ur._ 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.

_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