s you tie.

And you, little red shoes, so slender and thin,
You shall wait in my draw'r till the dirt's gone away;
When I'll walk with mamma when she goes to the farm,
You will never feel heavy through a long summer's day.

Then red shoes and black shoes, you both shall be mine,
The one in the dirt I will constantly wear,
The others in summer, when the walks are all dry:
So thick shoes and thin shoes rest quietly here.

THE GARDENERS.

Now the wintry winds are gone,
See how brightly shines the sun;
The violet sweet and primrose pale,
Now adorn the shelter'd vale.

The pilewort rears her joyous head,
To the sunbeam widely spread,
Whilst her little glossy eye
Glows with a deep and yellow dye.

To the garden we will go,
Take the rake, the spade, the hoe,
Dig the border nice and clean,
And rake till not a weed be seen.

Then our radish-seed we'll sow,
And mignionette a long, long row;
And ev'ry flowret of the year,
Shall have a place of shelter here.

In gay profusion they shall spread
O'er each border and each bed,
And when joyous May shall come,
We'll deck the lofty pole at home.

Garlands gay in wreaths we'll twine,
That with brightest colours shine;
And dance around, till setting sun
Proclaims the children's day is done.

[Illustration: _to face pa. 16_

_The Gardeners_]

LITTLE GIRL.

Little girl, little girl, where are you going?
Down in the meadow where cowslips are blowing.
Little girl, little girl, what to do there?
To gather a garland to deck my brown hair.
Little girl, little girl, why all alone?
My mother has sent me, and playmates I've none.
Then follow me, follow me, down to yon wood,
Where you shall find playmates both gentle and good;
We'll ask them, we'll ask them to join in your play,
And your mother shall give you a long holiday.
From Erin, from Erin, the cotter shall bring,
To twine a gay garland, her shamrock of spring;
In her plaid, in her plaid, Scotia's daughter shall come,
With the thistle that grows on her mountains at home;
The peasant, the peasant of France shall be there,
And add to the chaplet his lily so fair;
Dark glancing, dark glancing, the daughter of Spain,
With the bloom of her orange shall join the gay train;
And leaving, and leavin