editor has not less scrupulously excluded those novel-like stories of exaggerated sentiment, which may now almost be said to form the staple commodity of our nursery literature.”—­(Preface.) Accordingly, we have in the New Year’s Gift three historical pieces and engravings, illustrating the murder of the young princes in the Tower; Arthur imploring Hubert not to put out his eyes; and another.  There are from thirty to forty tales, sketches, and poems, among which are a pretty story, by Mrs. Hofland; a Cricketing Story, by Miss Mitford, &c.  There are two or three little pieces enjoining humanity to animals, and some pleasing anecdotes of monkeys and tame robins, and a few lines on the Reed-Sparrow’s Nest:—­

  Only see what a neat, warm, compact little thing! 
  Mister Nash could not build such a house for the king;
    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. 
  “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.” 
  “Oh, 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?”
  “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 have 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.”