EASTER MORNING.

    Too early, of course!  How provoking! 
      I told Ma just how it would be. 
    I might as well have on a wrapper,
      For there isn’t a soul here to see. 
    There!  Sue Delaplaine’s pew is empty,—­
      I declare if it isn’t too bad! 
    I know my suit cost more than hers did,
      And I wanted to see her look mad. 
    I do think that sexton’s too stupid—­
      He’s put some one else in our pew—­
    And the girl’s dress just kills mine completely;
      Now what am I going to do? 
    The psalter, and Sue isn’t here yet! 
      I don’t care, I think it’s a sin
    For people to get late to service,
      Just to make a great show coming in. 
    Perhaps she is sick, and can’t get here—­
      She said she’d a headache last night. 
    How mad she’ll be after her fussing! 
      I declare, it would serve her just right. 
    Oh, you’ve got here at last, my dear, have you? 
      Well, I don’t think you need be so proud
    Of that bonnet, if Virot did make it,
      It’s horrid fast-looking and loud. 
    What a dress!—­for a girl in her senses
      To go on the street in light blue!—­
    And those coat-sleeves—­they wore them last Summer—­
      Don’t doubt, though, that she thinks they’re new. 
    Mrs. Gray’s polonaise was imported—­
      So dreadful!—­a minister’s wife,
    And thinking so much about fashion!—­
      A pretty example of life! 
    The altar’s dressed sweetly.  I wonder
      Who sent those white flowers for the font!—­
    Some girl who’s gone on the assistant—­
      Don’t doubt it was Bessie Lamont. 
    Just look at her now, little humbug!—­
      So devout—­I suppose she don’t know
    That she’s bending her head too far over,
      And the ends of her switches all show. 
    What a sight Mrs. Ward is this morning! 
      That woman will kill me some day. 
    With her horrible lilacs and crimsons;
      Why will these old things dress so gay? 
    And there’s Jenny Welles with Fred. Tracy—­
      She’s engaged to him now—­horrid thing! 
    Dear me!  I’d keep on my glove sometimes,
      If I did have a solitaire ring! 
    How can this girl next to me act so—­
      The way that she turns round and stares,
    And then makes remarks about people;
      She’d better be saying her prayers. 
    Oh dear, what a dreadful long sermon! 
      He must love to hear himself talk! 
    And it’s after twelve now,—­how provoking! 
      I wanted to have a nice walk. 
    Through at last.  Well it isn’t so dreadful
      After all, for we don’t dine till one;
    How can people say church is poky!—­
      So wicked!—­I think it’s real fun.

    A LEGEND OF ST. VALENTINE.