The Life of the Spider 



materials have to be right under her legs; 

 otherwise the Spider does without and con- 

 tinues her work just the same. 



In my cages, the sand is too far off. To 

 obtain it, the Spider would have to leave the 

 top of the dome, where the nest is being built 

 on its trellis-work support; she would have to 

 come down some nine inches. The worker 

 refuses to take this trouble, which, if repeated 

 in the case of each grain, would make the 

 action of the spinnerets too irksome. She also 

 refuses to do so when, for reasons which I 

 have not fathomed, the site chosen is some 

 way up in the tuft of rosemary. But, when 

 the nest touches the ground, the clay rampart 

 is never missing. 



Are we to see in this fact proof of an in- 

 stinct capable of modification, either making 

 for decadence and gradually neglecting what 

 was the ancestors' safeguard, or making for 

 progress and advancing, hesitatingly, towards 

 perfection in the mason's art? No inference 

 is permissible in either direction. The Laby- 

 rinth Spider has simply taught us that instinct 

 possesses resources which are employed or left 

 latent according to the conditions of the mo- 

 ment. Place sand under her legs and the 



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