"Oh nō, nō,” said the little Fly,
"For I've often heard it said,
They never, never, wake again,
Who sleep upon your bed!"

Said the cunning Spīder to the Fly,
"Dear friend, what can I do,
To prove the wârm affection
I have always felt for you?
I have within my pantry

Good store of âll that's nice;
I'm sure you're very welcome-
Will you please to take a slīċe?"

"Oh nō, nō,” said the little Fly,
"Kind sîr, that cannot bē,
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 have a little looking-glass
Upon my pärlor shelf;

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

"I thank yoû, gentle sîr,” she said,
"For what you're pleased to say,
And bidding yoû good morning now,
I'll câll 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 :
Sō he wōve a subtle web,
In a little corner sly,
And set his table ready,
To dine upon the Fly.

Then he came to his door again,
And merrily did sing,

"Come hither, hither, pretty Flỹ,
With the pearl and silver wing;
Your robes are green and purple,
There's a crest upon your head;
Yoûr eyes are like the diamond bright,
But mine are dull aş 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 eyeṣ,
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 pärlour-but
Shē 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 counsellor

Close heart and ear and eye,
And take a lesson from this tāle
Of the Spider and the Flỹ.

There were six little pigs as I've heard people say, That went with their mother a wâlking one day; The sun shone so bright, and the air was so free, They all might have been happy as happy could bē;

And so they all were, except one little brother, Who thought himself wiṣer, poor thing, than hiş mother,

Yet all the day long nought but nonsense did chatter, And when she reproved him, squealed, "What does it matter?"

As they went on their way a mastiff căme bỹ,
Enjoying the sunshine and cheerful blue sky,

And the little Pig whispered, "Come, let us âll tease him;

To grunt in his face will be sure to displease him."

Sō without more ado he scampered away

To grunt close by the dog, but 'twas an unlucky day, For the dog thus provoked turning round in a breath, Tōre one of his ears and nigh shook him to death.

Said his mother, "All this I bade ÿoü beware of, For e'en your own ears you cannot take care of, And still you won't hear good advice from another: Least of all from mē, your poor ignorant mother!"

From pain all this time he was crying and screaming, And all down his cheeks the sâlt tears were fast streaming;

But mōre sadly hē grieved as he cast his eyes round
And saw âll his brothers with ears safe and sound.

You will think after this he was prûdent and wise,
And did as his mother was pleased to adviṣe;
You will think that he now his bad ways would
forsake,

But this, I regret, would be quite a mistāke:

For still he was naughty aș naughty could bē,
And as often he suffered, then sorry was hē;
But as soon as he fairly was rid of the pain
He forgot âll about it and did wrong again.

It happened one day, as the other pigs tell,
In the course of their wâlk they drew near to a well,

Sō wide and so deep with sō smooth a wâll round,
That a pig tumbling in was sure to be drowned.
But the perverse little brother, foolish as ever,
Still boasting himself very cunning and clever,
Now made up his mind, that whatever befel,
He would run on befōre and jump over the well.
Then away he ran off to one side of the well,
Climbed up on the wâll, slipped, and headlong hẽ fell;
And now from the bottom his pitiful shout
Was, "Oh, mother, I'm in and pray do help me out!"
She ran to the side when she heard his complaint,
And she saw him struggling, weak and faint,

Yet no help could she give! but "My children," cried shē,

"How often I've feared a sad end his would bē!"

Oh, mother; dear mother!" the drowning pig cried, "I see all this comes of my folly and pride!"

He could not speak mōre, but he sank down and died, Whilst his mother and brothers wept round the well-side!

38. THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM.

It was a summer evening,

Old Kaspar's work was done,
And he before his cottage door

Was sitting in the sun;

And by him spōrted on the green
His little grandchild, Wilhelmine.