For wrapped in their furs they all lay down to sleep,
Chipperee, chip, chip, chip!
But oh! in the spring how their bright eyes will peep!
Chipperee, chip, chip, chip!
SOME OF MY LITTLE FRIENDS:
STEPHEN.
I was staying down in Kent with some friends of mine, when I made the acquaintance of the little boy whom you see lying on the ground in the picture.
One early spring morning, towards the end of February, I went out for a constitutional—that is, as I daresay you know, a walk for the sake of one’s health. I wandered off down the park into a little wood, or shrubbery, which had a green path winding through it, with arbours or summer-houses placed here and there under the overhanging trees. The wind was very keen, and patches of snow were still upon the ground, though the days were beginning to lengthen, and there were many signs of warmer weather at hand. As I walked along, I noticed now and then a young leaf showing itself above the ground, which told me of the coming primroses; and I could see green shoots, from which bluebells would soon be springing to nod their graceful heads to the passers by.