The Life of the Spider 



bit of straw. You cannot have a swing with- 

 out an impulse of some sort. The terror- 

 stricken Spider, who wishes to strike terror in- 

 to others, has hit upon something much better. 

 With nothing to push her, she swings with her 

 floor of ropes. There is no effort, no visible 

 exertion. Not a single part of the animal 

 moves; and yet everything trembles. Violent 

 shaking proceeds from apparent inertia. Rest 

 causes commotion. 



When calm is restored, she resumes her 

 attitude, ceaselessly pondering the harsh prob- 

 lem of life: 



'Shall I dine to-day, or not?' 



Certain privileged beings, exempt from 

 those anxieties, have food in abundance and 

 need not struggle to obtain it. Such is the 

 Gentle, who swims blissfully in the broth of 

 the putrefying adder. Others — and, by a 

 strange irony of fate, these are generally the 

 most gifted — only manage to eat by dint of 

 craft and patience. 



You are of their company, O my industrious 

 Epeira? ! So that you may dine, you spend 

 your treasures of patience nightly; and often 

 without result. I sympathize with your woes, 

 for I, who am as concerned as you about my 



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