The weather-glass hung in the hall has turned to "fair" from "showers," The sea-weed crackles and feels dry, that's hanging 'midst the flowers, Vauxhall, too, is not open, so 'twill be a fine, fine day; And I will be queen, if I may, mother; I will be queen, if I may.
So call me, if you're waking; call me, mother, from my rest— The "Middle Horticultural" is sure to be the best. Of all the three this one will be the brightest, happiest day; And I will be queen, if I may, mother; I will be queen, if I may.
If you're waking, call me early; call me early, mother dear; The soaking rain of yesterday has spoilt my dress, I fear; I've caught a shocking cold, mamma, so make a cup for me, Of what sly folks call, blackthorn, and facetious grocers, tea.
I started forth in floss and flowers to have a pleasant day, When all at once down came the wet, and hurried all away; And now there's not a flower but is washed out by the rain: I wonder if the colours, mother, will come round again.
I have been wild and wayward, but I am not wayward now, I think of my allowance, and I'm sure I don't know how I shall make both ends meet. Papa will be so very wild; He says already, mother, I'm his most expensive child.
Just say to Harry a kind word, and tell him not to fret; Perhaps I was cross, but then he knows it was so very wet; Had it been fine—I cannot tell—he might have had my arm; But the bad weather ruined all, and spoilt my toilet's charm.
I'll wear the dress again, mother; I do not care a pin,— Or, perhaps, 'twill do for Effie, but it must be taken in; But do not let her see it yet—she's not so very green, And will not take it until washed and ironed it has been.
So, if you're waking, call me, when the day begins to dawn; I dread to look at my _barége_—it must be so forlorn; We'll put it in the rough-dried box: it may come out next year; So, if you're waking, call me, call me early, mother dear.
"OUGHT OLIVER CROMWELL TO HAVE A STATUE?"
This dispute may be easily settled as follows:—In the Great Hall of the Ducal Palace, at Venice, are the portraits of all the Doges, except Marino Faliero, whose place is occupied by a frame, enclosing a black curtain, inscribed, "_Hic locus est Marini Faliero decapitati pro criminibus._" In like manner, in the new Houses of Parliament, we suggest that Cromwell's place should be filled by an empty pedestal, on which might be written, "_Here Oliver Cromwell would have been, had he deserved it._" As the villains of one age are generally the heroes of the next, in another hundred years the whole nation may set up a statue to him unanimously, and then the place will be ready.
