THE BROKEN PIPE.

Come here, little Willie:

Why, what is the trouble?

“I‘ ve broke my new pipe, ma’ —

I can n't make a bubble!”

Well, do n't weep for that, child,

But brighten your face,

And tell how the grievous

Disaster took place.

“Why, Puss came along;

And, said I,‘ Now she‘ ll think

That white, frothy water

Is milk she may drink.’

“So I set it before her,

And plunged her mouth in,

When up came both paws,

And clung fast to my chin.

“Then I gave her a blow

With my pipe; and it flew

At once into pieces!

O what shall I do?

“I can n't make a bubble!

I wish naughty Kit

Had been a mile off:

See! there‘ s blood on me yet!”

I‘ m sorry, my boy; yet

Your loss is but just;

You first deceived Pussy,

And trifled with trust.

In this, when you failed,

You compelled her; and thence

The wound on your face,

From poor Kit's self-defence.

Then, when you grew cruel

And beat her, you know

Your pipe and yourself

Fared the worst for the blow.

Let this lesson teach you,

Hence never to stoop

To make man, or brute,

That may trust you, a dupe.

And when you have power,

It should not be abused,

Oppressing the weaker,

Nor strength be misused.

For, often, unkindness

Returns whence it came;

And ever deceit must

Be followed by shame.

Remember this, William,

And here end your sorrow;

I‘ ll buy you a pipe,

To blow bubbles, to-morrow.