"The spider taketh hold with her hands, and is in kings' palaces," says the wise man in Proverbs xxx. 28. What a picture in a few simple words of the industry, courage and perseverance with which this little creature is gifted! and of the reward which would seem to be implied. Shall we seem to be straining the image if we allow our thoughts to be carried by this picture to the home of our heavenly King, where, as we are promised, our eyes shall see Him "in His beauty"? "To patient faith," says the hymn, "the prize is sure." The spider, we might say, is essentially of an aspiring nature. She weaves her net high up in corners where the duster and broom of the busy housemaid will not easily reach her. She fasts long and is not drawn away from the spot where she expects to get the reward of her patience. Many of us can work hard and well by fits and starts, but we weary of sustained effort, and we are "found sleeping." Or like the pilgrims to the Celestial City we are tempted to stray and delight ourselves in flowery "Bypath meadows." Play, healthy recreation, we must have, but it must be such as helps us in the race of life and not such as weakens our purpose and hinders us from reaching the desired goal. I look back sometimes on the companions of my girlhood, and I must often acknowledge that certain boys and girls whom we were wont to reproach as being dull plodders, have beaten many of their fellows in the battle of life. There is a species of spider which carries, attached to her body, a round, white, silky bag of eggs, just about as big as a pea. It is heavy, but nothing would induce the affectionate mother to part with it. The French naturalist, Bonnet, in order to test this love for her offspring, once threw such a mother spider into the hole of an ant-lion, in the sand where the great insect lay in hiding for its prey. The poor spider tried to run away but the ant-lion caught at the bag of eggs and tried to drag it under the sand. At last he succeeded in breaking the gluten by which her bag was attached to her. Instantly the spider seized this in her jaws and she struggled hard to bear it away. It was in vain however; her precious burden was dragged under. Then the poor mother might have escaped with her own life, but she preferred death to the loss of her offspring, and if the naturalist had not taken her out of the pit she would have been buried with them. She would not leave the spot however, although Bonnet tried to make her do so, by moving her with a little twig, over and over again. In reading this one cannot help wishing that she had not been so tortured. Some of our scientists, as I said before, have pushed their studies of moral qualities in the so-called brute world to a most unjustifiable extent, it would seem.