And the little reeds sighed, "Abide, abide,

Here in the hills of Habersham,

Here in the valleys of Hall."

High o'er the hills of Habersham,
Veiling the valleys of Hall,
The hickory told me manifold

Fair tales of shade, the poplar tall
Wrought me her shadowy self to hold,

The chestnut, the oak, the walnut, the pine,
Overleaning, with flickering meaning and sign,
Said, "Pass not, so cold, these manifold
Deep shades of the hills of Habersham,
These glades in the valleys of Hall."

And oft in the hills of Habersham,
And oft in the valleys of Hall,

The white quartz shone, and the smooth brook stone
Did bar me of passage with friendly brawl,

And many a luminous jewel lone

Crystals clear or a-cloud with mist,

Ruby, garnet, and amethyst

Made lures with the lights of streaming stone

In the clefts of the hills of Habersham,

In the beds of the valleys of Hall.

But oh, not the hills of Habersham,

And oh, not the valleys of Hall

Avail: I am fain for to water the plain.
Downward the voices of Duty call -

Downward, to toil and be mixed with the main,
The dry fields burn, and the mills are to turn,
And a myriad flowers mortally yearn,

And the lordly main from beyond the plain,
Calls o'er the hills of Habersham,

Calls through the valleys of Hall.

THE GREATNESS OF GOD

BY SIDNEY LANIER

As the marsh-hen secretly builds on the watery sod,
Behold I will build me a nest on the greatness of God;
I will fly in the greatness of God as the marsh-hen flies
In the freedom that fills all the space 'twixt the marsh
and the skies;

By so many roots as the marsh-grass sends in the sod,
I will heartily lay me a-hold on the greatness of God;
Oh, like to the greatness of God is the greatness within
The range of the marshes, the liberal marshes of Glynn.
FROM The Marshes of Glynn.

THE SAGACITY OF THE SPIDER

BY OLIVER GOLDSMITH

ANIMALS in general are sagacious in proportion as they cultivate society. Elephants and beavers show the greatest signs of this sagacity when they are together in large numbers; but when man intrudes into their communities, they lose all their spirit of industry, and indicate but a very small share of that trait for which, when in a social state, they are so remarkable.

Among insects, the labors of the bee and the ant have employed the attention and admiration of the naturalists ; but all their sagacity seems to be lost upon separation, and a single bee or ant seems destitute of every degree of industry, is the most stupid insect imaginable, languishes for a time in solitude, and soon dies.

Of all the solitary insects I have ever noticed, the spider is the most sagacious, and its actions to me, who have attentively considered them, seem almost to exceed belief. This insect is formed by nature for war, not only on other insects, but also on its own species. Nature seems to have formed it for this condition of life.

Its head and breast are covered with a strong natural coat of mail, which is impenetrable to the attacks of every other insect, and its body is enveloped in a soft, pliable skin, which eludes the sting even of a wasp. Its legs are terminated by strong claws, not unlike those of a lobster; and their vast length, like spears, serves to keep every assailant at a distance.

Not worse furnished for observation than for attack or defense, it has several eyes, large, transparent, and covered with a horny substance, which, however, does not impede its vision. Besides this, it is furnished with a forceps above the mouth, which serves to kill or secure the prey already caught in its claws or its net.

Such are the implements of war with which the body is immediately furnished; but its net to entangle the enemy seems to be what it chiefly trusts to, and what it takes most pains to render as complete as possible. Nature has furnished the body of this little creature with a glutinous liquid which it spins into a thread, coarse or fine as it chooses.

In order to fix its thread when it begins to weave, it emits a small drop of its liquid against the wall, which, hardening by degrees, serves to hold the thread very firmly. Then, as the spider recedes from the first point, the thread lengthens; and when it has come to the place where the other end of the thread should be fixed, gathering up with its claws the thread, which would otherwise be too slack, it stretches the thread tight and fixes it to the wall in the same manner as before.

In this way it spins and fixes several threads parallel to one another, which, so to speak, serve as the warp to the intended web. To form the woof, it spins in the same manner its thread, transversely fixing one end to the first thread that was spun (which is always the strongest of the whole web) and the other end to the wall. All these threads, being newly spun, are glutinous, and therefore stick to one another whenever they happen

to touch; and in those parts of the web most likely to be torn, our natural artist strengthens them by doubling the thread sometimes sixfold.

I perceived, about four years ago, a large spider, in one corner of my room, making its web; and though the servant leveled her fatal broom against the labors of the little animal, I had the good fortune then to prevent its destruction.

In three days the web was completed; nor could I avoid thinking that the insect seemed to exult in living in its new abode. It repeatedly traversed it round, and examined the strength of every part of it, retired into its hole, and came out very frequently. The first enemy, however, it had to encounter, was another and a much larger spider, which, having no web of its own, and having probably exhausted all of its stock in former labors of this kind, came to invade the property of its neighbor.

Soon, then, a terrible encounter followed, in which the invader seemed to have the victory, and the laborious spider was obliged to take refuge in its hole. Upon this, I perceived the victor using every art to draw the enemy from the stronghold. It seemed to go,off, but quickly returned; and then finding all its arts vain, it began to destroy the new web without mercy. This brought on another battle, and, contrary to my expectations, the laborious spider became conqueror and fairly killed its antagonist.

Now, then, in peaceful possession of what was its own, it waited three days with the utmost patience, repairing the breaks of its web, and taking no food that I could perceive. At last, however, a large blue fly fell into the