TO MY UMBRELLA.
Good, faithful friend, it seems an age
Since last we met and walked together!
Upon the Daily Graphic's page
For weeks I've watched the coming weather;
The meteorologic girl,
Despite cold arms, seemed almost jolly,
And made no effort to unfurl
That wonderful archaic brolly.
So I, grown reckless, did as she.
And gave you quite a Long Vacation;
Such weather cannot always be,
Or you would lose your occupation.
Think how I've treated you! A pet
Might envy all the care I gave you;
When worn-out with work and wet,
Think how I did my best to save you!
You soon looked well, and eased my fears—
Recovered after over-pressure.
When you "took silk" in other years,
Think what I paid for each "refresher"!
When last it rained I had to roll
You up quite wet; you've been forgotten.
It rains once more. What's this? A hole?
By Jove, the silk's completely rotten!
The Stage-Coach Fiasco.—The Meet, which was ordered for 11:30 last Thursday, wasn't done, and so there was no Lunch.