"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. [Illustration: A, the Nest shut; B, the Nest open; C, the Spider; D, the Eyes, magnified; E, F, Parts of the Foot and Claw magnified.] 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?"