And Jimmy's garden flourished—he had a splendid crop,All round and red below the ground, and broad and green on top.One day he pulled and ate them all—with salt they're very good—Then Jimmy gave up gardening—but that is understood.
And Alice's sweet peas and things were beautifully fair,But Tim, the gardener, smiled one day, to see them growing there,But what he said was, "Faix, Miss Alice, thim was rare foine sadesBut ye've murthered ivery blissed wan, an' only lift the wades."
Well, cabbage-raising does not pay, my garden is a fright.There came a Morning-Glory Vine, and like a thief last nightHe stole along my pretty rows, and this is what he's done:He's twined around my cabbage plants, and pulled them every one,
And hung them with their roots to dry, like clothes upon a line—Just spoiled my little garden-plot—that wicked 'Glory Vine.And that is why we do not care for gardening to-day;The crops are very poor this year, and kites are better play.
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