CHAPTER V.

_About spiders.――How they make their webs, set their nets, and other things._

There are a great many people who imagine that such little things as bees, bugs, butterflies, spiders and other insects, are unworthy of their notice; but this is a great mistake.

All these creatures have eyes, legs, feet, and other organs. They are all curiously contrived, like little machines, to creep, crawl or fly. They have all wonderful faculties; by which they are able to get a living, and to make themselves happy. They are, therefore, very interesting to all persons who will inquire into their structure and their habits.

These creatures are so common that we are apt to overlook them as unworthy of our notice; but Inquisitive Jack, the hero of our story, did not fall into this error. He had an inquiring mind, and nothing was beneath his observation.

He had already discovered that there were many curious and wonderful things, even in insects, flowers, and other common objects; and in the study of these, he found never-ceasing amusement.

These things were like a pleasing book, full of pretty stories and curious pictures, and every day he found some new and interesting page.

One morning, very soon after the sun had risen, he was walking along among some bushes; it was early summer, and a heavy dew had fallen. As he was going along, the thread of a spider, strung from one bush to another, came across his nose, and he broke it as he passed along.

Pretty soon, he met with other instances, in which the spiders’ threads were extended from one shrub to another. Now, Jack was always asking himself how such and such a thing is done; and he therefore began to inquire how these spiders could stretch a line across from one tree to another; for he observed that these threads were sometimes ten, or even fifteen feet from the ground, and that they extended often to as great a distance from the branch of one tree to that of another.

Jack’s habit of investigation had made him very ingenious in explaining things; but here was something quite beyond his reach. He could in no way explain what he saw.

“Strange!” said Jack to himself, “that these little insignificant spiders should know more than I do. I like to find out things myself, but I can’t explain this; so I must go and ask aunt Piper about it.”

As Jack turned on his heel to fulfil his resolution, he noticed another spider’s web, covered with dew. His attention now being excited to the subject, he turned round, and saw as many as fifty others, set like nets among the bushes and the tall grass.

Jack had seen these things before, but his attention had not been excited, and therefore he had not investigated them. He now set about the inquiry, with all the ardor of youthful curiosity.

He spent some time in observing the different kinds of webs, and then proceeded to his aunt to ask her about them. She accordingly sat down, took her knitting-work, and while she worked briskly at her needles, she gave Jack the information he desired. The best way to tell the story, is to put it in the form of a dialogue.

_Jack._ Oh! aunt Betsey, I’ve found something so curious! Do you know I’ve been looking at the spiders, and I want to have you tell me about them. Pray, where do they get their threads? and how do they weave their nets so curiously? and how do they fasten their thread to the leaves? and how do they stretch their threads from one tree to another? and what do they do it all for――for fun, or for business?

_Aunt P._ One question at a time, if you please, Jack.

_Jack._ Why, I want you to tell me all about the spiders.

_Aunt P._ But where shall I begin?

_Jack._ Oh! I don’t care where you begin――I want to have you tell me everything.

_Aunt P._ Well, Jack, I’ll tell you what I know, and I shall answer your last question first. The spiders, I suppose, make their nets both for fun and business, for pleasure and profit. These creatures are made to live chiefly upon flies, but they are themselves destitute of wings. They are, therefore, provided with the means of making nets, by which they can catch as many flies as they want.

Thus you see that God, who made the spiders, has provided them with a good trade, by which they can get a living. So it is, dear Jack, that Providence provides for everything――the wants of even the insects are supplied; nothing is overlooked, and we shall see, on investigation, what wonderful ingenuity and contrivance the Creator has resorted to, in order to take care even of such insignificant creatures as spiders.

_Jack._ I thank you, aunt Betsey, for that idea――it makes the spider much more interesting, when we consider it as the work of God.

_Aunt P._ Yes, that is true, my boy. Now, as the spiders spread their nets in order to get a living, or for business, as you express it, they do it also for pleasure――for business and pleasure usually go together.

It may be very agreeable to children to scamper about, just for the sake of a frolic, but, generally speaking, the path of pleasure is the path of utility――in other words, there is more real satisfaction in doing something that is useful, than in mere idle sport. It is so with human beings, and, no doubt, it is so with spiders.

_Jack._ Well, aunt Betsey, you have answered one of my questions; but pray tell me where the spiders get their threads. They must have an immense manufactory of it somewhere. Are any of them rope-makers?

_Aunt P._ Yes, Jack, every one of them. Each one spins his own thread, and this is the most wonderful part of the whole story. You observe that the lower part of a spider’s body consists of a round ball.

In this, nature provides the insect with a gummy substance, which is spun into thread. It somewhat resembles melted glass, for a coarse thread of it is brittle, when it becomes dry; while a fine thread is as flexible as the fibres of cotton or silk.

The manner in which this gum or paste, is twisted into threads, has occupied the attention of many philosophers. By looking at the process through magnifying glasses, it has been discovered that even the finest thread in the web of the spider consists of many hundred strands.

These are drawn out from the body of the insect, being then in a soft state, like paste, but they immediately unite, and form one compact cord. In some instances, it is said that a single thread consists of four thousand strands.

_Jack._ Whew! that sounds like a whapper.

_Aunt P._ Still, it is no doubt true. There are many things invisible to the naked eye, which are revealed to us by the aid of magnifying glasses.

With the naked eye, we cannot see more than a thousand stars in the sky; with a telescope, we can see millions of stars. To the naked eye, a glass of pure water is perfectly transparent; yet a microscope will show that it is full of little animals.

With the naked eye, we can see nothing but fibres in the stalk of a flower, but by the aid of a microscope, we can see there myriads of creeping things. So, by the aid of a microscope, we can easily discover the thousand strands of which the spider’s thread is composed.

_Jack._ Well, aunt Betsey, I am not going to dispute you, for I know that you have always a good reason for what you say. But, pray tell me, how do the spiders tie their lines to the leaves and grass?

_Aunt P._ They stick them on with a kind of glue, with which nature has provided them.

_Jack._ Well, how do they stretch their lines across from one tree to another?

_Aunt P._ When a spider wishes to build a bridge from one shrub to another, he climbs up to a certain height, and draws out a long, loose line, taking care to have it in such a situation that the wind will carry it across to some other tree.

The end of the floating line is provided with a gummy substance, and fastens itself at once to whatever it touches. When the spider finds that his line has caught, he pulls it, to see if it is fast. If it is loose, he draws it up till it is straight, and then fastens it with gum.

Having secured the line, the spider makes a bridge of it, and crosses over in perfect safety. He now goes backwards and forward, each time adding a thread, for the purpose of giving it strength.

This line is like the rope to a fisherman’s net, and the spider immediately begins to weave his net upon it. He proceeds to set several strings round somewhat like the spokes of a wheel, and these he binds together by a series of circular threads.

When the whole is done, he weaves a hole in some sly corner, into which he retreats; but the moment that a fly gets entangled in his net, he darts forth, binds him round and round like a prisoner, and carries him off to his den.

Such was the main part of the dialogue that passed between Jack and his aunt. The boy expressed great satisfaction for what she had told him, and then went away to take another walk in the fields.

The Hoop; or Look ere you Leap.

See this boy with his hoop! How the hoop flies, and how the little fellow enjoys the fun! But take care, George! take care――there is a ditch before you!

But, alas, George is like other boys, so eager in his sport that he thinks of nothing else. On goes the hoop, and on goes George after it.

By-and-by, he comes to the ditch. The hoop bounds across, and poor George tumbles in! What a sight he is when he comes out――all over mud! Next time, George, look before you leap――or, in other words, be not so absorbed in your sport, as to forget everything else. Look a little before you, and see that you run into no danger.

This looking before, is what we call _prudence_. This heedless running on, without seeing where one is going, we call imprudence. A prudent person will seldom get into trouble; an imprudent person is very likely to get into a great deal.

George was an imprudent boy, and tumbled into the ditch. Let my young friends take warning by his mishap; let them cultivate prudence; in other words, let them look ere they leap.

Hay-Making.

It is very pleasant to see the men at work making the hay and getting it into the barn. Do you not love to hear the mower whetting his scythe? Do you not love to see him swing his blade through the grass, and see it fall before him?

And how sweet is the fragrance of the new-mown hay! When it is dry, do you not love to see the men rake it into heaps; then toss it on to the cart and carry it away?

Hay-making is, indeed, a pleasant business, and it is very useful also. What would the poor cows and horses do in winter if they had no hay?

In winter, the grass is dead, the leaves have fallen from trees and shrubs, and the earth is covered with snow. If there were no hay in the barn, the horses, the cows, and the sheep would all perish.

We should then have no horse to draw us along in the sleigh; no cow to give us milk; no sheep to supply us with wool for clothing. Hay-making is therefore very important business.

What do you think the people do in very cold countries, where no grass grows? They are obliged to use reindeer, who feed on moss, and do not need hay. These creatures give milk, like cows; they draw sledges, like horses; and their flesh is as good as the beef of the ox.

The Moth.

The moth looks like a butterfly, but it is not so beautiful. The moth usually flies by night, and the butterfly by day.

There are many kinds of moth; some are large and some are small. You often see moths flying into the lamp or candle, of a summer evening.

Persons who are so fond of pleasure as to injure themselves in the pursuit of it, are compared to the silly moth, which is dazzled with the light, flies into it, and perishes.

Pleasure is a good thing, and I love to see children pursue it――but some kinds of pleasure are dangerous, and are as fatal to young persons as the blaze of the lamp or candle to the heedless fly or moth.

Chapter on Spices.

_Q._ What are nutmegs?

_A._ The nutmeg is the kernel of a large, handsome tree, like a walnut. It is enclosed in the same sort of spongy coat as the walnut; the husk opens at one end, when the fruit is ripe.

_Q._ What is mace?

_A._ That which is found between the outer coat of the nutmeg and the kernel.

_Q._ What is cinnamon?

_A._ The dried bark of a tree which grows in the East Indies and the island of Ceylon.

_Q._ What is pepper?

_A._ The produce of a creeping plant which grows in Java, Sumatra and Malacca.

_Q._ What is ginger?

_A._ The root of a plant which grows in the East Indies.

_Q._ What are cloves?

_A._ The flower buds of a tree which grows in Malacca.

_Q._ What are carraway seeds?

_A._ The seeds of a plant growing wild in many countries.

* * * * *

IDLE MARY.

Oh, Mary, this will never do! This work is sadly done, my dear; And then so little of it too! You have not taken pains, I fear.

Oh no, your work has been forgotten, Indeed, you’ve hardly thought of that; I saw you roll your ball of cotton About the floor to please the cat.

See, here are stitches straggling wide And others reaching down so far; I’m very sure you have not tried In this, at least, to please mama.

The little girl who will not sew, Must neither be allowed to play; And then I hope, my love, that you Will take more pains another day.

The Balloon.

Here is a picture of a balloon! It is a great silk bag, with a net around it. Fastened at the bottom of the net, is a little car, in which a man sits.

The balloon rises into the air, and the man in the car goes up with it. He sails along like a cloud; at first the balloon looks large, but it seems to grow less and less, and by-and-by it looks no larger than a fly. Then it disappears and is seen no more.

Now, what do you think it is that makes the balloon rise up into the air? It is a kind of gas, which is very light. The balloon is filled with this gas. You know that smoke is so light as to rise up in the air; but this gas is still lighter than smoke.

Perhaps you desire to know how the man gets his balloon down, when he has risen in it up to the clouds. I will tell you; he lets out a little of the gas, and down he comes. He must be careful to let out only a little at a time, so as to come down gradually; if he lets out too much, he will come down with a terrible thump.

* * * * *

SLEEPY HARRY.

“I do not like to go to bed,” Sleepy little Harry said; “Go, naughty Betty, go away, I will not come at all, I say!”

The little birds are better taught, They go to roosting when they ought; And all the ducks and fowls, you know They went to bed an hour ago.

The little beggar in the street, Who wanders with his naked feet, And has not where to lay his head, Oh, he’d be glad to go to bed.

MAMA AND BABY.

What a little thing am I! Hardly higher than the table; I can eat, and play, and cry, But to work I am not able.

Nothing in the world, I know, But mama will try and show me: Sweet mama, I love her so, She’s so very kind to me.

And she sets me on her knee, Very often, for some kisses: Oh! how good I’ll try to be, For such a dear mama as this is.

The Harrow.

This is a picture of a man with a harrow. A harrow consists of several iron spikes fixed in a frame. When this is dragged over the ground, the spikes break the earth in pieces, and thus fit it to receive the seed.

If the seed be sown, then the harrow is used to cover it up in the earth. Perhaps my little readers do not care to hear about the harrow, but how can they have bread and butter without it?

We cannot have bread without wheat to make it of; and we cannot have wheat, unless the ground be duly ploughed and harrowed. So my young readers will see that the harrow is a good friend of theirs, however little they care about it.

Handsome is that handsome does.

_John._ Mama, I want something to look at; what can I have?

_Mother._ Why, my dear, cannot you find something in the room to look at――some pretty story-book, or amusing puzzle?

_J._ No, mama, I don’t want to read, or be puzzled either; and I have looked at the shells and fossils on the mantelpiece, and the gold fishes in the globe, and counted the window-panes and the flowers on the carpet twenty times, and I’ve been looking into the looking-glass for the last half hour.

_M._ Into the looking-glass, John! for what purpose?

_J._ That I might know how handsome I am, mama.

_M._ Why, do you really think that you are handsome?

_J._ Yes, mama; do not you?

_M._ Only sometimes.

_J._ Why――only sometimes, mama?

_M._ Because, John, you are only handsome when you are good; when you are naughty, you are a very ugly little fellow!

_J._ Why, mama, my hair is always curled, and my hands always white, and I am sure that my clothes are always very pretty.

_M._ Yes, my dear, that may be; but does any one love you more on this account?

_J._ I should think they do, mama.

_M._ Then let me tell you, my dear, that if a child be ever so pretty, and dressed ever so fine, he cannot be loved unless he is good. No person is pleasing to look at, who is naughty. A person who is naughty has a bad heart, and a bad heart usually spoils the face.

ROBERT MERRY’S

MUSEUM.

EDITED BY

S. G. GOODRICH,

AUTHOR OF PETER PARLEY’S TALES.