"It is another's fault if he be ungrateful, but it is mine if I do not give. To find one thankful man I will oblige many that are not so." -SENECA.

AVE insects, whose power of vision appears to differ from our own, any perception of musical sounds?

That is a question which is not easily determined. Ants do not appear conscious of sound. Everybody knows how black beetles will scamper off when a footstep approaches; but then, perhaps the vibration of the floor is appreciated by them, for, without doubt, if the compound antennæ are not organs of hearing, in a very remarkable manner they are of feeling. My own opinion is that both senses in insects are combined in the antennæ; indeed, more so, that there is a trinity of purpose in themthat what our tongue, fingers, and ears are to us severally, the antennæ are to insects unitedly.

Here is a story illustrating the influence of a tuning-fork on the garden spider.

While watching some spiders spinning their beautiful geometrical webs in the garden, it occurred to an observant

entomologist to try what effect the sounding of a tuningfork would have upon them. Let me give you his words: "On sounding an A fork," he says, "and lightly touching it with any leaf or other support of the web, the spider, if at the centre of the web, rapidly flew round so as to face the direction of the fork, feeling with its fore-feet along which radial thread the vibration was travelling. Satisfied on this point, it next darts along that thread till it either reaches the fork itself or a junction of two or more threads, the right one of which it instantly determines as before. If the fork is not removed when the spider has arrived, it seems to have the same charm as any fly; for the spider seizes it, embraces it, and runs about the legs of the fork as often as it is made to sound, never seeming to learn by experience that other things may buzz besides its natural food.

"If the spider is not at the centre of the web at the time the fork is applied, it cannot tell which way to go until it has been to the centre to ascertain which radial thread is vibrating; unless, of course, it should happen to be on that particular thread, or on a stretched supporting thread in contact with the fork.

"If when a spider has been enticed to the edge of the web the fork is withdrawn, and then gradually brought near, the spider is aware of its presence and of its direction, and reaches out as far as possible in the direction of the fork. But if a sounding-fork is gradually brought near a spider that has not been disturbed, but which is awaiting as usual in the middle of the web, then, instead of reaching out towards the fork, the spider instantly drops-at the end of a thread, of course. If under these conditions

the fork is made to touch any part of the web, the spider is aware of the fact, and climbs the thread and reaches the fork with marvellous rapidity. The spider never leaves the centre of the web without making another thread along which to travel back (!) If after enticing a

spider out we cut this thread with a pair of scissors, the spider seems to be unable to get back without doing considerable damage to the web, generally gumming together the sticky parallel threads in groups of three or four. By means of a tuning-fork a spider may be made to eat what it would otherwise avoid. I took a fly that had been drowned in paraffin and put it into the spider's web, and then attracted the spider by touching the fly with a fork. When the spider had come to the conclusion that it was not suitable food, and was leaving it, I touched the fly again. This had the same effect as before; and as often as the spider began to leave the fly I again touched it, and by this means compelled the spider to eat a large portion of the fly."

I am reminded in this story of the striking resemblance between the spider's web with the threads running from the centre to the circumference, and the spider detecting the sound which came from that thread which was touched with the tuning-fork, of the "switch-board" of the telephone, to which the connection is made between two parties at the central station before they can be brought into direct communication. What the wire is in the case of the telephone, the web is in the case of the spider.

That some insects appreciate sound there is no doubt. A garden spider when closely watched exhibits nearly the same excitement at the sound of a fly that the carnivora do in the Zoological Gardens when their feeding-time approaches.

In the story of Silvio Pellico, who suffered much under the Austrian Government when it exercised the most despotic influence amongst politicians, there occurs this reference to insects as affording an instance of the effect of kindness upon ants and spiders. "Seeing human creatures so rarely," wrote the prisoner, "I turned my attention to some ants which came to my window, and I fed

them so sumptuously that they brought a whole army of their companions, and my window was soon filled. I occupied myself also with a spider which spun its web on one of the walls; I gave it gnats and flies, and it became so familiar as to come upon my bed and into my hand to seize its prey."

In the chapter upon instinct you must have almost reached the conclusion that animals are possessed of the power of reasoning. Such is very observable in many quadrupeds and birds. Every observer of Nature knows that when the skylark has a brood of eggs in her nest on the ground she will allure you from the locality by inviting your attention to her song, neither will she fly down into her ground-built home, but at some distance from it, and then, step by step, approach it in a manner that escapes your detection.

The disciples of evolution will try to make us believe this is simply the result of habit and desire, a natural law-and so it is; but who ever heard of* a law without a law-maker? Who and what is " Nature?" Who implanted the habit and desire in the bird?

Take another case. Among all insects-although, speaking correctly, spiders are not "insects," the body is not insected; the method of breathing is different to that of a true insect; the feet, moreover, are eight instead of six, and the antennæ are entirely different—of the whole family of spiders, and it is a very large one, perhaps the trapdoor is the most cunning and clever, affording a remarkable instance of reasoning power in so small an animal.

In the latter part of the Book of Job, one whole chapter consisting of thirty-four verses is occupied in describing the structure and habits of the then largest known animal, the crocodile; and by reason of its great power and impenetrable armour the lesson is read, "None is so fierce that dare stir him up; who, then, is able to stand before Me?" May we not, after a similar manner, argue in respect of the New Zealand trap-dcor spider? This creature is so