And went on crutches, it is said,
Until she died so dreary.
THE STORY OF A DIRTY CHILD
The little girls whom now you'll see
Were sisters in one family;
And both enjoyed an equal share
Of a kind mother's anxious care.
This one in neatness took a pride,
And oft the brush and comb applied;
Oft washed her face, and oft her hands;
See, now, thus occupied she stands.
The other—oh! I grieve to say
How she would scream and run away,
Soon as she saw her mother stand,
With water by, and sponge in hand.
She'd kick and stamp, and jump about,
And set up such an awful shout,
That one who did not know the child,
Would say she must be going wild.
