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.
_Chorus._--In the days, &c.
Then April's flowery return
Was "Peace-with-Honour's" goal.
And the bright brimstone-bunch would burn
In every button-hole.
Our Dames were gaily on the wing,
With blossoms in full blow,
In the days when we went Primrosing,
A long time ago.
_Chorus._--In the days, &c.
But now Progressive storms prevail
Election blizzards chill;
The Primroses seem sparse and pale
In valley and on hill.
Yon cloud looks black as raven's wing!
Things did not menace so.
In the days when we went Primrosing
A long time ago!
_Chorus._--In the days, &c.
_Both._ Oh, brayvo, BOBBY!
_Master Robert._ Thanks. Yet my song's burden
Is dismal as the croakings of _Dame Durden_.
Our holiday is spoilt by driving showers.
I fear we shall have no great show of flowers;
But--anyhow my boys we're under cover;
And let us hope that storm-cloud will pass over
Without first giving us a dreadful drenching,
And all our April-hopes entirely quenching.
_All_ (_singing together_).
Rain! Rain!
Go away!
Come again
Another day!
[_Left crouching and singing._
* * * * *
FROM THE THEATRES, &C. COMMISSION.--"I am afraid," said Mr. P.S.
RUTLAND, speaking of the Music Halls, and in answer to a question
of Mr. BOLTON's, "we cannot do a wreck. (_Laughter._)" Mr. WOODALL:
"Without being wrecked in the attempt. (_Renewed laughter._)" Oh,
witty WOODALL! Why, encouraged by this applause, he may yet be led on
to make a pun on his own name, and say, "_Would all_ were like him!"
or some such merry jest. The proceedings in this Committee were
becoming a trifle dull, but it is to be hoped that they may yet hear
something still more sparkling from the wise and witty WOODALL.
* * * * *
[Illustration: APRIL SHOWERS; OR, A SPOILT EASTER HOLIDAY.