“Wicked boy! I think I know him;
’Twas a naughty thing to do;
I will bring you home another,
Like the one he stole from you.
“That poor boy has no kind parents,
Nor a bright and happy home;
Wicked children are his playmates,
Through the streets he loves to roam.
“There he learns to be so sinful,
Lying, stealing, every day;
He has no kind friends to teach him,
Morn and evening, how to pray.
“Should you not be thankful, darling,
God has been so good to you;
Given you friends so kind and loving,
Taught you what you ought to do?
“Learn, my son, a useful lesson
From this wretched boy to-day,—
Never choose a bad companion
When you’re in the streets at play.
CROSS GIRL.
MOTHER.
My dear Amelia, I’m ashamed
To hear you quarrel so;
Leave off these naughty airs, my child,
Go play with Frances,—go!
AMELIA.