88 THE TRIBES ON MY FRONTIER. 



as I contemplate the flat tableland of its head, gemmed 

 with bead-like eyes, the complicated assortment of fangs 

 and jaws, and other ghastly instruments of death, the eight 

 bristling legs, and the supreme horribleness of the gross 

 total, I feel perfectly satisfied that it was meant to do my 

 work, and to do it con amore. 



But there are points about the spider which deserve our 

 respect besides its professional qualifications. One of these 

 is maternal affection. Many good people are shocked at 

 Dr. Johnson for loving a good hater. They fancy that if a 

 man is too good-natured to hate anybody he must be very 

 loving, as if one who is weak on his right side was likely 

 to be so much the stronger on his left. If a man is weak 

 in his right hand, the chances are that he is infirm all over, 

 and if there is no force in his aversions and hatreds, I 

 take it as evidence of imbecility as regards his feelings 

 generally. However, ne sutor ultra crepidam. I will con- 

 fine myself to my own sphere. In the animal world the 

 result of my observations is briefly this, that I expect very 

 little from a mild constitutional amiability. The love of 

 sheep is very poor stuff. If you want any depth of 

 affection, you must seek it in the company of other strong 

 passions. The terrible running spider, which will tear her 



