The Life of the Spider 



what the inhabitant of the cypress-trees has 

 already shown me. The next morning, I cut 

 the telegraph-wire, this time as long as one's 

 arm, and held, like yesterday, by one of the 

 hind-legs stretched outside the cabin. I then 

 place on the web a double prey, a Dragon-fly 

 and a Locust. The latter kicks out with his 

 long, spurred shanks; the other flutters her 

 wings. The web is tossed about to such an 

 extent that a number of leaves, just beside the 

 Epeira's nest, move, shaken by the threads 

 of the framework affixed to them. 



And this vibration, though so close at 

 hand, does not rouse the Spider in the least, 

 does not make her even turn round to enquire 

 what is going on. The moment that her 

 signalling-thread ceases to work, she knows 

 nothing of passing events. All day long, she 

 remains without stirring. In the evening, at 

 eight o'clock, she sallies forth to weave the 

 new web and at last finds the rich windfall 

 whereof she was hitherto unaware. 



One word more. The web is often shaken 

 by the wind. The different parts of the 

 framework, tossed and teased by the eddying 

 air-currents, cannot fail to transmit their vi- 

 bration to the signalling-thread. Nevertheless, 



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