| 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! |
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 | The door flew open, in heran, 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! |
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The Story of Fidgety Philip
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 | "Let me see if Philip can Be a little gentleman; Let me see if he is able To sit still for once at table": Thus Papa bade Phil behave; And Mamma looked very grave. But fidgety Phil, He won't sit still; He wriggles, And giggles, And then, I declare, Swings backwards and forwards, And tilts up his chair, Just like any rocking horse— "Philip! I am getting cross!" |  |
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 | See the naughty, restlesschild Growing still more rude and wild, Till his chair falls over quite. Philip screams with all his might, Catches at the cloth, but then That makes matters worse again. Down upon the ground they fall, Glasses, plates, knives, forks, and all. How Mamma did fret and frown, When she saw them tumbling down! And Papa made such a face! Philip is in sad disgrace. |  |
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 | Where is Philip, where ishe? Fairly covered up you see! Cloth and all are lying on him; He has pulled down all upon him. What a terrible to-do! Dishes, glasses, snapt in two! Here a knife, and there a fork! Philip, this is cruel work. Table all so bare, and ah! Poor Papa, and poor Mamma Look quite cross, and wonder how They shall have their dinner now. |  |