Have you ever looked through a telescope at the moon? I have. Last summer I was staying at a seaside town, and one evening I noticed a crowd gathered on the sands. As I came nearer, I found that a man was showing the moon and planets through his telescope to any who wished to see what they could see. He was selling peeps through the telescope, which was a pretty good-sized one, at a penny a peep. Now, though I had read a great deal about the moon, and had seen in books photographs of what are called lunar landscapes, I had never once had a chance of looking at her face through anything but a bit of smoked glass, at the time of an eclipse.
So I paid my penny, and when my turn came I stood upon the stool and had my peep. I can only tell you that the moon did not look nearly so beautiful to me through the showman's little telescope as she did when my peep was over, and I saw her once more sailing through the deep blue of the sky, the queen of night indeed.
I had read that astronomers had found that the nearer their great telescopes brought them to the moon, the more like a barren rock she became, and when I had this nearer view of her than ever before, she looked to me just as she had been described, like "a burnt-out cinder."
You know the shadowy figure which you can see, sometimes more distinctly than at others, on the face of the moon (when I was a child I was told that it was "the man in the moon"!), this appearance is caused by deep valleys, or by the shadows of terrible mountain peaks, which were once volcanoes, throwing out smoke and lava. While I was looking through his telescope, the showman pointed out to me two of the highest of these peaks, and told me their names, that is the names which the astronomers had given them; for these rocky heights have been marked upon maps of the moon, just as the Welsh mountains are marked upon the map of England and Wales. Upon these maps we can find Mount Tycho, Mount Gassendi, Mount Copernicus—all of them extinct volcanoes—and the name of Apennines has been given to a vast mountain-chain; and the heights of all these mountain peaks have been ascertained by measuring the shadows cast by them. There are oceans and seas also marked upon these moon-maps, but they were named at a time when it was not yet known that they were great plains; for, as I told you, no trace of water, cloud, or even mist has been discovered there.
Are you sorry to hear that the moon which looks so lovely to our sight, is found by those who can get a nearer view to be such a weird and desolate place that it seemed as if only death reigned there? I know I was, when first I read about it, and saw a picture of the moon, and wondered at its bare mountain peaks, with their rugged craters and dreadful precipices, and its "Ocean of Storms" and "Lake of Death," as two of the sea-like plains have been called. I wondered how it could have become, as it were, like a dead earth; but this is one of the things which God has not told us about. What He has told us is that He made this "lesser light to rule the night," and as she moves over the sky in her calm silent beauty, she speaks to us of His goodness in giving not only the sun to rule by day, but the moon and stars to rule by night, those wonderful stars whose silent voice is ever making known His power, and telling of His glory; as the poet Addison has beautifully said—
"For ever singing as they shine,
The hand that made us is Divine!"
This is a long chapter, but we have been speaking of a vast subject, and before I close it, I want to refer to two wonderful things about the stars, to which God draws our attention in His word. He tells us that "one star differeth from another star in glory," and astronomers have discovered that there was a deeper truth than they at first imagined underlying these words.
But what I specially want to speak of for a moment is the number of these heavenly bodies, and their distance from us.
In the hundred and thirty-seventh Psalm, two verses are placed close together, the one speaking of the power and greatness of God, the other of His tenderness and compassion towards His creatures.
"He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds."
"He telleth the number of the stars; He calleth them all by names."
And in the Book of Job we read—
"Is not God in the height of heaven? And behold the height of the stars, how high they are!"
There are wonderful things to learn about the colour of the stars, some yellow like our own sun, others of a dazzling whiteness, and others giving out beautiful rainbow-coloured light. But these wonders you must study by-and-by; just now we will speak first of their amazing number, as they appear to our eyes when by the help of the telescope we peer deeper and deeper into the blue depths of the sky. When alluding to the stars in a general way we include the seven planets—one of them our own earth—which move round our sun, and are as it were so near home that five of them may be seen without the telescope—though not more than three are visible at the same time—and also those myriads of "fixed stars," all of which are suns, many of them much larger than our own glorious sun, and removed from our ken by distances which our minds refuse to grasp.
I have been told that the number of stars which can be seen with the naked eye is five thousand, but that only half that number are visible at the same time.
If you ask me how many can be seen with the help of the telescope, I cannot tell you, because more powerful glasses are constantly being made, only to discover worlds beyond worlds, ever new and more distant, strewn in space like golden dust, while stars hitherto invisible through the most powerful telescope can now be made to leave the impress of their rays upon the photographic plate—so that a great astronomer of our time can show us pictures of "invisible stars."
God who made them, God who has appointed to each its own path through the heavens, and also guides and controls each world and system of worlds in its course, so that in all His universe there is no jar, no clash, no being before or after time—He alone can tell their number.
And when we consider their height, their amazing distance from us and from, each other, the wonder only grows.
If we think of the worlds hung in space like our own, our nearest neighbour among them, the "red planet Mars," is thirty-five millions of miles away, while the grand planet Saturn—the "ringed world"—though lighted up by our sun, is so distant, so "high," that the ever-hasting traveller whom we imagined some time ago rushing through space at the speed of an express train, would take two thousand years on his endless journey. Yet Saturn's rays actually come to our eyes from this vast infinity of distance—while the light of the nearest star—and you know we say "quick as light"—takes more than four years to reach us.
These things, so far beyond our scanty thoughts to conceive, are indeed too great for us, but how simply the Bible speaks of them—
"By the word of the LORD were the heavens made; and all the host of them by the breath of His mouth."
"By His spirit HE hath garnished the heavens."
"It is HE that buildeth His storeys in the heavens."
In the next chapter you will read a true story which I told my scholars as a reward for their attention while we had been speaking on a very difficult subject. I hope you will be as much interested in John Britt as they were.
Here are some beautiful verses, speaking of the way in which "the heavens declare the glory of God," and my story shows how they may "utter forth a glorious voice" to ears closed to every earthly sound.
"The spacious firmament on high,
With all the blue ethereal sky,
The spangled heavens, a shining frame,
Their great original proclaim.
Th' unwearied sun, from day to day,
Doth his Creator's power display.
And publishes to every land
The work of an Almighty Hand.
"Soon as the evening shades prevail,
The moon takes up the wondrous tale,
And nightly to the list'ning earth,
Repeats the story of her birth:
While all the stars that round her burn,
And all the planets in their turn,
Confirm the tidings as they roll,
And spread the truth from pole to pole.
"What though, in solemn silence all
Move round this dark terrestrial ball;
What though no real voice nor sound
Amidst their radient orbs be found;
In reason's ear they all rejoice,
And utter forth a glorious voice;
For ever singing as they shine—
The hand that made us is Divine."
ADDISON
STORY OF A DEAF BOY WHO HEARD THE SUN PROCLAIM THE GLORY OF GOD.
This story is about an Irish boy who was deaf and dumb. Do you know what that means? Thank God, you who cannot know. I have been in a school where every scholar was deaf and dumb. These children had been patiently taught the finger language, and they had also learnt to express themselves by the quicker language of signs, so that they could understand a great deal, and could do many clever things; but it made me very sad to see so many of them at once, for I knew that this world was to them a silent world. They could see people speak and smile, but never hear one sound; they might watch the fingers of anyone who was playing the piano move quickly over the keys, but not one note of music could reach them. Think how sad it must be never to have heard your mother's voice, never to be able to speak to those you love except by signs, which can tell so little of what you want to say, even if they are understood. Ah, you cannot tell how sad it is! Ernest and Sharley and May were with me when we went to the school; and when some of the elder boys acted little plays, just as you might act "dumb charades," to amuse the visitors, they were delighted with their cleverness, and laughed heartily; and I daresay the boys were pleased to see them laugh, though they could not hear them. These boys spoke very quickly on their fingers, and wrote beautifully on the black board, in answer to questions which they were asked. I do not remember what these questions and answers were; but I know we all thought some of the questions too difficult, and wondered at the good and thoughtful answers which were given. They reminded me of the reply to a difficult question I once saw a deaf and dumb boy write.
The teacher of his school asked the visitors who had come to see it, to put any questions they liked to the boys. Some questions in history and geography and arithmetic were asked and answered; and then a lady said, "Ask them to tell what is the amount of the Christian's riches."
There was a pause; but presently a boy of fourteen stepped forward, took the chalk, and wrote this text as the answer: "Having nothing, and yet possessing all things." I think he must have known what it is to be "rich unto God."
It is sad to think that when the ear, that "gateway of knowledge," is shut, a poor child may, for want of teaching, and often for want of love and sympathy, grow up almost like an animal; his friends thinking him stupid, because he cannot ask questions or tell anything that is in his mind, until at last he really becomes stupid, and his mind grows dull from want of use.
I am glad to tell you that a way has lately been found, by which children who have never heard a sound may be taught, not only to understand the speech of others, but to speak themselves. It is true that their talk sounds strange and unnatural, and is not easy to understand, but where this method is known it makes a wonderful difference in the lives of the poor children who have been so cut off from intercourse with others. By carefully watching the lips of their teachers, those who learn this "lip-reading" can tell what is said, and I have seen them write it down, just as you would write a dictation lesson; and quite as correct, though they only see the words, and you hear them. But before they have learned to understand in this way, and still more before they have learned to speak, great patience is needed, both in teachers and children. I have heard that in the schools where lip-reading is taught, the children are forbidden to make signs to each other or talk on their fingers, and so some of them learn this much better plan wonderfully quickly.
Sometimes children become deaf after a fever, sometimes from a fall or a heavy blow, or from a fright; some are born so. I do not know how it happened in the case of this boy whose story I want to tell you, because the lady who has written an account of him never knew him till he was eleven years old; but I think he must either have been born deaf, or have lost his hearing when he was a baby, for he had never spoken a word, and up to the time when his story begins he had never been taught anything. His name was John Britt, but everybody called him Jack; not that it mattered to him what, he was called, for he had never heard his own name, nor the shouts of the boys with whom he played, nor the crowing of the cocks, as they flapped their wings in his mother's yard; all the world was dumb and silent to poor Jack.
When he first came to the house of the lady who was to be such a kind friend to him, Jack looked a very stupid boy. I am sure he was shy too, for he had never before been in any house but the poor little cottage where he was born, or the cottages of the neighbour folk; and when this lady from England tried to make him understand that she wanted to be friends with him, he kept looking round at all the fine things in her drawing-room. Some people would have thought him a very rude boy, but she only watched him with pitying eyes, and longed to teach him about God. But how could she begin to teach him, since he could not hear a word she said?
This was what May was most anxious to know; and I could not tell her how the very beginning was made, nor how Jack liked his first lesson. It must have been a very difficult task, but you know what you have often heard, "Where there's a will there's a way." Jack's lady greatly longed to do something for the poor boy; she was deaf herself, and was obliged to use an ear trumpet, by which the voices of those who spoke to her were brought nearer to her ear, and perhaps this made her pity one who had never heard at all, more than she might otherwise have done. But God had given her a feeling of love and tenderness towards him, and a great longing and earnest purpose to help him, and He showed her the way to put His truth within the reach of this poor boy, whose life had been almost as lonely as if he had been, shut up in prison, and gave her faith and patience, and courage to undertake what seemed a hopeless task. One of the things she did was to get a box of letters, and she held Jack's hand while he copied them on a slate—I think this must have been his first real lesson—and when he had copied the letters a great many times, without any idea of what he was doing, but just to please his kind friend, she took the three letters D-O-G and put them together. Her pet dog was lying in his basket by the fire, and she pointed to him, and then pointed to the letters, and after she had done this over and over again many times, she saw that the boy was beginning to understand that the letters, in some strange way, must have something to do with the dog. When this step was gained, she threw the D, O, and G back into the box, and Jack had to pick the three letters out, one by one, and put them together again. Then, when this word was quite learnt, she taught him the names of other things which he knew—all in three letters—and last of all showed him how to make the letters on his fingers, teaching him what is called the deaf and dumb alphabet.
All this seemed a pleasant game to poor Jack, and he little thought that he was being taught to read, and to speak on his fingers while he was playing at it. As time went on, the boy became very quick at this game; he knew how to write a great many words, and to spell them in the finger alphabet, and the more he learnt the more he wanted to know. He now began to bring all sorts of things to his teacher, spelling "W-h-a-t, what," on his fingers again and again, until she had taught him their names. She saw that his mind, which had been almost asleep, was fast waking up, and she prayed God to show her how to teach this child not only words and names, but that "fear of the Lord" which "is the beginning of knowledge."
Jack's lady well knew that though he was so clever and quick at learning, he knew nothing about the God who had made him for Himself, nor about the Lord Jesus Christ who had paid such a price—His own precious blood—to redeem poor Jack, and buy him back for God. She never forgot while teaching him, that he had within him a priceless treasure of which he knew nothing—that immortal spirit which must go on living always, somewhere—and so, more and more earnestly her cry went up to God: "Teach me how to teach this boy about Thee!"
At last the opportunity come. One day Jack pointed upwards at the sun, and showed by signs that he wished to know who had made that great light in the sky—had his lady made it?
She shook her head, as he next made signs for the names of two or three people, asking whether the sun had been made by them; and then she pointed to heaven and spelled G-O-D. She told him three things about God: He was great, He was kind, He was always looking at Jack.
Soon after this the boy came again with his eager "What? what?"—and explained that he could not find out how the sun was made, because it was so bright that he could not keep looking at it; but he said he knew all about the moon. It was rolled up into a ball and then sent across the sky, just as he would roll a marble along the floor. And the stars—he knew all about them too; someone had cut them out with a pair of scissors, and stuck them into the sky.
I need not tell you that the children, who had just been learning that the stars are suns, were much amused at this notion of Jack's.
And now this poor boy began to search for God. He came to his lady and told her that she was "bad Ma'am," and had told what was not true; for he said he had been everywhere to look for God, he had even got up in the night to try to find Him; but nowhere, in the streets or in the fields, had he seen anyone tall enough to reach the sky, so that he could put up his hand and stick the bright stars there. And so he repeated many times, "God, no; God, no," until she could not bear to hear him; for she knew that Satan was trying to take away from him the thought of God, and make this poor boy like the fool of whom the fourteenth Psalm speaks, who "said in his heart, No God." Jack's lady was silent, for she knew not what to say; but again she prayed to God to teach her how to teach him; and then she did what the boy thought a very strange thing, and I am sure you will think it so too.
A pair of bellows was hanging beside the fire; she took them and began to blow the hot coals into a ruddy flame. Then suddenly she turned to Jack and blew puff, puff, at his hand. He did not like the cold air, and shrank back. When she blew again, saying, "What? what?" just as he had done, he got angry and said she was bad, and it made him cold. She still pretended to be very much surprised that he should feel anything uncomfortable, and looked all over the bellows as if in search of something; then she blew again, and explained that she could not see anything, repeating just as he had done, "Wind, no: wind, no."
With joy and wonder she saw that her lesson had been understood. Putting two fingers side by side—the only way which he could think of to express likeness—Jack repeated over and over, "God like wind; God like wind."
After this he often spoke of God; once when he had been trying to look at the sun, he shut his dazzled eyes and spelt on his fingers, "God like sun." The lightning was to him "God's eye"; the rainbow, "God's smile"; and of living creatures he would say, patting them kindly, "God made, God made."
About this time, while Jack's lady was still praying for him, and asking God to show her how to teach him the sweet story of the love of the Lord Jesus Christ his Saviour, a fever came to the place, and the boy saw the strange and sad sight of many funerals passing along the road, as one and another of those whom he had known when they were strong and well, fell sick and died. One day he spoke about them, asking by signs whether they would ever open their eyes again. Without answering his eager question, the lady took a piece of paper and began to draw, and Jack stood by looking at her. It was a strange picture, and she went on explaining it as she drew. First Jack saw a crowd of people—men and women, boys and girls—and his teacher told him to look at them well, for he, Jack, was in that crowd—everybody was there. Then she drew a great pit, and out of it came flames; and she told him that all in that crowd were "bad, bad," and that God was very angry with these bad people, and said they must all go into that dreadful pit.
Poor Jack looked in her face with a frightened stare; he knew that he was in that crowd, that he was one of those bad people. "Must I go there?" his anxious look seemed to ask. Still she did not speak, but went on drawing, and as she drew one man, standing alone, she told Jack that He was the Son of God, come down from heaven—come to die instead of that crowd of bad people, so that they might be saved from that dreadful pit. Then it was her turn to look anxiously into the boy's face. Had her poor Jack understood the picture?
Yes, he had understood; and his next question showed that he was thinking earnestly of what she had told him.
Pointing to the crowd of people, he said they were "many, very many"; but the Man who come to die instead of them was "One, only One"; and then again he asked, "What? what?" in his eager way.
How should this question be answered? How should Jack be shown that while all in that crowd of people had sinned—all "come short of the glory of God"—the Holy One who came to do God's will and to give Himself a ransom for them, had glorified Him on the earth, and finished the work which His Father had given Him to do?
His teacher did not now draw a picture; but she made one in another way. There were some dead flowers in the room; taking a pair of scissors, she cut them up into little bits, till they lay in a brown heap on the table. Jack watched her do this, and then he saw her take from her finger her gold ring, and lay it down beside the brown heap. Pointing to the dead flowers, she said, "Many"; pointing to the ring, she said, "One"; and then asked, "Which will you have?"
With a laugh of delight, Jack made her see that he understood this picture also. The brown heap of worthless, withered flowers was like that crowd of people—"many," but all bad; the ring, all of gold—only "one" thing, but so precious—was like Him who died to save them; and over and over again he spelt, "One! One!"
Then presently, as the thought came to him that he, Jack, was in that crowd; that he was one of the "many" for whom that holy One had given Himself, his heart was full; he burst into tears, and looking upwards he spelt again, "Good One! good One!" and ran for the box of letters that he might learn His name.
And so this boy learnt for the first time that Name which is above every name, the Name of Jesus.
It would take too long to tell you how Jack learnt each day something more about the Lord Jesus Christ. You see he had to be taught the story of His wondrous birth; of His life in this world, so full of deeds of love and power, and words of grace and compassion; of His obedience unto death, even the death of the cross; and how He was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, and ascended up to heaven. All this, which you have heard so often, was not the "old, old story" to him, but quite new; the "good news of God concerning His Son"; and he did indeed receive the truth in the love of it.
His teacher still found that the best way of teaching him was to give him a picture of something which he could see; and her account of the way in which he learnt the great truth of resurrection, by her showing him how hyacinth-roots, which seemed dead and worthless, would put forth leaves in the spring-time, and "blossom in purple and red," is very interesting. After he had learned this lesson, he could never stand beside a grave without asking reverently whether the one whose name was upon the headstone "loved Jesus Christ."
About this time there came a great change in Jack's life, for he left his home and went to England. The friend who had been so kind to him was going back to her home, and could not bear to leave him behind, so she asked his parents to allow him to go with her. They did not refuse, for they were very grateful to her for all that she had done for their poor boy; and his mother said, "Take him; he is more your child than ours." So Jack went first to Dublin, where nothing he saw struck him with such wonder as the ships in the river; and then he went on board ship and sailed over the sea, and up the river Avon to Clifton. In this beautiful place he lived for a year. He became a good and faithful servant to his mistress, and especially loved to wait upon and play with "Baby-boy," a little nephew of hers of whom he was very fond.
But you must not think Jack was always good. He had a very angry temper, and would sometimes go into a passion, and cry in a very naughty way; or else sulk so as to make not only himself but his kind and gentle lady miserable; and sometimes he had to be punished for his bad ways. But whenever he had shown this naughty temper, the time came when he was very, very sorry. He would go and have what he called "a long pray," and tell God all about it. I do not know whether it was at such a time that he spoke to his mistress about the "red hand;" but before I tell you of this, which has always seemed to me very beautiful, I must try to remember for you part of an address to Sunday scholars, which my children heard just at the time when I was reading to them the story of John Britt.
This address was given by an uncle of Ernest and Sharley, and they were both there. He spoke about how the eye of God looks us through and through, searching right down into our hearts, and seeing every bad thought there; and then he spoke of God's book, in which all about us is written down, and of God's hand, which writes all down in that book. He said that when he was a child, and thought of God's book, it made him tremble all over to remember what must be written there about him; and then, speaking very earnestly to the little scholars, he said, "Think of your name at the top of a page in that book, and then, one after another—none left out or forgotten—every naughty word you have spoken, every naughty thing your hands have ever done, all written on that page!"
When he had spoken for some time in this way, Ernest's uncle George said that if any of the children to whom he was speaking really did think of this dreadful page, and did not try to hide away from God, but went straight to Him about it, and said, "O God, I am such a sinner!" that cry would be written down there too. And we must never forget that because of the work Jesus "finished" when on earth, it is righteous for God to blot out the whole black list of every one who "comes to the Father" by Jesus.
I do not know who had told Jack about God's book, but one day when he was alone with his lady, he began to speak to her very earnestly. He told her that he knew that if he should die, like those people who had died of the fever, he would be put in the grave, but that he would not stay there for ever. He said that after he had lain there a good while, God would call "Jack!" and he would answer, "Yes; me Jack." Then he would stand before God, and in His hands would be a very large book, a "Bible book." He said God would turn the pages until he came to one where "John Britt" was written, and then He would look to see if there were any "bads" written there; but God would find no bads, "no no, nothing, none."
"No bads?" said the lady. "Have you never done anything wrong, Jack?"
"Oh, yes," he said quickly, "much bads"; and then he went on to show her how the Lord Jesus Christ had taken the book and had found that very page where Jack's own name was, and where all his "bads" were written down; and He had put His hand all down that page, so that when God looked at it, none of Jack's "bads" were there; only Jesus Christ's blood. "Then," he said, "God would shut the book, and Jesus Christ would say to God, 'My Jack!'" Perhaps you wonder what those bad things were which this boy knew he had done. I will tell you of one thing which he particularly remembered. Once, long ago, when he was quite a little boy, he had stolen a halfpenny from his mother; this was one of the wrong things which he thought of as written down upon that page, and he knew that without the precious blood of the Lord Jesus Christ, God's Son, even that one sin would have been always there. And so he often told people about this, and would smile with happiness, and say, "Jack very much loves Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ loves poor Jack. Good Jesus—die—save poor bad Jack."
There are some things which are told us in the Bible which Jack did not know. He thought that when the last day was come, all who were in their graves would be raised, and all stand before God; he was not afraid when he thought of that great day, because he knew that "perfect love" which casts out fear, but it would have been very sweet to him to have known that the Lord Jesus is coming for His own, and that at His call "the dead in Christ shall rise first," and then all the living people who are "Christ's at His coming" shall be changed, and all together be "caught up to meet the Lord in the air, and so be for ever with the Lord."
Jack is one of those who have "fallen asleep in Jesus"; he died when he was a little more than nineteen, and the shamrocks, which he loved because he was an Irish boy, have long been growing green upon his lowly grave; but when the Lord calls His own to meet Him in the air, the deaf and dumb boy, just because he is His Jack, will be sure to hear that awakening voice; although he never heard any voice on earth; and to answer to the call.
But I must tell you a little more about his short life. When he was fourteen, his mistress left Clifton and moved to a very pretty house in the country, and there Jack was given a little room over the coach-house to be quite his own, so that he might go there to write or draw, when his work was done. And now, to his great delight, he was trusted to take charge of a horse; he took such care of it, and kept it so clean and neat, that before long another horse was given to his charge, and he had also to look after the cow, so that he must have felt that he was quite an important person.
You will be interested about his drawings when I tell you that he worked so hard at them, because he had a wonderful plan in his head. You must not think that he had forgotten his old home; though he was so happy in England, his great longing was to see his dear parents once more. He did not wish to go back to Ireland, but he thought if he could only earn enough by his beautiful drawings to buy a little cottage and a cow, he would send for them to come and live near him, and then his joy would be complete.
He used to pray a great deal about this, kneeling at the window, that "God might look through the stars into his heart," and see how very much he loved the Lord Jesus Christ; and he used to say that he knew God had "looked at" his prayer, just as you might say, "God has heard me praying to Him."
Five years passed in that quiet home, and then the cough, which had troubled him for some time, grew much worse, and he seemed to understand, without being told, that he was soon going to die.
When he came down one morning, looking sadly pale and tired, his mistress asked, "Have you slept, Jack?"
"No," he said, smiling sweetly. "Jack no sleep. Jack think good Jesus Christ see poor Jack. Night dark, heaven all light; soon see heaven. Cough much now, pain bad; soon no cough, no pain."
You can see that, when he spoke on his fingers, Jack's way was to make his sentences short by leaving out all the little words, much as children do when they first begin to talk.
During the few months of life which remained after he became so ill, his sister Mary was with him, and his soldier-brother Pat got leave to come and wish him good-bye. For Jack was really going to Him whom having not seen he loved, and at the last moment of his life his great comfort and joy was in thinking of the love of Christ to him. He would say, over and over, "Jesus Christ loves poor Jack," and then speak of the "red hand" that had blotted out all his sins—those many sins which God would remember no more, because "good Jesus Christ" had given His own life for poor Jack.
The snow was falling fast when they laid the body of this dear boy in the quiet churchyard, far away from his Irish home. His beloved mistress and his sister Mary were there. How wonderful it is to think that the first sound that will fall upon those ears, deaf all his life long to every human tone, will be "the voice of the archangel and the trump of God," calling him, and all those who sleep in Jesus, to rise in their bodies of glory, "to meet the Lord in the air," and to be with Him for ever!
"Then, when the archangel's voice
Calls the sleeping saints to rise,
Rising myriads shall proclaim
Blessings on the Saviour's name.
"'This is our redeeming God!'
Ransomed hosts shall shout aloud
Praise, eternal praise, be given,
To the Lord of earth and heaven."
THE STONE BOOK.
"The heaven, even the heavens, are the Lord's: but the earth hath He given to the children of men."—PSALM cxv. 16.
"Speak to the earth, and it shall teach thee: and the fishes of the sea shall declare unto thee."—JOB xii. 8.
"Be still, and know that I am God."—PSALM xlvi. 10.
We have been reading a little about the story of the heavens. Now I want to take you from the starry heights to the dens and caves of the earth, and to speak to you a little about—not astronomy, but geology, as the science or study of the earth is called. This is a very interesting study, but one in which we may easily make serious mistakes; for we have not here the firm ground under our feet which the Word of God gives us, and we must always beware of saying, "This thing is so, therefore that other thing must be so"; or, "This thing is not, therefore that other cannot be."
When we first began our talks, we read that "In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth"—all that which is meant when we speak of the "Universe." This is just what we need to know; and how gracious of God the Creator to speak to us about His own works, and set at rest all the guesses and reasonings of our minds as to how and when this earth first came into existence!
Then we noticed that there is a pause, how long a pause we know not. The silence of God, as it were, falls upon the scene; we hear nothing more about the heavens, and nothing of the earth between the time of its creation and its state as described in the next verse—a desolate, watery waste, upon which darkness brooded.
It is a great thing to know how to listen when God speaks to us, and to be silent when He is silent. "By faith we understand that the worlds were framed by the word of God"; this is what He has been pleased to tell us, and we cannot go beyond it.
In the chapter called "Ruin and Darkness," we learnt a little about the "crust" of the earth; and I told you that those who have studied it believe that they can read in it, as in a book, marks of the many changes which have passed over it since the Creation.
As they search into its depths and bring out to the light of day remains of plants and animals which lie buried there, they point to these "footprints on the sands of time," and tell us that our earth is very, very old; how old they do not say; they can only guess.
But long before anyone began to lay bare the recesses of the earth and to ponder its age, God had told us that it is older than our little minds can conceive, for He created it "in the beginning."
Men of science also when they speak of the work of God on the SIX DAYS of His Creation, say they could not have been actual days of twenty-four hours, as time is now measured. I have told you that in speaking of what God does we must never say a thing could not be; but rather lay our hand upon our mouth, or speak as Job did when he answered the Lord and said, "I know that Thou canst do everything, and that no thought can be withholden from Thee." But we may also remember that, as God measures time, "One day is with the Lord as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day"; "for a thousand years in Thy sight are but as yesterday when it is past, and as a watch in the night,"
I wonder—as we have read now four times, at the close of each of God's wonderful days, "The evening and the morning were the first," "the second," "the third," "the fourth day"—whether you have stopped to think why the evening is always put before the morning; surely this way of reckoning time is very unlike ours.
Is it not so reckoned because as light was made to shine perfectly upon the earth, when God called it out of the darkness, there was no dawning of that first day? It began when God said, "Let light be: and light was"; then, with the gradual disappearing of the light, "there was evening," nothing being told us about the "unfurled flag" of night, or the dawning of the second day.
This at least we know, that whether in the beginning, when the strong foundations of the earth were laid, or during those periods of time when God was working to bring it into order and beauty, "no touch of man's rude hand" interfered. The goodness of God was seen in storing it with mineral treasures for his use; covering it with vegetation which has lived and died and laid up vast abundance of coal; peopling the air and the waters with birds and fishes. But with all this man had nothing to do, for one of the very last acts of Creative Power was that which called him into existence, and set him, as lord of all, in a place so carefully and wonderfully prepared for him.
And as we look back over those Days of Creation of which we have been reading, let us remember that each successive Day led up in perfect order to making his dwelling-place perfectly fitted for him, the creature of God apart from all others, specially formed for Himself. As has been beautifully said, "when the sea was gathered into one place and the dry land appeared, a secure footing was found for man; when the waters above the firmament were separated from the waters below, man, the highest of all created things, could look up"—all was done in reference to him, when as yet he was not.
We shall not read about the work of God on the Fifth Day in this chapter, but I want you to turn to the account of it given in the first chapter of Genesis, and you will see that there for the first time in the Story of Creation the word "life" is used. God speaks to us no longer of only inanimate or lifeless things, such as the sea and the dry land, the earth with its herbs and trees, and the two great lights which were made to give light upon it. He tells us now of creatures which live and move and have a being, each "after its kind"; each exactly fitted to enjoy life in the place prepared for it.
The story of the way in which God in His mighty and gracious working prepared earth and sea and sky to be the home of creatures which were yet to be brought forth and created, is very wonderful. But when we read of "the moving creature that hath life," and of "every living creature that moveth," we come to what is still more wonderful.
You remember in the history of the plagues in Egypt, that when the wise men tried to imitate what God was doing in sending His judgments upon the land, there was a point at which they stopped, and could go no farther, "This is the finger of God," they said.
What was that point? It was when they tried, by their enchantments, to produce one of the meanest, as we should say, of living things.
And so it has always been: man, the highest of God's creatures, apart from all the rest, is still a creature, and he never has been able to usurp the power which belongs to God alone.
It is true that man can destroy animals, and so hunt them down as to render them extinct; he can also, as we have seen, by great care and skill and long patience, produce what are called "varieties" of both plants and animals, increasing the size of leaves and blossoms twenty, thirty, even a hundredfold; but though he may talk of the formation of new flowers, with endless shades of colour, they are not really new, but only varieties of those already existing. You remember, when we were speaking of the "Green Earth," we learnt that never, from the beginning of his life on earth, has man produced a new kind, or species, of either plant or animal.
We must never forget this. God, who said to the mighty ocean, "Hitherto shalt thou come, and no farther: and here shall thy proud waves be stayed" (Job xxxviii. II), has also set a bound beyond which man, however great his powers may be, is not permitted to go. Life, in all its forms, from the lowest to the highest, belongs to God.
But perhaps you are asking why I said that we do not in the Story of
Creation read anything about life till we come to the work of God on the
Fifth Day. Are not the trees and plants alive? Do we not say of a blasted
tree or withered flower, It is dead?
It is quite true that plants have a life which shows itself as we have seen in their growth, and even in some "sensitive" plants, by their shrinking from the touch. In the wheat-fields the order of the unfolding of the life of a plant "whose seed is in itself," may be seen, as we watch "first the blade, then the ear, afterwards the full corn in the ear." But this life is very different from that of the lowliest animal which has power to feel and to give expression to its feelings, power to move from place to place, and which shows in its own way of living an intelligence which is not seen in the very highest forms of vegetable life. At the same time it is true that in their lowest forms animal and vegetable life approach each other so nearly that it is often difficult to say where the one ends and the other begins.
But without the plants and their ceaseless work, as the "sleepless universal providers of the earth," as they have been called, all animal life would fail and die; for they are the means by which all the nourishment which is contained in earth, air, and water can be made of use both to themselves and to the animals.
And is it not very beautiful to see how God has made one part of His creation dependent upon another, and all dependent upon Him? Does it not show us His care for His creatures, and especially for that wonderful creature—the last and best of all, who was created for the earth and the earth for him—when we see, as we have seen so constantly, that before the inhabitants of earth, air, and sea came into being, He had caused the earth to bring forth that which should give to every living thing the means of sustaining life?
I have called this chapter, which does not speak of the work of God on any special Day of Creation, THE STONE BOOK. A wonderful book it is for those who can read it; its leaves are the successive layers of the earth's crust; its letters are not only the remains of plants, but the fossil-shells and bones of animals imprisoned there, which tell us that creatures, all in some way unlike any we now know, once lived and died, and are still to be found, not in their ancient forms in rushy mere of tangled jungle, but in "graves of stone and monuments of marble."
When we were speaking of the coal-mines I told you something about the remains of giant ferns, sedges, reeds, and mare's-tails of far larger growth than any now known, which have been found there. You are familiar with fossil-plants, but I do not think we have spoken much of fossil-animals, which are found in all except the oldest layers of rock—the first pages of the "Stone Book."
The children had been with me to the Museum in the town in which we lived, and had looked with wonder at the huge creatures whose skeletons have been built up bone by bone, after being taken from their rocky tomb—for this earth of ours which has seen so many changes has been rifled of her treasures; not the gold and silver, coal and iron with which she is so richly stored, but the wonderful specimens of God's work in bygone ages which He has allowed us to see; so that we cannot doubt that such creatures once existed, though we may know nothing with certainty as to the time of their first appearance in the sea and on the dry land, and can only guess at the kind of life they lived.
You remember that we spoke, in the chapter about the earth's crust, of the "fire-made rocks," which were once in a liquid state from intense heat (we could not expect to find any remains of plants or animals there, and none have been found), and of the "water-made rocks," which have been gradually accumulated by the action of water in wearing down the land. These rocks lie in layers, and fossil shells, plants, and bones of animals have been found in them, as we have already seen.
But how did these fossils get into the rocks? And how is it that they have been found in all countries and at all heights above the sea?
Before I try to answer these questions, I must tell you that when geologists speak of "rock" they mean everything which has gone to form the crust of the earth, whether clay, or loose sand and gravel, or the hard heavy granite which some of us had seen crowning the Dartmoor tors.
It is thought that the huge creatures whose bones have been found at different depths in the earth's strata were buried there when the "rock" which formed the layers was soft; perhaps in the mud of lakes, or in peat or sand at the mouths of rivers. Then, as time went on, their softer parts perished, but the harder turned to stone, thus forming the "letters" in the stony pages from which those who study the earth try to read something of its history. Then, as sea-shells are found inland, deeply buried in the hills, it is thought that the land in which they were buried has been raised by earthquakes, or thrown out by volcanoes: or was altered in position at the time when the earth's foundations were overflowed with a Flood, and "the waters stood above the mountains." As geologists read the Stone Book, like the writing of Eastern lands, backwards—as they search deeper and deeper into the crust of the earth, they speak of its Old life, Middle life, and New life: but we must remember that they do read backwards, calling the older life what is really the younger. And we must also bear in mind that many of the words used in what is called science—especially those relating to the study of the earth—betray our ignorance rather than prove our knowledge. The marking off stages in the life-history of the earth, and speaking of its Old, Middle, and New Age has been done to help in the study of its crust. Nothing is known, however, with certainty about these different periods or where one ends and another begins, and no one knows whether the first, or oldest, layer has yet been discovered. One geologist says, "I have found it," and presently another penetrates a little deeper, goes a little farther back, and finds one lower still. Nor can anyone say certainly where a fossil-fern or the mummy of an old-world fish appeared for the first time, and though many plants and animals which are found in a fossil state have long been extinct, yet there are many more which appear at a very ancient date and have continued unchanged to the present time.
There is a famous cliff in Dorsetshire upon which may be read, almost as upon a map, the record of the changes which have passed over it during its life-history.
On examining the strata, or layers which lie one above the other, geologists find the first, or lowest of all, to be Portland stone, which was formed by the accumulation of lime at the bottom of the sea.
The second layer shows that this sea-bed in time became dry land, and was covered with soil—what had once been the seashore gradually giving place to a forest.
But how do we know that such a wonderful change was wrought in process of time?
We have clear proof that it was so from the vegetable soil still remaining, and the numbers of trees the remains of which are embedded in the rock, many of them standing upright as when growing.
The third layer seems to show, from the limestone and the fresh-water shells embedded in it, that the level land where the forest grew sank lower and lower until it formed a hollow which in time became a lake.
The fourth layer, which "ends this strange, eventful history," gives evidence of the whole land having been again covered by the ocean, and again raised above the waters!
If we were studying geology together, I should like to take you with me to the Museum, and we would first look at the fossils which are believed to belong to the most ancient time of life upon the earth; then we would pass on to those belonging to the second or "middle" stage, and then to the third, or "new" stage, letting these wonderful stones, taken from mountain height or deep sea bottom, or from the depths of the earth itself, tell their own eloquent story.
But what I should like you to remember is that geologists of our own time tell us that the lowest layer of the earth's crust which has yet been explored appears to be made of vegetable remains, so crushed and altered by time and by the tremendous pressure of rocky layers lying above it, that though it is probably of the same material as that which forms the coal-measures, it resembles the blacklead of which pencils are made much more than the coal which you know is what has been formed by the decay of buried forests and jungles.
In this layer of "graphite," geologists with the help of their microscopes have searched in vain for any trace of what once was living, but they think it may have been formed from the "flowerless" plants, or even from those still more lowly, too minute when living to be seen by the naked eye, and consisting of one tiny bag or "cell."
They tell us that these "infant" plants were followed by those of larger growth, specimens of which are found in layers of rock and clay nearer the surface, and are followed by remains of the "herb yielding seed, and the fruit tree yielding fruit after its kind"—for mummies of seed vessels and fruits have been found in coal-fields in many parts of the world.
It is interesting, too, to see that as far as we can tell at present, in the case of fossil-fish and other living creatures, the lowest forms are found first (that is, farthest back), and are followed by remains of creatures higher in the scale of life; that is to say, not so simple in structure. In using the words "higher" or "lower," we do not mean that there is anything imperfect about the humbler creatures; they are exactly suited to the life which has been given to them to live, but their form is very simple compared with that of "higher" animals, just as a three-legged stool is much more simple in its construction, and is made of fewer parts, than a watch. I may tell you a little about these lowly creatures when we speak of the FIFTH DAY of Creation, and then you will see that they were all made according to a "perfect goodly pattern" or plan, and each "after its kind"; for if we read the pages of the Stone Book aright, we shall see plainly written there that from the first beginnings of life, as far as it is given us to trace them, the goodness and wisdom and power of God are shown in the way in which the smallest creature of His hand is suited to the place appointed to it to fill, by Him who is "good to all," and whose "tender mercies are over all His works."
But there is a great difference between what we may thus glean from the study of the earth, and what is revealed to us by the clear teaching of the Word of God, as He tells us what He did in His wonderful work of Creation, and how He "saw everything that He had made, and behold it was very good."
When God speaks, all is clear and simple and true; and is to be understood by believing His word: when we come to the thoughts of men about what happened in the far past, especially when they try to settle not only the when but the how of His mighty working, much is dark uncertainty.
Should we then not study the letters of the Stone Book? I did not say so; "God has made everything beautiful in its time," and His handiwork in the past as well as the present is indeed worthy of our attention. But in reading books about geology, more perhaps than in any other study, you need to ask God to teach you to hold fast by His Word.
Then, if you read that many geologists now believe that there has been no special creation of fish or bird or beast of the earth, but that "all the many forms of plant and animal life have been unfolded out of a few simple forms, just as the stem, the leaf, and the flower are evolved out of a simple seed"—you will say at once, "That cannot be; for God has plainly told us of both plants and animals that they were made each 'after its kind,' and therefore there can never have been such a thing as a fish developing into a bird, or a bird into a lizard: nor, so far as I have seen, is any such creature to be found in a fossil state."
I heard some time ago that a young man who was studying to become a doctor, said to his father, "When I go to some of my lectures on biology" (that is the study of life), "the only thing that I can do when I hear things said that are quite contrary to the Bible, is to keep saying to myself, 'It's not true, it's not true.'"
I think this young man was right: he had settled it in his heart that whatever he might hear, he must think as God thinks. He was like one who when just starting in life, wrote these words on the flyleaf of his little Bible—"Man has faith in his compass, yet he cannot understand it. He takes it as his guide across the trackless ocean. He relies implicitly upon it, and well he may trust it. This Book is my compass. I have faith in it, thanks to God: it explains itself; I take it for my guide across the ocean of life—I rely upon it. Man may jeer at my faith, but my compass is vastly more reliable than his—still better may I trust mine."
"HIDDEN TREASURES.
"The gems of earth are still within
Her silent unwrought mines;
There hide they, all unknown, unseen,
No sparkle upward shines.
"The stars of heaven, how few and wan
Are all we see below
Compared with what remain unseen
Beyond all vision now!
"Who knows the untold brilliance there,
The wealth, the beauty hid?
Like sparkle of a lustrous eye
Beneath its veiling lid.
"So with the heaven of better stars
Of which these are but signs:
So with the stores of wisdom hid
In everlasting mines."
H. BONAR.
THE FIFTH DAY.
"THE MOVING CREATURE THAT HATH LIFE."
"This is the finger of God."—EXODUS viii. 19.
"The Lord … in whose hand is the soul of every living thing."—JOB xii. 10.
"O Lord, how manifold are thy works! in wisdom hast Thou made them all: the earth is full of Thy riches. So is this great and wide sea, wherein are things creeping innumerable, both small and great beasts."—PSALM civ. 24, 25.
We now come to the time when the empty water, air, and land were filled. The work of God on the FIFTH DAY is spoken of in verses 20 and 21 of our chapter. In reading them we noticed that in respect of the "great whales," or sea monsters, the word "created" is again used, as it was in the first verse; and then, as we read the twenty-third verse, we had a little talk about the words now used for the first time in the story of Creation, "and God blessed them."
How beautiful it is to see that as soon as God had caused the waters to "swarm with swarms of living souls" (look at the margin of your Bible as you read the twentieth verse)—as soon as we read of creatures to whom God gave a life different from that of a tree or a flower, a life that could enjoy itself in the home prepared for it—all these living things were blessed, that is, made happy, by Him who called them into being!
God's world was a happy world for the humblest creature of His hand; and if it is now a sad world, where the groan of many a suffering animal goes up to Him who hears the ravens when they cry—whose fault is it?
Did you ever think how kind we ought to be to the creatures which, innocent themselves, have shared the sorrow brought into the world by man's disobedience? I heard someone say the other day, "It is terrible to see animals suffer: to see cattle overdriven, and sheep dying for want of water, and defenceless creatures cruelly used. But when I see any of these things, I have to feel—I am to blame for that."
When I asked my scholars, "What is the meaning of abundantly?" Sharley said, "It means enough and over."
Do you like her answer?
As the sea everywhere, even down in those depths where the sun's light cannot pierce through the masses of water, is peopled by millions of creatures—every drop of water, as we might say, alive with life—I thought it a good one. A great poet has spoken of the "multitudinous seas," but whether this was in allusion to their wealth of life, or to their myriad waves, I do not know. Certainly in his time very little was known about the dwellers in the deep, deep sea, compared with what we may learn in the present day, when the sounding-line has reached the bottom of the Atlantic, and actually brought up some of the clay that forms its floor—clay which is made up of the skeletons of myriads of creatures. It was once thought that no life could exist in the ocean-depths, but we now know that life is everywhere—in air and water, upon the earth and within it, in the lowest depths of the sea, and on the highest mountain peaks, in hot and cold climates, and in the bodies of animals: all around us—earth, air, and water—teems with life.
Now let us read once more the simple words which tell us all we can really know about what is so wonderful: "And God said, Let the waters bring forth abundantly the moving creature that hath life" (or, as it may be translated, "Let the waters swarm with swarms of living souls").
We will not read farther to-day, as I want to tell you in this chapter something about life in what are called its lower forms, and we shall find that wherever we may look, every creature is perfect in itself, and perfectly suited to the life appointed to it by its Creator, and the home where He has placed it.
My children had learnt something about the two great divisions of animals, 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.