Chapter 15

Now that our snail has been good enough to put out those four horns of his, let us ask what purpose they serve, and why they are placed' where they are. The answer is very simple; these "feelers" are to the snail instead of arms and legs; and the upper pair have eyes at the end, so that the wary little traveller, as it drags itself along a broad cabbage leaf, leaving a slimy track behind it, can tell, both by sight and touch, what obstacles may lie in its path. I don't know whether you have ever seen the eggs of snails; I have not, but I have heard that they are about the size of peas, and are buried in the earth, as the crocodile's eggs are buried in the sand.

Of the many families of Ringed or Jointed Animals, we will choose the Crabs and Lobsters first. They are encased in armour of shell, and this has given to them and their relations the name of Crustaceans, or Crusty creatures, because what bones they have are outside, not hidden beneath the flesh. But unlike the snail's house, which grows with the growth of its inmate, and unlike _our_ skeleton which grows as _we_ grow, this close-fitting armour does not increase in size, nor is it elastic enough to expand, but every year one coat of mail is cast off, in a way not unlike the sloughing of the serpent, to make room for a fresh soft suit. This new suit soon hardens, and the creatures embrace the opportunity to make a little progress in growing, which they do by fits and starts, not continuously; for the shell, when once hardened, gives them no room to increase in size--they have to wait till next year! The long pointed claws of the crab and lobster are easily broken, and sometimes lost altogether, so that the power which they have of growing new ones is a wonderful provision for their life among the rough rocks and tangled sea-weeds.

One of the crusty creatures you know well enough, and you can find it without going to the seaside, I mean the wood-louse, which I used to hear called a "carpenter" when I was a child. In damp places, you can hardly turn over a mossy stone, or pick off a bit of bark from a fallen tree, without disturbing a whole colony of these slate-coloured creatures, with their mailed coats, made of ten rings, or plates of armour. They seem to know the use of their armour well enough, for if disturbed you will see them either scurry off as fast as their many little feet can carry them--and they are able to run forward or backward at pleasure--or else roll themselves up into tight balls, so that feet and head and feelers are all safe, under the ringed shield which God has given them as a defence and protection.

Many such creatures, rolled up just as the wood-louse curls itself, in tight balls, have been found in a fossil state; and there is a little petrified crustacean with wonderful eyes, which has been found in the slate quarries of South Wales. It is called the Trilobite, because it is composed of three lobes or divisions, and is an animal of the same kind as the lobster. Be sure you look for it, if you are fossil-hunting in the Museum, for it is a most interesting specimen, and has been found in rocks deep down in the earth's crust.

Now, next to this Crab and Lobster family, come that of the Spiders, and then that of the Insects.

Perhaps you will say, "But what are spiders, if they are not insects?" I know I used to think they were, until I found that no creature can be reckoned one of that large family unless it has _six legs_--not even one more or one less. Now, a spider has eight legs, and it has no wings, while all true insects have either wings, or what seems to be the beginning of wings: also although some spiders have as many as eight eyes, they are all "simple," while the eyes of insects are "compound"; that is, great numbers are massed together at each side of the head, like the "facets," or little faces, of a precious stone. As insects have fixed eyes, which cannot move, they would be very badly off without these many points of view.

I wonder whether you ever had a good look at a spider, or whether you learnt when you were almost a baby to think it a "horrid creature"; so that now, when you might be watching it at its work, your first notion is to get out of its way as fast as possible.

Some creatures are really harmful, and it is right to keep out of their way, but it is never right to despise a single thing which God has made, and when we think that the spider is one of His creatures, one which He calls "exceeding wise," it does indeed seem a pity not to learn something about it; and the best way to learn about spiders, as well as all the rest of the animals, is not only to read about them--though that is a very great help to begin with--but to observe and study their habits for ourselves.

Ernest is fond of repeating a poem about King Robert the Bruce; how, as he noticed a spider six times fail to climb up its slender thread, but succeed at the seventh attempt, he took courage to make one more effort for his lost kingdom, and succeeded.

This was long, long ago; but Kings and Commons have yet their tugs of war; and for old and young it is still all honour to those who

"Try, try, try till they win, Brave with the thought that despair is a sin-- Who fights on God's side is sure to win."

There are a great many spiders, of which we cannot now learn much more than the names which have been given them; but the true story of their lives, and the wonderful way in which they overcome all sorts of difficulties, if rightly read, would make us feel that many a lesson of patient toil may be learnt from such busy little weavers, and engineers, and divers.

Here are a few of them: The Hunters--they live in crevices of walls and houses, and have their name because they wander about constantly, ready to steal upon any insect which may come in their way; the Vagrants, who, though they will run to catch their prey when it is in sight, lie in wait for it, rolled up in a leaf, or hiding at the bottom of a flower, just where the flies are sure to come for honey; the Water-spiders--they manage to live under water in a nest so nearly made of air, though in the midst of the water, that this spider has been looked upon as the inventor of the diving-bell. Then there is the industrious Mason, which bores a hole in the earth, makes the walls of its little tunnel as smooth as if it worked with trowel and mortar, and then hangs them with delicate silken curtains of its own spinning and weaving; the Trap-door spider, so called because the mouth of its burrowed nest is fitted with a cleverly hinged door, which the owner of the nest can shut with its claw when it leaves home; the Pirate, which makes a leafy raft, and skims along the water after the insects which suit its taste; the Gossamer spider, which rises so high in the air, and floats at its ease in its own balloon--and Epeira, the Garden spider, whose beautiful web, covered with dewy diamonds, we have all seen, laid like some fairy lacework, over the hedges, on an autumn morning, as if the little weaver had been early at its work, as "wise" people usually are; and, as God has deigned to tell us, He Himself has been.

As we can only find time to study one spider, this shall be the one, for we have not to go far to look for it.

First let us consider why it makes its beautiful web, so slender and so easily destroyed that it is used as an emblem of the "hypocrite's hope" which "shall not endure"; and yet so strong when we think of the little creature whose cunning "hands" have woven it. The spider lives upon flies and other insects, but is itself without wings, so that it would be impossible for it to catch its prey if it had not been given power which the animals on which it feeds do not possess--the power to lay snares; this is why it takes such trouble with its beautiful web, and makes the cords from which it is woven so fine, and yet so strong. The web is the snare in which the insects on which it lives are caught, and from which they have no power to escape, for as soon as the insect is entangled, the spider, in his hiding-place, knows by the shaking of the threads that his prey is secure, pounces upon it, benumbs it by one prick of his poison-fang, binds it fast with silken threads, and carries it off to his "dismal den," as the verse about "the spider and the fly" calls the place where he lies in wait for any winged thing which may "come buzzing by."

But this subtle and beautiful snare--how is it made? Where do the threads which form the silken meshes come from? Ah! you have seen the cocoons which silkworms spin, have you not? The weaver-spiders get their threads just as the silkworms do, from their own bodies; each thread comes from an exceedingly small hole; there are four of these holes in the spider's body, and the threads are made of a sort of gum which is almost liquid, but which becomes hard when it is exposed to the air. The spider spins and twists its slender threads just as a rope-maker twists his ropes, only using its feet for hands--for each fine thread in the web, which you could break with one touch of your finger, is made up of many finer ones, and thus rendered strong. The only tools which the spider uses for his rope-walk and in his loom, are his own claws, which are furnished with comb-like fingers, and an extra claw, for winding up the thread into a ball.

If you could watch the spider at his work, you would see that he first marks the outline, by passing this thread from one leaf or branch to another, until the circle is as large as the web he intends to make; then this circle is filled with lines, which are woven from the outside to the centre, and resemble the spokes of a cart-wheel. A spider has actually been seen trying the strength of these cords which form the foundation of his web, breaking any that are not strong, and weaving others in their stead; for he has a sure instinct which tells him that if the framework is faulty, all will fall to pieces; and only when, by pulling each thread separately, he is certain that each will hold, does he begin to work from the centre, and spin ring after ring, the threads which pass from one spoke to another. When all is finished, the workman rests from his labour, and may often be seen sitting in the place which he has left for himself in the middle of his own web, watching with all his eyes for his prey.

A careful little fellow too is the spider; he is not ashamed to mend as well as to make, and you may see him busily repairing his broken net, and may know, by means of this little barometer, what weather to expect; for he is too wise to waste his silken threads and busy skill in making or mending a net for a coming storm to break.

"When the spider works away, Be pretty sure of a sunny day."

Very soon after the little spiders leave the silky ball in which they are hatched, they begin to make webs of their own; but I. have heard that these first attempts look very irregular, which shows us that although God has given them the instinct by which they set about weaving snares, they learn, as we do, by painstaking and practice, to make their work more and more perfect.

Perhaps one reason why God has allowed us to watch the spider lay snares for his prey, is to keep us in mind of the snares of which He tells us in His Book. There are many very important passages about snares to which we do well to take heed.

While I was telling you about the way the spider has of pulling each of the cords which form the foundation of his web, one by one, to make sure that there is no weak place in any of them, I remembered something which a young girl once said to her mother. Alice had always been a merry, happy child, the light and joy of her home, and she loved her father and mother and little brothers and sisters, and the lambs and birds and flowers and summer sunshine, and games and treats, just as much as you do. But as she grew tall, Alice was not so strong; the child who, when she was nine years old, had "climbed the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn"--running on before all the rest, until the guide called her his mountain-goat, and actually getting first to the top of the mountain--when she was about seventeen, began to fade like a flower, and to grow weaker and weaker day by day. [Footnote: _The Master's Home Call_. Memorials of Alice Frances Bickersteth, by her father.]

Her parents sorrowfully took her from place to place, hoping that fresh air might give new life to their child, and bring back the roses to her pale cheeks. But nothing made her better, and at last, when they brought her home again from the seaside, her father thought the time had come to tell Alice that the doctors all said the same thing; she might live a few months longer, but she would never, never be well and strong again, for she was not only very ill, but dying.

It was lovely bright summer weather; you would have thought the sunshine and the soft air would have made anyone well, as Alice lay on the sofa while her dear father read to her. They had been reading the Epistle to the Philippians, and when they came to the verse where the Apostle Paul says, that to him "to die is gain," and to that other verse which speaks of departing "to be with Christ, which is far better," though he could hardly speak for tears, he told her just what the doctors had said.

I do not know whether Alice had ever thought of not getting better, but long before her illness, when she was strong and well, she had come to the Lord Jesus Christ--and now He was her Saviour and Friend, so that her father was not afraid to tell her that she was going to Him. This is what she said, as soon as he had told her:

"Dear father, I am not afraid to go. How I thank you for telling me." Then, when the tears came at the sight of his grief, she added, "It is only leaving you all; but Jesus will be there. What should I do without my Saviour now?"

From this time Alice very often spoke, about dying, but she always called it "going home." It was very soon after her father had told her, that she said to her mother those sweet words which came to my mind when we were speaking of the little spider making quite sure that his threads were strong, with no weak place anywhere.

"I feel just like a sailor," Alice said. "When he is called to go aloft, he tries all the ropes to see if they are firm. I have been trying them all, and, mother, they are all right."

Another time, when someone said, "You always looked happy, Alice," she smiled and said, "Yes, but I am happier now." And when he asked, "Have you no fear whatever?" she replied, "None whatever."

But had this always been so? Ah! no. It is true that she had always been a loving child, and had many bright ways about her which made people fond of her, so that it was no trouble to her to win love from all around her; but Alice had a very strong will, and liked to do just as she pleased, and as she grew up she often showed that she was indeed far away from God, and one of those "lost sheep" whom the Lord Jesus, the Good Shepherd, came to "seek and to save." But He had sought and found her, and now He was gently carrying her home on His shoulder.

This is what Alice herself said about it: "I used to be afraid of death; but God has taken it all away. I cannot understand people calling it 'being in danger.' Once my sins seemed to me as a mountain-pile, but they have all been laid on Jesus, and His blood is peace. It is all done for me. I have nothing to do but to keep clinging to Jesus till I see Him."

I wonder, when she spoke of having had all her sins laid on Jesus, whether Alice was thinking of that verse which says, "All we, like sheep, have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way; and the Lord hath laid on Him the iniquity of us all."

How well it was for her that she had learnt to know her Saviour before the time of illness came; for she was then so weak and so very, very tired that she could not think much; but only, as she said, "keep clinging to Him." And as she grew weaker and weaker, I am sure the Good Shepherd taught her that even if she could not cling to Him--and it was no longer "the weak clinging to the Strong, but the Strong clinging to the weak"--she was safe, for He has said of His sheep, "I give unto them eternal life; and they shall never perish, neither shall any man pluck them out of My hand. My Father, which gave them Me, is greater than all; and no man is able to pluck them out of My Father's hand. I and My Father are one."

Alice had near her bed, where she could always see it, a beautiful picture of a shepherd with a lamb upon his bosom. She was very fond of looking at it, and saying how it made her think of herself. "If you see a flock of sheep going along the road, and one of them is very weary," she said--one day when she was very tired, and her feet were very hot, so that she felt as if they would never be cool again--"you would not like to see them go on driving it, but would wish to see the shepherd take it in his arms to the fold." She asked that these works, "My Beloved is mine, and I am His," should be put upon her gravestone, saying that it was her favourite text; and against her name in the family Bible she wished them to write,... "so He bringeth them unto their desired haven."

When she was almost Home, her father spoke to Alice about the many she had to love on earth, and the many in heaven; for two little sisters, Constance and Eva, were already with the Lord. Looking up with a smile, as if she really saw the One who had been her Friend in life, and from whose love death could not separate her, she said softly, "Whom have I in heaven but Thee?"

I think these were her last words; a little before, she had said, "It seems strange to be going where you can none of you come with me; but He is there, and that is enough."

If you are like the rest of my young friends, you do not mind having the Spider's history interrupted, that we might think of this sweet story of Alice, and how she too "tried the ropes," and found them "all right." But there was one great difference, was there not? The spider's ropes are spun out of his own body; they are twisted so strongly and firmly by his own feet; but Alice knew that if she was to be safe in life and in death, nothing of her own was strong enough to hold by; she could be saved only because the Lord Jesus Christ had finished the work which God gave to Him to do. It was because Alice knew Whom she had believed that she could say she had tried the ropes and found them all right; she knew they would bear _any_ strain, and so she could answer that question about being afraid, and reply that she had no fear whatever.

I want just here to copy for you some beautiful lines, written by one who "fell asleep in Jesus" when he was quite young, not yet sixteen; they were found in his pocket-book.

"Oh! I have been at the brink of the grave, And stood on the edge of its dark, deep wave; And I thought, in the still calm hours of night, Of those regions where all is for ever bright; And I feared not the wave Of the gloomy grave, For I knew that Jehovah was mighty to save.

"I have watched the solemn ebb and flow, Of life's tide which was fleeting sure though slow; I've stood on the shore of eternity, And heard the deep roar of its rushing sea; Yet I feared not the wave Of the gloomy grave, For I knew that Jehovah was mighty to save.

"And I found that my only rest could be In the death of the One who died for me; For my rest is bought with the price of blood, Which gush'd from the veins of the Son of God; So I fear not the wave Of the gloomy grave, For I knew that Jehovah is mighty to save."

How happy it was for his parents to read these words in their dear boy's own writing, after they had laid his body to rest in the grave which had no terror for him!

But to return to our Spider, or Spinner, as his name means. You have not only watched him coming down from the ceiling upon his own strong rope, spinning it longer and longer as he travels, but have seen him crawling along the ceiling head downwards, and perhaps wondered that he did not fall. If you were to look at one of those eight feet of his through a microscope, your wonder would be turned into admiration, as you saw the beautiful little brushes by which he is enabled to cling fast to the smooth surface, and walk along the ceiling as securely as you do on the floor.

And now I will leave you to read in some interesting book how prisoners have tamed House-spiders, and about the Water-spider which has been known to spin its nest in a tumbler of water, and the great Americans, as large as sparrows, which catch tiny birds; for it is time to pass on to the Insect family. But I must first tell you a story about a Tarantula, a very large spider, which lives in the south of Europe, as well as in tropical countries, and makes holes for itself about four inches deep in the ground.

Two officers from India agreed to spend their furlough together in a visit to Australia, the one for the sake of making researches in natural history, the other for any chance interest or amusement that might offer itself in a new country.

The former, Dr. Prendergast, was one day writing in his log cabin, when a huge Tarantula spider gently lowered itself from the roof by its slender cord, and dangled in front of him. "Ha!" said the naturalist, making sure of the handsome specimen that had thus unwittingly come within his reach, "I'll have you, my good fellow"; and taking a valuable pin from his necktie he made a dexterous shot, and pierced him through the body.

To his dismay, however, the spider, quite equal to the occasion, turned and bit him so sharply that he drew back with a cry, and before he could recover himself, the Tarantula had scrambled back up its rope, bearing the pin with it, and was again safe in its hiding place in the roof.

Now as the pin contained a precious stone which Dr. Prendergast had had set in order to carry it about in safety, he was exceedingly annoyed at this loss, and he and his companion searched the roof with care in the hope of finding it; but all in vain, and Dr. Prendergast could only reproach himself with having made such a foolish experiment.

A few days later he was again writing in the same position, when he beheld his enemy the spider once more descending from the roof, and to his surprise and joy it carried with it the pin, still sticking through its body. This time our naturalist made no vainglorious display of his power as a marksman, but beating down the spider with the nearest object at hand, he again possessed himself of the lost treasure, now doubly valuable on account of its extraordinary adventure, and his mother, for whom he was preserving the beautiful stone, afterwards wore it, set in a small brooch.

There are six "orders" of Insects, arranged according to their form, and the number of their wings, and one of each is chosen to represent the whole class.

First, the Beetle.

Second, the Grasshopper.

Third, the Dragon-fly.

Fourth, the Bee, the Wasp, and the Ant.

Fifth, the Butterfly, and the Moth.

Sixth, the Fly and the Gnat.

I wonder which of all these we had better discuss; for there are such wonderful things to tell even of the tiniest creeping and winged creature, that I only wish we had time for them all--the honey-making bees and the paper-making wasps, the many coloured dragon-flies, the moths, the butterflies and the beetles--but as we must choose one out of this great family, it shall be the "wise" and busy little ant: for how are we to learn the lesson which God has given her to teach us, if we do not, as He bids us, "consider her ways?"