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 is n't a soul here to see.

There! Sue Delaplaine's pew is empty,— I declare if it is n'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 is n't here yet! I do n'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 n'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 do n'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 — Do n'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 — Do n't doubt it was Bessie Lamont.

Just look at her now, little humbug!— So devout — I suppose she do n'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 is n't so dreadful After all, for we do n't dine till one; How can people say church is poky!— So wicked!— I think it's real fun.