Pimpernel.... The Weather-glass.

“I’ll go and peep at the Pimpernel, And see if she think the clouds look well; For if the sun shine, And ’tis like to be fine, I shall go to the fair, For my sweetheart is there: So, Pimpernel, what bode the clouds and the sky? If fair weather, no maiden so merry as I.” Now the Pimpernel flower had folded up Her little gold star in her coral cup, And unto the maid Thus her warning said: “Though the sun smile down, There’s a gathering frown O’er the checkered blue of the clouded sky; So tarry at home, for a storm is nigh.” The maid first looked sad and then looked cross, Gave her foot a fling, and her head a toss; “Say you so, indeed, You mean little weed? You’re shut up for spite, For the blue sky is bright, To more credulous people your warnings tell, I’ll away to the fair;—good day, Pimpernel.” “Stay at home! quoth the flower?—In sooth, not I; I’ll don my straw hat with a silken tie; O’er my neck so fair I’ll a kerchief wear, White, chequered with pink, And then—let me think, I’ll consider my gown, for I’d fain look well:” So saying, she stepped o’er the Pimpernel. Now the wise little flower, wrapped safe from harm, Sat fearlessly waiting the coming storm; Just peeping between Her snug cloak of green, Lay folded up tight, Her robe so bright; Though ’broidered with purple, and starred with gold, No eye might its bravery then behold. The fair maiden straight donned her best array, And forth to the festival hied away; But scarce had she gone Ere the storm came on; And, ’mid thunder and rain, She cried oft and again, “Oh! would I had minded yon boding flower, And were safe at home from the pelting shower.” Now, maidens, the tale that I tell would say, Don’t don fine clothes on a doubtful day, Nor ask advice, when, like many more, You had “made up your minds” some time before. Louisa A. Twamley.