The poor man’s wife was drinking up
    Her coffee in her coffee-cup;
    The gun shot cup and saucer through;
    “Oh dear!” cried she; “what shall I do?”
    There lived close by the cottage there
    The hare’s own child, the little hare;
    And while she stood upon her toes,
    The coffee fell and burned her nose. 
    “Oh dear!” she cried, with spoon in hand,
    “Such fun I do not understand.”

The Story of Little Suck-a-Thumb

    One day Mamma said “Conrad dear,
    I must go out and leave you here. 
    But mind now, Conrad, what I say,
    Don’t suck your thumb while I’m away. 
    The great tall tailor always comes
    To little boys who suck their thumbs;
    And ere they dream what he’s about,
    He takes his great sharp scissors out,
    And cuts their thumbs clean off—­and then,
    You know, they never grow again.”

    Mamma had scarcely turned her back,
    The thumb was in, Alack!  Alack!

    The door flew open, in he ran,
    The great, long, red-legged scissor-man. 
    Oh! children, see! the tailor’s come
    And caught out little Suck-a-Thumb. 
    Snip!  Snap!  Snip! the scissors go;
    And Conrad cries out “Oh!  Oh!  Oh!”
    Snip!  Snap!  Snip!  They go so fast,
    That both his thumbs are off at last.

    Mamma comes home:  there Conrad stands,
    And looks quite sad, and shows his hands;
    “Ah!” said Mamma, “I knew he’d come
    To naughty little Suck-a-Thumb.”

The Story of Augustus who would not have any Soup

    Augustus was a chubby lad;
    Fat ruddy cheeks Augustus had: 
    And everybody saw with joy
    The plump and hearty, healthy boy. 
    He ate and drank as he was told,
    And never let his soup get cold. 
    But one day, one cold winter’s day,
    He screamed out “Take the soup away! 
    O take the nasty soup away! 
    I won’t have any soup today.”

    Next day, now look, the picture shows
    How lank and lean Augustus grows! 
    Yet, though he feels so weak and ill,
    The naughty fellow cries out still
    “Not any soup for me, I say: 
    O take the nasty soup away! 
    I won’t have any soup today.”

    The third day comes:  Oh what a sin! 
    To make himself so pale and thin. 
    Yet, when the soup is put on table,
    He screams, as loud as he is able,
    “Not any soup for me, I say: 
    O take the nasty soup away! 
    I won’t have any soup today.”

    Look at him, now the fourth day’s come! 
    He scarcely weighs a sugar-plum;
    He’s like a little bit of thread,
    And, on the fifth day, he was—­dead!

The Story of Fidgety Philip