Then, swinging and swinging and looking back
With the merriest look in her eye,

She bade me good-bye, and I left her alone,
Letting the old cat die.

Selected.

THE SPIDER AND THE FLY.

VILL you walk into my parlor?"

"WILL

Said a spider to a fly;

"Tis the prettiest little parlor

That ever you did spy.

The way into my parlor

Is up a winding stair,

And I have many pretty things
To show you when you're there."
"O no, no," said the little fly,

"To ask me is in vain;

For who goes up your winding stair
Can ne'er come down again."

"I'm sure you must be weary
With soaring up so high;

Will you rest upon my little bed?"
Said the spider to the fly.

"There are pretty curtains drawn around;

The sheets are fine and thin;

And if you like to rest awhile,
I'll snugly tuck you in."
"O no, no," said the little fly,

"For I've often heard it said They never, never wake again,

Who sleep upon your bed."

Said the cunning spider to the fly,
"Dear friend, what shall I do
To prove the warm affection
I've always felt for you?
I have, within my pantry,
Good store of all that's nice;
I'm sure you're very welcome-
Will you please to take a slice?"
"O no, no," said the little fly,
"Kind sir, that cannot be;
I've heard what's in your pantry,
And I do not wish to see."

"Sweet creature," said the spider,

66

You're witty and you're wise;

How handsome are your gauzy wings,

How brilliant are your eyes. I have a little looking-glass

Upon my parlor shelf;

If you'll step in one moment, dear,
You shall behold yourself."

"I thank you, gentle sir," she said,
"For what you're pleased to say,
And bidding you good-morning now,
I'll call another day."

The spider turned him round about, And went into his den,

For well he knew the silly fly

Would soon be back again;

So he wove a subtle web

In a little corner sly, And set his table ready

To dine upon the fly.

He went out to his door again,
And merrily did sing,

"Come hither, hither, pretty fly,
With pearl and silver wing;
Your robes are green and purple,
There's a crest upon your head;
Your eyes are like the diamond bright,
But mine are dull as lead."

Alas, alas! how very soon
This silly little fly,

Hearing his wily, flattering words,
Came slowly flitting by;

With buzzing wings she hung aloft,
Then near and nearer drew
Thought only of her brilliant eyes,
And green and purple hue;
Thought only of her crested head
Poor foolish thing! At last
Up jumped the cunning spider,
And fiercely held her fast.

He dragged her up his winding stair,

Into his dismal den

Within his little parlor - but

She ne'er came out again! And now, dear little children Who may this story read, To idle, silly, flattering words, I pray you, ne'er give heed. Unto an evil counselor

Close heart and ear and eye; And take a lesson from this tale

Of the spider and the fly.

- Mary Howitt.

O LARK OF THE SUMMER MORNING.

I

LOVE to lie in the clover,

With the lark like a speck in the sky,
While its small, sweet throat runneth over
With praise it sendeth on high.

O lark of the summer morning,

Teach, teach me the song that you sing,
I would learn without lightness or scorning,
To give praise for every good thing.

O lark of the summer morning!
Give, give me of praying the key,

And I'll learn without lightness or scorning
As I did at my own mother's knee.

COM

THE PEACOCK.

OME, come, Mister Peacock, you must not be proud,
Although you can boast such a train;

For many a bird far more highly endowed

Is not half so conceited and vain.

Let me tell you, gay bird, that a suit of fine clothes

Is a sorry distinction at most,

And seldom much valued, excepting by those

Who such graces only can boast.

The nightingale certainly wears a plain coat,
But she cheers and delights with her song ;
While you, though so vain, cannot utter a note
To please by the use of your tongue.

The hawk cannot boast of a plumage so gay,
But piercing and clear is her eye;

And while you are strutting about all the day,
She gallantly soars in the sky.

The dove may be clad in a plainer attire,
But she is not so selfish and cold;

And her love and affection more pleasure inspire,
Than all your fine purple and gold.

So you see, Mister Peacock, you must not be proud,
Although you can boast such a train;

For many a bird is more highly endowed,
And not half so conceited and vain.

- Songs for the Little Ones at Home.

A

NURSERY SONG.

S I walked over the hill one day,

I listened, and heard a mother-sheep say,

"In all the green world there is nothing so sweet As my little lammie, with his nimble feet;

With his eyes so bright,

And his wool so white,

Oh! he is my darling, my heart's delight,"