"One and two and three and four, Counting and narrowing o'er and o'er; Knit and rib and seam and purl.

Clickety clackety, good little girl!"

And what is our Marjorie knitting, I pray?

A soft, warm scarf, for a wintry day, A pair of mittens for schoolboy Fred, Or some reins for toddling Baby Ned?

I cannot see, in the twilight gray, How many needles are working away; But I see them flickering in and out, And _they_ know exactly what they are about.

"One and two and three and four Counting and narrowing o'er and o'er; Knit and rib and seam and purl.

Clickety clackety, good little girl!"

The fire is whispering, "Marjorie mine, 'Tis a positive pleasure on you to shine, From your pretty brown hair, all shining and neat, Down to your dainty, trim-slippered feet."

The kettle is murmuring, "Marjorie dear, 'Tis all for your sake that I'm bubbling here; But though I have bubbled both loud and long, You've ears for nought save those needles' song."

"One and two and three and four, Counting and narrowing o'er and o'er; Knit and rib and seam and purl.

Clickety clackety, good little girl!"

Marjorie cheerily works away, Nor ever her thoughts from her knitting stray.

Whatever it is, 'twill be sure to fit, For loving thoughts in the web are knit.

The kettle may bubble, the fire may burn, But Marjorie's thoughts they cannot turn; And I think my heart must be working too, For it seems to sing as the needles do.

"One and two and three and four, Counting and narrowing o'er and o'er; Knit and rib and seam and purl.

Clickety clackety, dear little girl!"

HE AND HIS FAMILY.

His father was a whale, With a feather in his tail, Who lived in the Greenland sea; And his mother was a shark, Who kept very dark In the Gulf of Caribbee.

His uncles were a skate, And a little whitebait, And a flounder, and a chub beside; And a lovely pickerel, Both a beauty and a belle, Had promised for to be his bride.

You may think these things are strange, And they _are_ a little change From the ordinary run, 'tis true; But the queerest thing (to me) Of all appeared to be, That _he_ was a kangaroo!

EASTER-TIME.

The little flowers came through the ground, At Easter-time, at Easter-time; They raised their heads and looked around, At happy Easter-time.

And every pretty bud did say, "Good people, bless this holy day; For Christ is risen, the angels say, This happy Easter-time."

The scarlet lily raised its cup, At Easter-time, at Easter-time; The crocus to the sky looked up, At happy Easter-time.

"We hear the song of heaven!" they say; "Its glory shines on us to-day, Oh! may it shine on us alway, At happy Easter-time."

'Twas long and long and long ago, That Easter-time, that Easter-time; But still the scarlet lilies blow At happy Easter-time.

And still each little flower doth say, "Good Christians, bless this holy day; For Christ is risen, the angels say, At blessed Easter-time."

EASTER.

Give flowers to all the children, This blessed Easter Day,-- Fair crocuses and snowdrops, And tulips brave and gay;

Bright nodding daffodillies, And purple iris tall, And sprays of silver lilies, The loveliest of all.

And tell them, tell the children, How in the dark, cold earth, The flowers have been waiting Till spring should give them birth.

All winter long they waited, Till the south wind's soft breath Bade them rise up in beauty, And bid farewell to death.

Then tell the little children How Christ our Saviour, too, The flower of all eternity, Once death and darkness knew.

How, like these blossoms, silent, Within the tomb he lay; Then rose in light and glory, To live in heaven alway.

So take the flowers, children, And be ye pure as they; And sing of Christ our Saviour, This blessed Easter Day.

JACKY FROST.

Jacky Frost, Jacky Frost, Came in the night; Left the meadows that he crossed All gleaming white.

Painted with his silver brush Every window-pane; Kissed the leaves and made them blush, Blush and blush again.

Jacky Frost, Jacky Frost, Crept around the house, Sly as a silver fox, Still as a mouse.

Out little Jenny came, Blushing like a rose; Up jumped Jacky Frost, And pinched her little nose.

SUBTRACTION.

Six from four leaves two, Mamma, Six from four leaves two.

Surely that is right, Mamma,-- Don't you think 'twill do?

Please don't shake your head, Mamma!

Well, it's _nearly_ right; And what difference does it make If it isn't _quite_?

Hark! the boys are there, Mamma, Out upon the lawn; If I don't go soon, Mamma, They will all be gone.

_I_ would let _you_ go, Mamma, Were I teaching you.

Six from four leaves two--oh dear!