arthur. Not yet.  What have you got, GEORGE, in your Budget?

Master George. Not very much, I fear!

Master Arthur. Ah, that’s vexatious! 
    It might have cheered us up a bit.

Master George (indignantly).  Good gracious! 
    You’re always down on me, with no good reasons. 
    You know I’m not the ruler of the Seasons. 
    Now if I’d been in your place—­but no matter!

Master Robert. By Jingo, how the raindrops rush and clatter! 
    Ah, Primrose-gathering is not half so jolly
    As once it used to be.

Master Arthur. Ah! my dear SOLLY,
    The springs are now so awfully wet and cold,
    The “cry” don’t seem so fetching as of old.

    [Pipes up.

Recitative. “Who will buy my pretty, pretty Pri-im-ro-o-ses!
    All fresh gathered from the va-a-a-ll-ey?”

Master George. The wet and cold have got into your throat,
    A quaver and a crack on every note!

Master Robert. Don’t aggravate each other, boys; ’tis wrong,
    But while it rains I’ll tootle out a song:—­
    (Sings.) The days we went a-Primrosing!

AIR—­“The days we went a-Gipsying!”

The days are gone, the happy days
When we were in our Spring;
When all the Primrose loved to praise,
And join its gathering. 
Oh! we could sing like anything,
We felt the conqueror’s glow,
In the days when we went Primrosing,
A long time ago.