“Forgive me, Emeline, or else
I do not wish to live;
Oh speak, dear sister, speak once more,
And say you will forgive!
The poor, dear, suffering, dying child
Just raised her languid eye,
And moved her lips, and tried to say,
Dear Betsy, do not cry!
Then Betsey’s sorrowing mother tried
To take her from the bed,
She cast her weeping eyes behind,
And Emeline was dead.
And now poor little Betsy sits,
Day after day, alone;
She does not wish to laugh or play
Since Emeline is gone.
AMELIA.
Mamma, now see I am not cross;
Come, Fanny, let us play!
And you shall have my waxen doll,
And keep it every day.
THE FIRST THEFT.
MOTHER.
Edward, come here, how pale you are!
What makes you look so wild?
And you’ve been crying sadly, too!
What’s happened to my child?
EDWARD.