those which belong to the great Backboned Family and those which have no
backbone. It is of the latter that we shall speak today. You know that a
fish has a backbone, and that it is beautifully formed, for you have often
seen it; but perhaps you have not noticed that a lobster, though called one
of the shell-fish, is quite unlike the true Fishes: its skeleton is not
inside, but outside; there are no bones within, but all the soft parts are
inside, and the hard parts outside; while the body of a fish is formed on
just the opposite plan. The fish is called a _Vertebrate_ animal, because
it has a backbone, made up of numbers of separate bones called vertebras.
Some of us know that this word comes from the Latin, and means _that which
turns_, because these many small bones are so beautifully jointed together
as to be all perfectly moveable, so that the long bone which they form is
very flexible. Some snakes have more than three hundred of these vertebræ,
and you know how they can coil and twist their glittering length.
The marks of a Vertebrate animal are very easy to remember.
It must have this wonderfully jointed backbone, and also what is called the
skeleton, which is a framework of bone.
A spinal cord (from which this division of animals is sometimes called the
"Chordate").
Four limbs, and red blood.
In these respects all the animals which belong to this division are alike,
though in general appearance they may be as unlike each other as a horse is
unlike a bird, or a crocodile unlike a herring.
Few things in nature are more wonderful than the way in which this
Vertebrate plan has been fitted to animals differing from each other in all
other respects.
Now let us look at the marks of an Invertebrate or Inchordate animal.
It has _no backbone_, and instead of a bony framework _within_, to support
the soft parts of its body, it generally has a hard shell, or thickened
skin _outside_, to protect the softer inner parts.
It has _no red blood_.
Now, just as plants have been arranged in different classes, so animals are
classified according to the various plans upon which they have been
formed. So, besides the two great divisions of the Vertebrates and the
Invertebrates, the latter have been classed as--
(a) _Radiata_, or Rayed Animals--those whose parts all radiate from a
common centre--such as the starfish, red-coral, sea-anemone.
(b) _Mollusca_, or Soft-bodied Animals, protected by shells--such as
snails, oysters, limpets. (The members of this family are numerous indeed).
(c) _Annulosa_, or Ringed Animals--those whose bodies are composed of many
parts, jointed together--such as crabs, spiders, bees, ants, centipedes,
shrimps, and many more; for this great family has relations among all the
insect tribes.
It is very beautiful to see that God has formed His creatures on such
different plans, and though we shall be able to say very little about them,
I hope you will by-and-by study Natural History, and learn more and more
of His care in fitting each for the life it has to live. But remember that
all these types of animals, the Radiates, Molluscs, Articulates (as the
members of the "ringed" family are sometimes sailed), existed in the most
ancient times: they lived side by side, as it were, and were not, as some
philosophers would have us believe, derived from each other. Each was
"after its kind," and each species remains; animals may alter from changes
in their way of life, but there is no passing from one _kind_ to another.
Now I think you will be interested to hear that in the Stone Book, some
of the most ancient "letters" are formed from creatures belonging to the
Invertebrate Group. We were speaking just now of the white clay brought up
from the depths of the Atlantic Ocean by the sounding line. The microscope
shows that it consists of the imperishable part of creatures, tinier than
any you can imagine, which had the power when living of extracting from the
sea-water--as I told you is the way of the corals--the lime which formed
their outer coat, or skeleton. These busy workers lived their little day,
and then as they died, the shell-like coverings sank to the bottom of the
sea, forming, as ages passed, thick beds of chalk, such as that of which
the white cliffs of Dover are built up.
Then, as the sounding-line searches still deeper ocean-depths, it brings up
a red clay, and this again is shown by the microscope to be composed partly
of very minute creatures of a reddish colour, which live near the surface
of the ocean, but when they die sink to the bottom.
Sponges, too, which form the home of great numbers of little radiates, grow
upon the ocean floor or near the bottom of the sea; their tiny tenants,
like minute cells, living upon still smaller creatures contained in the
water which is held by the sponge.
And we are told that in some places the bottom of the sea is strewn with
star-fishes and their relations, some of them very beautiful in form and
colour, but all formed on the same plan of a central plate, from which five
arms or fingers radiate.
Do we not better understand that the waters did indeed "swarm with swarms"
when we learn even a little about these living creatures, many of them
so small that we should not be aware of their existence if we had no
microscope to reveal to us their countless myriads?
The Mollusca form a very large group of Invertebrate animals; they live
on land as well as in the water, but the aquatic species are much more
numerous than the terrestrial, and the deep-sea dredgings are constantly
bringing to light new forms. Some of the shells which protect their soft
bodies, and are formed by the animals themselves, are marvels of beauty,
and many of them are secured from injury by a waterproof coating. A number
of extinct animals, such as Ammonites and Belemnites, belong to this
group--their shells may be seen in any good museum; those of the
Belemnites, as their name implies, are shaped like a dart; those of the
Ammonites, like that of the beautiful Nautilus of our times; but the
fisherfolk of Whitby, where they are found in numbers, say they are "snakes
turned to stone."
But as we have been speaking so much of sea-creatures, I think we will
now leave the oysters, cockles, mussels, and razor-fish, and choose the
familiar garden-snail as our specimen of the Mollusca, or Soft-bodied
Family. I fancy you need no introduction to that snug little householder.
Often, however, as you have touched his soft horns, you possibly do not
know that the very house in which you first made his acquaintance has been
his habitation ever since; for young snails come from the egg with the
shell upon their backs, and they never quit that first house for a larger
one, for as they grow, their shell-house grows too. Look at this empty
snail shell, and say whether God has not given a beautiful coat of mail to
protect a creature without a bone in its body, and so sensitive that
"Give but his horns the slightest touch,
His self-collecting power is such,
He shrinks into his house, with much
Displeasure."
But _how_ does the house grow large so as to suit the growing tenant? Most
shells are made from a part of the animal called the mantle, and increase
round the rim; if the snail's house is broken, its slime will harden over
the injured part and repair it. Then, when the cold weather comes, and the
snail prepares to bury itself underground for several months, and take
its winter nap, it makes a strong cement of earth and slime, with which
it builds up the open part of its shell--but, wonderful to think of, the
clever little mason leaves, as it were, one brick out of the wall, and thus
there is a tiny opening, too small to let in the water, but large enough to
admit air sufficient to keep him alive during his long sleep.
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.
[Illustration: THE GARDEN SPIDER.]
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.
[Illustration: MOUNTAIN PEAKS.]
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."