Chapter II: Part 2

"Very good sense, boys, in that thought. A wise man will learn something from almost any thing. Use your eyes, and think of what you see. Now in this very trade of paper-making. I think that man would have found it out a great deal sooner if he had watched the wasps at their work. They have been excellent workmen at this business from the beginning; and man has gone on learning little by little of this very trade, as I will tell you at some other time, when he might have made a long step at once, had he but noticed wasps and hornets. We go on very slowly sometimes in learning to make a trade as perfect as it can be: the poor animal, with its knowledge such as God gave it, is often our superior. These dumb creatures cannot teach us every thing; there is a point to which they can go, and no further: but as far as they do know, their knowledge is perfect; and I make no doubt that a great many useful things not now known will hereafter be found out by watching dumb animals."

CONVERSATION V.

_Uncle Philip tells the Children a Story about Tom Smith; and
of Bees with Brushes and Baskets, and of a Bird with a Chisel, and
a Gnat with a Lancet._

"Uncle Philip, as the day is fine, instead of sitting here, will you walk with us, this morning?"

"Yes, boys; let me get my cane and hat, and we will take a ramble; perhaps we may see something, if we will use our eyes. Where do you wish to go?"

"Oh, we do not care much, if you are with us, which way we walk; any course will be pleasant."

"Come on, then; we will cross the river, and go down on the other side beyond the old mill, where you found the wasp's paper. And now, such of you as will, may keep a look-out for curious things, while the rest of us will talk together.--Boys, do any of you know Tom Smith?"

"Know him! Why, Uncle Philip, everybody in this part of the country knows him; he is such a shocking drunkard, and swears so horribly, that nobody can forget him; and what makes it worse, he is an old man, too. His hair is almost as white as yours, Uncle Philip."

"Yes; he is just about my age. We were both born here, and I have known him ever since we were boys; and when we played together as children, over this very field which we are now crossing, or caught fish in the river down yonder by the rocks, there was not a more decent, well-behaved, handsome boy among us than was Tom Smith. Poor Tom lost his father when he was about twelve years old, and his mother, having no other child, indulged him, until he was sent to the city to go into a store. But Tom then, boys, had good principles; he neither swore nor got drunk. In a little time he fell into bad company, and they led him astray by degrees. He was so good-natured (as they call it), boys, that he had never the firmness to say _no_ to the proposals of his companions. He went with them to places of amusement; and instead of spending his evenings in his own room, reading, he was at the theatre, or dancing in some place, or at a supper with his young companions; and finally he began to play cards and billiards with them; while the inside of the church was a place which he never saw. He was cheated by his companions; and too honest he was then not to pay what he lost by gaming: he wrote to his poor mother, and told her the truth, as to his losses, and she sent him money to pay his debts, and told him to come home. He did come home; and even after all that had happened, poor Tom might have been respectable and happy; for his friends were all willing to forget the past, and encourage him for the future. For a time he went on pretty well, and married an affectionate and good young woman, and his prospects were bright enough: but one thing, boys--one single thing, ruined his comfort for ever. In the city he had learned _to drink strong liquors_.

"I remember, too, soon after he came home and married, that a man was hung not far from here for murdering his wife. The man was a drunkard, though he was quite sober when he killed the poor woman; and drunkenness had hardened his heart. I have no doubt, as it will the heart of any man. Tom was talking to me about that man, and I remember he said then that when a man _began_ to drink, he could never say where it would end, nor what he would do: 'therefore,' said Tom, 'beware of the _first_ drink.' But Tom, though he talked like a Christian and a man about it, did not act like one: for it was not long before he began to follow his bad habit, and he soon killed his poor mother; for she died of grief and sorrow, I think. His excellent wife speedily followed her to the grave; and Tom Smith left the village, a perfect vagabond, whom no one cared for. Where he went, or what he did for a long time, no person here knows. I went to other countries, and neither heard of nor saw Tom Smith until my return home, when I found him wandering about here, a gray-headed swearer and drunkard. He did not know me, and I never should have known him, had not some one told me who he was. And last night I received a letter from one of my nephews in the city, which informed me that Tom Smith had been tried in the court, and found guilty of stealing, and was sent to the state prison for ten years to hard work. There I suppose he will die for he is now old; and it is awful to think of what is then to become of his soul. Ah, my dear boys! I could not help thinking, when I read my letter, of what that man said to me years ago--and I have told you his story, hoping that you will remember his words, 'Beware of the _first_ drink.' The man who does that will never be a drunkard. And when old Uncle Philip is laid in the grave, boys, which must be before many years, remember, as you look upon the place, that he told you the story of Tom Smith, and charged you to 'beware of the _first_ drink.'

"But here come some of the boys, running towards us; I suppose they have found something."

"Oh, Uncle Philip! Uncle Philip! Do come with the boys this way. Under that fence yonder there are a great many beautiful wild flowers, and a number of bees are as busy as they can be about them; pray come and see them."

"Well, I will; but not so fast, boys; you forget that I am an old man, and cannot run as you do.--So, here are, indeed, a great many industrious little workmen."

"What are they doing, Uncle Philip?"

"These are _workers_ among the bees, and they are gathering the dust out of the flowers, to work it up into what is commonly called bee-bread. More tools here, boys!"

"Tools, Uncle Philip! Ah, we like that: pray let us hear of them; what are they?"

"Why, there is a brush and a basket in the legs of these little fellows; but they are so small that you cannot see them without a microscope."

"What is a microscope?"

"It is an instrument, made by fixing glasses in such a way to look through, that small things will seem to be very large. Do you not see how some of these little fellows are rolling themselves over in the inside of the flowers, so that the yellow dust is sticking to them? Now their breasts, and legs, and many other parts of their bodies are covered with very short hairs, which catch the dust. The last joint but one of each leg is made exactly like a brush, the hairs being longer there than on any other part; and with these they brush off the dust, and get it into two little heaps. The bags into which they put it, or rather the baskets, are in the thighs of the last pair of legs. These are hollow, so as to form a three-sided basket. The bottom of it is smooth and shining, and appears like horn, and all around the edges are placed very strong, thick-set hairs, like bristles."

"What are these for?"

"To keep things from falling out of the basket; and these bristles are so strong that even if they heap up more than the basket will hold, the bristles will keep it from falling. Here is a drawing of these legs.

Besides carrying this dust, they also carry what is called _propolis_."

"What is propolis, Uncle Philip?"

"It is a gum which is found upon some trees. This they work up into little balls, and knead it until it is a little dry, so as not to stick. This takes the bee sometimes as much as half an hour. When the balls are ready, she passes them backwards with her feet to the basket, puts them in, and gives them a pat or two to make them lie close; and when she adds more, she pats it still harder, and when the basket is full, away she goes to the hive. But there is another curious instrument about the bee. I mean its sting: this is like the head of a barbed or bearded arrow. There is a sheath for it when the bee does not wish to use it; and here is a picture of it.

But let us now continue our walk."

"Well, Uncle Philip, it is really very pleasant to walk with you: it seems as if you met nothing which could not teach us things worth knowing."

"Why, my dear boys, there are, as I told you once before, a great many things which I do not know; and what I do know I am very willing to tell you. But you may learn just as I did,--by reading, by taking notice of things around you, and by thinking for yourselves. And I do not know any thing more pleasant to notice than the works of God. I see his wisdom and his goodness in every thing which he has made. I see them in the insects, and the birds, and the larger animals; I see them in the grass, and the flowers, and the trees; and I see them in the rocks and the stones upon the ground. All these things are well worth our attention, boys; the study of all these things around us is called the study of 'Natural History;' and I think it is apt to make him who loves it a better man; at any rate, I believe that there have been very few who have been fond of it, who have not been amiable and benevolent men. But, hark! Do you hear that noise?"

"Yes, Uncle Philip; it is the sound of men chopping wood in that clump of trees."

"No, boys; it is like the sound of a wood-cutter; and it is a wood-cutter, but he does not use one of our hatchets."

"What is it that he uses, then?"

"He uses the tool which God gave him. It is a bird, boys, which you hear: it is the woodpecker. See, there it is on yonder tree, and look, at the foot of it, there is something like a bushel of the bird's chips or dust. Its bill is a complete chisel; it is straight, hard, and sharp, with edges too upon the sides. It is not a very broad chisel, but still it is one, and used as we use ours. But the chisel is not the only instrument of that workman. Its tongue is worth examining. It bores a hole into a tree that is dead or decaying, to look for insects whose nests are in the tree; and when it reaches the cell where the young insect is, it uses its tongue to get it out, and it suits exactly for the business. In the first place, it is so long that the bird can shoot it out three or four inches longer than the bill is; in the next place the end of it is tipped with a stiff, sharp, long thorn; and in the last place, that thorn has little teeth on both sides of it, like that which you see on the point of a fish-hook: these teeth are to keep the insect from falling off when it puts its tongue in the hole and sticks its sharp point into it to draw it out for food. So that besides the chisel, the woodpecker has a spear, or lance, or arrow, barbed (as it is called) or bearded at the point.

"But we are some distance, boys, beyond the old mill: suppose we now turn back towards home; I find the gnats rather troublesome."

"So do we, Uncle Philip; they have been biting us for some time: it would be well if there were no such tormenting things in the world."

"I am not sure of that, boys. We may not always be able to find out the exact use of some of these little animals; but that only shows that we are ignorant, not that they are of no use. God would never have made them if he had not some wise purpose in doing so: I do not believe he ever wastes his power in making useless things. But what will you say about gnats, when I tell you that they have a tool to work with, and a very perfect one, too?"

"Why, we will almost forgive them for biting us."

"Biting you! They have not been biting with teeth: they are doctors, boys; they have only been bleeding you, and cupping you."

"And what have they been bleeding us with?"

"Why, with a lancet, to be sure; what should a doctor use but a lancet to let blood?"

"And has the gnat really a lancet?"

"Yes, it has: this instrument forms a part of what you may call the tongue of the gnat: it is made up of five pieces, which are shut up in a case, split from one end to the other; these give steadiness to the lancet when it is used. But the reason of the pain is not so much the wound of the lancet, as it is the fluid or poisonous juice which the gnat puts into the wound to make the blood thin enough for the insect to suck it up through a tube or case, which makes part of its mouth. Here is a drawing of part of a gnat's mouth.

And here is a picture of the lancet or knife of a horse-fly.

"We have now reached the bridge,--and here we must part; your homes are in one direction, and mine is in the opposite. I hope, however, that you have learned something in our morning's walk."

"We have, Uncle Philip, and we thank you much, and bid you, good day."

"Good day, boys."

CONVERSATION VI.

_Uncle Philip tells the Children about Animals that can do
Mason's Work._

"Uncle Philip, we saw a very strange thing just now; as we were coming, we saw a great many bees flying by us, and each one was carrying a little stone."

"That was strange, indeed. Did you find out any thing about them?"

"We asked a man who was near what they did it for, and he said that they carried the stones to prevent the wind, which is blowing pretty fresh, from tossing them about too much."

"That is a very silly story, boys, though it is a very old one: for I have seen them carrying what you call stones when it was quite calm, and there was no wind to blow them away. The man was very ignorant, or he would have told you another story, which would have been both strange and true."

"Will you have the goodness, Uncle Philip, to tell us what it meant?"

"Very willingly, boys. What you saw I presume were bees. You remember that I told you there were several kinds of bees; and this one is called the mason-bee. This kind builds his nest of mortar, and was therefore called the mason-bee by Mr. Reaumur first, I believe."

"Where does it get the mortar, Uncle Philip?"

"It makes it, boys. This kind of bee may be seen flying about, picking up sand, grain by grain, putting it into a heap, gluing them together with a sort of gum out of her own mouth, and building with them a foundation for her house. This little workman commonly builds against the side of a wall between two bricks where the mortar has fallen out; and if you should see one of the nests, it appears exactly like a lump of dry mud which has been thrown wet upon the wall out of a cart-rut: but when you examine it closely, you may see a great many small stones in it, more than is common in mud: a hundred people, though, might pass by it, and never think it was any thing more than a lump of dirt, which had been thrown upon the wall when it was wet, and had afterward dried there. Here is a picture of one of these nests.

You see there is a small hole in it; this leads to a cell inside about an inch deep, and shaped exactly like a lady's thimble; the inside of this cell is polished smooth, and appears like a wall of plaster, except that it has little yellow stains upon it. Here is the bee that makes it.

In making this mortar to build with, the bee will sometimes add earth that is soft to its grains of sand, and when the lump is about the size of a small shot, it takes it up and flies away with it, to work it into the wall."

"Does it always use sand, Uncle Philip?"

"Not always: sometimes it takes wet clay, and will dig into a bank of clay baked hard by the sun on the outside, so as to get that which is wet.

"Mr. Rennie, a gentleman in England who is very fond of watching insects, and has found out a great many curious things about them, has given an account of some of these bees which he noticed at work. Every one was carrying out of a hole in the clay-bank a small lump of clay; and on catching one of them, he found that this lump was wetter than the clay in the hole, so that the bee had moistened it, and worked it together, to make it stick like good mortar. These lumps too were larger than a shot; they were as large as a garden-pea."

"How long did it take them to work up the lump?"

"About half a minute, Mr. Rennie says. He watched one of these little creatures, and found that she was building on the inside wall of a coal-house, where the bricks and mortar were left rough: she was at work between two of the bricks where the mortar had fallen out, or where the bee had taken it out. And the conduct of the bee at her house was very different from what it was at the clay-bank. She was not frightened, but went on working when any one came near the clay-bank; but at her house she seemed afraid that it should be found out where it was. She would alight first on the roof outside, as if she merely wished to rest herself; and when she flew into the coal-house she would not go directly to her nest, but would settle on a shelf, and sometimes pretend to be examining a great many places in the wall between different bricks; and at last, when she supposed there was no risk, or when there was nothing to alarm her, she would fly to her nest, and go to work with all her might in fixing her piece of clay to the wall."

"Why did she wish her house not to be found out, Uncle Philip?"

"Mr. Rennie supposed it was her instinct: she had seen probably some of the insects which would destroy her young, watching her to see where she was building; and sometimes after flying nearly to her nest with a load, she would turn back and fly towards the clay-bank, or take a large sweep off in another direction, and so come to her house.

"Besides the mason-bee, boys, there is the mason-wasp, which I have heard some persons call the _dirt-dauber_: it is very common, especially in the southern part of the United States. It works very much like the mason-bee, only it is apt to fix its nest under the eaves of old houses, which I think the mason-bee never does.

"There is also another kind of mason-wasp which will actually break a hard brick. Mr. Rennie says that he saw one at work on a brick of a hard yellow kind. Whether the wasp found a hole in the brick to begin with, he did not know; but if he did he was hard at work making it larger: he would break off a piece as large as a mustard-seed at a time. Here is a drawing of that kind of wasp; and the insect is no larger than the picture.

It seems wonderful that so small an insect should have so much strength. Here is a picture of its jaws, seen through a microscope, so as to appear a great deal larger than they really are.

"I do not know, boys, that the masons we have been talking of, show us any _tools_ like those with which men who are masons work; but they show us, at any rate, how to make mortar by kneading or working it together; and they certainly show us that we were not the first who built walls. But there is another kind of mason who works in stone. He picks out the stones which are of proper size, and he fastens them together with mortar really as men do."

"Pray tell us of him, Uncle Philip."

"I will. The insect I mean is the caddis-worm, which is to be found sometimes in ponds, and very often in springs of fresh water. There are several sorts of them, but the one I am thinking of now, builds a stone house to live in. These worms are in the habit of making a little tube, sometimes of sand, or shell, or wood, or leaves, or stones, to live in; and their skill consists in joining these perfectly, and making them stick together. But we are talking now of the caddis-worm that uses stone. What the worm has to do is to make a tube out of small stones, that shall have a hollow about as large as a wheat straw, and be perfectly smooth inside. This is a pretty hard task--at least it would be very hard to us. When the stone-mason wishes a stone of a particular size or shape, and cannot find it, he takes his hammer and breaks one until it will suit; but the caddis-worm has no hammer, and must take the stones just as it finds them. The little insect then has to pick out a great many stones before he gets the right one, because they have so many little rough points about them that it is very difficult to get those which will make the tube perfectly smooth inside. Remember, too, that the bottom or lower side of this stone case has to be pretty nearly smooth, so that the worm can drag it along on the bottom of the spring or pond (for it never comes out of it), and you will see that the picking out of the stones alone is no trifle. But besides this, it has to fasten them together with mortar."

"And can the worm really do this, Uncle Philip? Will not the water wash the mortar all away?"

"It certainly would if it were like common mortar. It was a long time that men lived before they found out a mortar that would remain, and grow hard under water. When they want to build a wall that is to be under the water, they use a cement which is called pozzolana; it is made of lava out of a volcano, and is water-proof. Our caddis-worm has a cement too, which is better than pozzolana, and though it has been tried, it cannot be melted or dissolved in water. Here is a drawing of the stone nest of a caddis-worm."

"Uncle Philip, you said that sometimes these worms built their nests of other things besides stones; let us hear something of them, if you please."

"Very willingly, boys. Some build of shells: here are pictures of their nests.

Some build of leaves, and others of pieces of reed or light bark.

And a curious thing about those which build of light pieces of bark or reed is this, that they will make the top-piece come over so as to hide their heads, and prevent you from seeing them. Some build of sand; and then as the house would be so light that the water running from the spring might wash it down and carry it away, the wonderful little creature takes care to anchor it by fastening a pretty large stone to it when it has nearly finished it. And as the worm anchors it when it is too light, so it lightens it when it is too heavy, by fixing a bit of light wood or hollow straw to it to buoy it up."

"Well, this is truly a wonderful insect. Uncle Philip."

"Truly so indeed, boys. In all these cases it uses its water-proof cement, and if you break its house to pieces, and will patiently watch, you may see it build another. The insect always lives with its head out of doors, and its body inside; so that its head is firm and hard, while its body is soft."

"Uncle Philip," said one of the larger boys, "there is one thing I have been thinking about, as you have been talking: these little masons have no trowel, but I believe I know of one animal that uses something like that tool."

"Ah! What animal is it?"

"Why, I was reading the other day something about the beavers building their dams and their houses, and the book said that they built their houses of logs first, and then plastered them with mud, and that they used their tails for trowels."

"I am very glad to find that you remember what you read; but I am sorry that your book did not tell you the truth. There have been very strange stories told about the beaver; and these stories have been taken from one book and printed in another, so that an untrue account has gone down for a great many years. The beaver is very ingenious, but is not quite so much of a mason as you suppose."

"Well, Uncle Philip, will you tell us the truth about it?"

"Yes, boys, I will, so far as I know it myself. I have seen these animals, for they were once a great deal more common in our country than they are now; and many of the stories told of them are not true. But before I begin, let me tell you of one book which I think does tell the plain truth about them; and the truth is curious enough."

"What book is it, Uncle Philip?"

"It is a book written on American Natural History, by Doctor John Godman. I knew him, boys, and a most excellent man he was. He is now dead--and he died a Christian. The book he wrote you will find worth reading, when you get old enough to understand it. But now for the beaver.

"His tail is very broad and flat at the end, and might be used very well for a trowel; but when he builds his house he does not cut down trees, and place them first, and then fill up the cracks with mud-mortar; but all the sticks and mud (and stones too when the beaver can get them), are first mixed up together, and the beaver builds his house with this from the very foundation. As soon as he has placed a lump of this stuff upon the wall, he turns round and gives it a blow with his flat tail; and that, boys, is all he does with his tail for a trowel. Sometimes he slaps his tail upon the water when he is swimming; and some persons have supposed that this was done by the king, or ruler, to call his workmen. It may be so, but I do not believe it, because they almost always dive as soon as they have slapped the water; and I think it is probably a part of their motion in diving. In the autumn they cover the outside of their houses with mud, and they walk over it as they are at work, and their tails drag along upon it; and this I expect made persons first suppose that they were plastering it, with the tail for a trowel. When they are caught and kept, boys, they still keep up this fashion of slapping with the tail; so that I rather think it is part of the nature of the animal.

"At another time, perhaps, I will tell you more about the beaver; but it is now late, and I must bid you good morning."

"Good day, Uncle Philip."

CONVERSATION VII.

_Uncle Philip talks to the Children about Animals that throw
Dirt with a Spade; and about an Animal with a Hook; and about one
that is a Wire-drawer._

"Boys, I have some men at work digging a small ditch for me, and I wish to see them; will you go with me?"

"Oh, yes--very gladly, Uncle Philip; for you will be sure to tell us of something curious before we come home."

"Come on, then: yonder are the men at work; they have been very industrious, I see."

"But, Uncle Philip, look! There is one of the men putting a bottle to his mouth. Is that right?"

"Yes, boys, right enough; for the bottle has nothing but molasses and water in it; and the man is thirsty, I suppose. I would not employ him if he brought a bottle of spirits out with him, for two reasons. In the first place, I think that I ought not to encourage a man who gets drunk, by employing him; for I would rather give my money to a sober man who will not spend it for rum and brandy, but will take care of his family: and, in the second place, a drunkard would not work faithfully without being watched all the time. I never knew a drunkard who was really and honestly an industrious man."

"See, Uncle Philip, how strong that man is; what a large spadeful of dirt he throws out!"

"Yes, I see, boys: do you think that men had the first spades in the world?"

"Ah! now you are going to tell us something about tools among animals: that is good; we like to hear of that. What animal is it that has a spade?"

"Oh, a very common animal indeed in some parts of our country. The country people call it a _woodchuk_, and sometimes a _ground-hog_: its right name is the marmot; and as there are several sorts, ours is called the Maryland marmot, to distinguish it; but it is in New-York, Connecticut, New-Jersey. Pennsylvania, Virginia, and some of the other states, as well as in Maryland. This is rather a mischievous animal, and does harm to the clover-fields; but it is in making his house that he uses his spade."

"Then he digs his house in the ground. Uncle Philip?"

"Yes; he burrows, or digs his nest in banks of earth, or on the sides of hills; and he has sense enough to make the passage to the inside upwards, instead of downwards, so that water cannot run in. In digging soft earth he uses his fore-paws to loosen the dirt, for his fore-legs are very strong; and if the ground is hard he will use his teeth too. As he gets farther in, he throws the dirt with his fore-paws under his belly, and when he has a heap gathered, he balances himself on his fore-feet, and begins to throw it out with his spades."

"What are his spades, Uncle Philip?"

"His hinder feet, boys, which are very broad, and just fit to take up the dirt as a spade does, and to throw it from him: there is a skin which grows between the toes of his hinder feet, so that he can spread them out when he chooses, like a duck's foot."

"But, Uncle Philip, perhaps they are made so for the sake of _swimming_; the duck's are."

"That is a sensible thought, boys. Always think for yourselves; and when you make a mistake, try again: everybody is mistaken sometimes. Let it teach you to be modest and humble; but do not be afraid to think again. A person who is always thinking cannot _always_ think wrong. Now you suppose the marmot's feet may be made like a duck's for swimming: let me tell you something else, and we shall see what you will think then. The marmot hates a rain as much as you would if you had no umbrella; he very seldom even drinks water, and then only a little; and you cannot drive him into a stream or pond; he is afraid of it. What do you think now?"

"Why, Uncle Philip, we think that he is no swimmer."

"Very true, boys: so his feet, then, you now think, were made for spades, and not for paddles?"

"We do. Can you tell us any thing more about this animal, Uncle Philip?"

"Oh yes. The burrows or holes of the marmot run a great distance under ground, and end in several chambers or rooms, according to the number that is to live in them. They make beds in them of dry leaves, or grass, or any thing soft and dry which they can find. They cram their mouths full of it to carry, when they are making their nests. As soon as cold weather begins, the animal goes into his house, and stops up the hole on the inside; and there he stays till the warm weather has come again.

"He is quite a thief at times. I saw one once which a gentleman had tamed, and he played about the yard; but every thing that he could get hold of which was fit to make his bed of, he was sure to steal, and carry into his hole under ground. When clothes were hung out to dry he would take them off the line, and as soon as any were missed the washerwoman knew very well where they were. She kept a long stick with a hook at the end of it, and with this she drew them out of the burrow. He soon found out what it meant, and whenever she used the stick, it was necessary first to tie him up; for he did not choose to have his bed spoiled, and would run to the hole and try to get in, and prevent the clothes from being drawn out. One day he stole eight pairs of stockings, a towel, and a little girl's frock; and he carried them into his burrow as far as six feet from the entrance.

"But, boys, as we have begun this morning upon the old subject of tools among animals. I will tell you of something which, though not exactly a tool, is a very useful instrument, and is found belonging to a very common creature. Did you ever take notice of a bat?"

"Oh yes, Uncle Philip, often, as they were flying about in a room at night, but not nearer."

"Then you never saw what I mean, I expect. Our common bat, boys, has two very excellent hooks; one on each of what you call its wings: I say what you call its wings, because the bat is not really a bird, but a quadruped; that is, an animal with four feet: and when it is on the ground, any one may see that it is a four-footed animal. If a monkey's paw should be flattened out very much, it would be something like a bat's paw or hand. The long finger-bones are just like the sticks of an umbrella; there is a thin skin between them, and they stretch it out, so that the air underneath will keep them up. When they are on the ground all this is folded up. Their hinder feet have five toes, all small, and ending in sharp claws. On the fore-feet there is but one finger which the bat can use much, because the others are like umbrella-sticks, as I told you; and the end of that one is a hook. Here is a picture, in which you can see it plainly.

When the bat is on the ground, it is hard work for it to get along. At first it will reach forward a little to one side the hooked end of its fore-leg, and stick it in the ground; then it draws its hind-legs under its belly, and raising itself up, just tumbles forward its whole body. At the next step it stretches out the other fore-leg, and hooks it, as it did before, and drawing itself up, tumbles forward again. The bat does not like a level place, because it cannot raise itself in the air from it. When they rest, they hang by the hooks; and here is a drawing of one, resting. In the other picture which I showed you just now the bat was flying."

"Uncle Philip, we did not know before that bats were such curious things; we always thought that they were birds; but if these pictures are like them, these hooks are as good as fish-hooks."

"The pictures, boys, are very much like the animal, and the hooks are just as plain as they seem to be in the drawings. But how often do you suppose that you have seen a bat?"

"Oh, many hundreds of times; for they are very common."

"True, boys; and yet you never knew before that they had hooks about them. Suppose that everybody had done as you have, just passed by the bats, without taking notice of them; I could not have told you then what strange creatures they are, for no person would have known any thing about them. You see, then, that men may have eyes, and yet not see things; because they will not look for them. Use your eyes, boys; God made them to be used."

"But, Uncle Philip, bats are such ugly things! and they can bite, too. We are afraid of them."

"Ugly, boys! And what of that? Will you look at nothing but what is handsome? If the bat could think and speak, I expect he would call you very ugly. But it is foolish, boys, to be afraid of these smaller animals. There are many creatures which might hurt you, and I would advise you to keep out of their way: but it is silly to be afraid of every poor little insect or animal which you see. I have seen a large boy cry when he saw a poor little caterpillar or bug near him. Now there are very few insects, indeed, which can or will hurt you; and a great many of them you may watch without touching them at all. And I think that he is a wicked and cruel boy who kills every poor bug that he sees, merely because he is stronger than the bug. It would be a great deal kinder and wiser in the boy to notice what the bug was doing, for then he might learn something worth knowing."

"But, Uncle Philip, is it wrong to kill _spiders_?"

"Spiders! Why, boys, the spider is one of the very last of these little creatures that I should wish to kill. There is not a more curious little animal in the world, nor one that will pay a man better for watching its motions. At some other time I will tell you all about spiders and ants, for I have noticed them a great deal: but now, just to show you how much you would lose if you should kill all the spiders, I will talk with you about a tool which man uses, and which he might have learned to make from a spider."

"Oh, do tell us; what is it?"

"The next time you go to Mr. Brown's, the silversmith, ask him to show you his plate for drawing out wire. Tell him that I told you to ask him, and he will show it to you. You will see a flat piece of steel with holes made through it in regular lines, beginning with a large size, and growing smaller and smaller until the last is very small indeed.

"Now the wire is drawn through these holes; beginning at the larger ones, and passing every time through the next smaller one, it stretches the wire out, until it becomes as small as the workman wishes it to be.

"The spider is a wire-drawer, too; for it has a contrivance to draw out its threads, and make them smaller or larger, as it pleases. If you will look at a very large spider, you can see with your naked eye, just at the end of its body, four, and sometimes six, little knobs like teats, with a circle around them. These are its spinners. Each one of these small knobs, inside of that circle, is so full of little holes or tubes, that Mr. Reaumur (of whom I told you before, you will recollect) calculated that a place no larger than the point of a pin had a thousand of these little holes in it. These holes are sometimes so very small, that another gentleman,[8] who looked at spiders through a microscope very often, thought it would take four millions of the threads which came through those holes to make one thread as thick as a hair of his beard. Here is a picture of a spider hanging by a thread coming out of its spinner, or, as it is sometimes called, its spinneret."

"Then, Uncle Philip, the spider does not spin its thread all at once?"

"No, boys. Fine as you see that thread to be, it is not one single line, but it is made of many thousands joined together. The spiders have little bags of gum within their bodies, near their spinners, and out of these they draw the threads: when they have come out about the tenth part of an inch, they join them all into one with their claws; and they can shut their spinners when they please, so as to make the threads longer or shorter; and they can break them off, too, when they wish."

"But, Uncle Philip, we do not see why there should be so many threads to make up one."

"I cannot exactly tell you, boys, why there are so many; but probably to make the thread dry quicker, by letting the air touch so many parts of it: and I expect, too, the thread is stronger, because we know that in two pieces of cord of one size, if one is made of several smaller cords put together, it will be stronger than the other, which was spun all at once. The following is a picture of the spider's spinnerets, and some of the threads as it appears through the microscope; only you must recollect that _all_ the threads are not drawn: there are a great many more than you see in the picture."

FOOTNOTE:

[8] Leuwenhoek.

CONVERSATION VIII.

_Uncle Philip tells the Children of a Door, with a Hinge and
Spring to it, made by a Spider; and shows them Pictures to let them
see the Difference between God's Work and Man's._

"I was thinking, boys, last night, of what you said about killing the poor spiders; and I was sorry that I did not then recollect one thing about a spider which I could have told you, and which would have made you like the poor little creatures better. However, I determined that when you came to see me again, it should be the first thing I would tell you, if you wished to hear it."

"Wish to hear it! Why, Uncle Philip, we always wish to hear you tell us of any thing that you please to talk about. You have told us of a great many strange things, about which we knew nothing before; and we will thank you to tell us the story about the spider."

"Very well, boys; you shall hear it. Pray, do you not think that it is a piece of difficult work to make a door to a house, and to make hinges to hang it with, and to fit it so nicely that when it is done you cannot see the joints where the door is shut?"

"Indeed it is a piece of very hard work. Uncle Philip, and it takes the carpenter a long time to do it; and it is hard work, too, for the blacksmith to make the hinges. But what has that to do with the story about the spider?"

"Patience, boys, patience: you shall know presently. Never be in too great a hurry: it is a bad plan. I have always noticed that those persons who hurried most, went slowest in the end. Another question I wish to ask you is this,--do you not think it was hard work for the first man who ever made a spring, and put it on a door, to make it shut itself again when it had been opened?"

"Yes, it was so: and the man who does it now gets well paid for it."

"Very good, boys. And now what will you say when I tell you that a poor little spider did all these things long before man did?"

"What, Uncle Philip! A spider make a door with a hinge and a spring to make it shut itself!"

"Yes, boys; a spider. Do you think he deserves to be killed for doing it?"

"Oh no, no! But pray tell us all about it. Uncle Philip."

"This kind of spider, then, boys, I saw in Jamaica, and I saw its house, too. It is called the mason-spider. The nest or house which I saw was a tube made of very hard clay, about six inches long, and an inch across, and was a little bent at one end. The inside of this tube was lined all the way through with a kind of soft silky stuff, something like silk-paper, but stronger, and it was of a yellowish colour; but the curious part was the door. I never saw any thing which an insect had made more strange than that. This door was round, about as large as a quarter of a dollar, and was a little hollowed on the upper side like a saucer; the inside of it was rounded like the outside of the saucer. It was of the same stuff with the lining of the nest, and seemed to be made of more than a dozen pieces of that lining, put one on the top of another: it was shaped so, too, that the inside layers or pieces were the broadest, and the outside ones became smaller and smaller, except at the hinge, which was about an inch long. All the pieces in the door were joined into this hinge, and then the hinge was joined and worked into the lining in the tube. That made the hinge the thickest and strongest part of the whole work. How the spider made it so, boys, I cannot tell; but so it was, that this hinge not only was a hinge, but was so good a spring, that whenever the door was opened it would shut itself immediately: and when shut, it fitted so nicely that it was very difficult to see the place of joining."

"Well, Uncle Philip, this is most wonderful! But will not the hinge wear out at last?"

"Wonderful as it is, boys, it is all true. As to its wearing out, I cannot tell you; but I know that a gentleman who had one, said that his friends were very anxious to see it; and there were so many of them, that he had to open the door and let it shut itself many hundreds of times to satisfy them; and it did not hurt the spring at all."

"Uncle Philip, we shall not kill the poor spiders any more."

"A good resolution, boys: only let them alone, and they will not hurt you. There is another kind of mason-spider, which I never saw, but I have read of it. It is found in the south of France; I did not happen, however, to meet with one while I was in that beautiful country. This kind digs a gallery or hole under ground as much as a foot deep. She lines it with a sort of silk glued to the walls, and makes her door, which is round also, with many layers of mud or earth all kneaded and bound together with some of her silk. On the outside, the door is flat and rough, to make it appear like the dirt around it, and hide it; on the inside it is shaped like the inside of the door of the other spider I have told you about; and all covered with a coat of fine silk. The threads of this silk are left long on one side, and fastened to the upper part of the hole; and these make the hinge. There is no spring to this; but when the spider pushes its door open and comes out, it shuts again by its own weight. If this door is forced open by any one when the spider is at home, she will catch hold of it and pull it in; and sometimes even when it is half-opened; she will snatch it out of the hand. Here is a picture which shows the nest open, and another of it shut; and there is a drawing of the spider, too.

A gentleman says, in a book which he wrote about insects, that he once broke one of these doors off, to see what the spider would do."

"And what did she do, Uncle Philip?"

"She made another door; but took very good care not to put any hinge to it, for fear she should be disturbed again. But when she thought all danger was gone, she could then put a hinge to it, you know; and probably she did."

"Well, Uncle Philip, we thank you again for this account of the spiders, and shall always look at them hereafter with more pleasure. Who would have thought that we should ever find doors and hinges among such little creatures, and these too so very well made and fitted!"

"Why, boys, I have noticed the works of God very often; and I will now tell you one thing which I always found. It is this: a piece of the very best work which man can make is really coarse when you compare it with the work of God. The poor spider that we have talked about, when she makes her door, makes it to fit perfectly; because in doing that one thing, God made her to know perfectly how to do it. The knowledge is God's, boys; but the work is the spider's: but in making any thing else, except about her house, the spider knows nothing."

"Uncle Philip, you told us once that you were very fond of watching all sorts of dumb animals, and we think now that we know the reason."

"Well, what is it?"

"It is because you see so much of God's knowledge in them; is it not?"

"Yes, my dear boys, it is. When I look at many things which man makes or does, I think to myself, 'Now this thing is likely to have a mixture of sense and nonsense in it; the sense is God's, and the nonsense is man's.' But when I look at a thing made by one of the dumb creatures for its own comfort and safety, like the spider's house, with its door and hinge, for instance, I say to myself, 'Now here is the wisdom of God, without any of man's nonsense.' And yet, boys, men are far wiser than any other animal in this world."