Girls' pleasures are by no means so diversified as those of boys. It would be considered a trifle too effeminate were the little men to amuse themselves with their sisters' game of Chucks--an enchanting amusement, played with a large-sized marble and four octagonal pieces of chalk. Beds, another girlish game, is also played on the pavement--a piece of broken pot, china or earthenware, being kicked from one of the beds or divisions marked out on the flags to another, the girls hopping on one leg while doing so. It is a pastime better known as Hop Scotch, and is played in every village and town of the British Isles, varying slightly in detail. The rhymes used by street children to decide who is to begin the game are numerous. The Scotch version of a well-known one is given below-- "Zickety, dickety, dock, the mouse ran up the nock, The nock struck one, down the mouse ran, Zickety, dickety, dock." "Anery, twaery, tickery, seven, Aliby, crackeby, ten or eleven; Pin pan, muskidan, Tweedlum, twodlum, twenty-one." Amongst the notable men in the world's history who have depicted children's games, St. Luke the Evangelist tells in a pleasant passage of how Jesus likened the men of His day to children sitting in the market-place and calling to their playmates-- "We have piped unto you, and ye have not danced; We have mourned unto you, and ye have not wept." A vivid picture, illustrating puerile peevishness. In the thousands of years that street plays have been enacted by the youngsters, no poet's, philosopher's, nor teacher's words have been more to the point. Every child wants to take the most prominent part in a game, but all cannot be chief mourners, else there will be no sympathising weepers. "Who'll be chief mourner? I, said the dove, I'll mourn for my love." To-day things are better arranged, a counting-out rhyme settles the question of appointment to the coveted post. Like the "Zickety, dickety, dock, the mouse ran up the clock" of the north-country children. "Whoever I touch must be he" ends and begins the counting-out verse of the Southern youngsters, which runs as follows-- "1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, All good children go to heaven. My mother says the last one I touch must be he." Of the numerous variations of this rhyme the one at present in demand by London children is-- "1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, All good children go to heaven. A penny on the water, twopence on the sea, Threepence on the railway, and out goes she." Another and more generally known rhyme of-- "1, 2, 3, 4, Mary at the cottage door Eating cherries off a plate, 5, 6, 7, 8," is also used for the same purpose. But are there no peevish children to-day? None sulking in nursery or playground over games just as the little Israelites did 1900 years ago in the market-place at Nain? Remember the lesson of old--