Not he, let him labour his best.
Among the poetry are some graceful lines by Mr. Watts to his son; but our extract must be "The Spider and the Fly, a new version of an old story," by Mrs. Howitt. It is a lesson for all folks—great and small—from the infant in the nursery to the emperor of Russia, the grand signior of Turkey, and the queen of Portugal—or from those who play with toy-cannons to such as are now figuring on the theatre of war:—
"Will you walk into my parlour" said a spider to a fly:
"'Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy.
The way into my parlour is up a winding stair,
And I have many pretty things to show you when you are there."
"Oh, 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.