Said the cunning Spider to the Fly, “Dear friend, what can 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?” “Oh 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, “you’re witty and you’re wise, How handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes! I’ve a little looking-glass upon my parlour 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 come back again: So he wove a subtle web, in a little corner sly, And set his table ready, to dine upon the Fly. Then he came out to his door again, and merrily did sing, “Come hither, hither, pretty Fly, with the 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, Thinking only of her brilliant eyes, and green and purple hue-- Thinking 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 parlour--but she ne’er came out again! And now, dear little children, who may this story read, To idle, silly, nattering words, I pray you ne’er give heed; Unto an evil counsellor, close heart and ear and eye, And take a lesson from this tale, of the Spider and the Fly. TALES IN VERSE. ANDREW LEE. THE FISHER BOY. Ah! Fisher Boy, I well know thee, Brother thou art to Marion Lee! What! didst thou think I knew thee not, Couldst thou believe I had forgot? For shame, for shame! what? I forget The treasures of thy laden net! And how we went one day together, One day of showery summer weather, Up the sea-shore, and for an hour Stood sheltering from a pelting shower, Within an upturned, ancient boat, That had not been for years afloat! No, no, my boy! I liked too well The old sea-stories thou didst tell; I liked too well thy rougish eye-- Thy merry speech--thy laughter sly; Thy old sea-jacket, to forget,-- And then the treasures of thy net!