A flower lives, a flower dies,
And we so stand and fall;
Some flowers waft scent to the skies,
And pleasure give to all.
THE LITTLE GARDENER.
There was no nicer garden in all Surrey than Mr. Woffle's. A funny name you'll say, but he couldn't help that. One day he came home, and after first kissing his three children, who were all fairly good ones—you know what I mean, neither better nor worse than most little children you and I know—said, the governess, before he went to business, had mentioned that they had of late attended to their lessons, and he should be pleased to grant them anything in reason. They all blushed,—Eva, a soldier's coat colour! James, a light red! and Edwin, a rose-lozenge hue! The fact was, they had all been saying how they should like to gather some flowers and have a game at playing at lady and gentleman and gardener.
They spoke right out and told their father what was in their minds.
He said "By all means, my dears."