CHAPTER XIX. 



SPIDERS. 

 " The spider's touch how exquisitely fine ! " POPE. 



HAVE you never gazed into the eyes of your favourite 

 dog those melting eyes which seem to bespeak such 

 deep devotion and trust, and wondered what might be the 

 nature of the thoughts which course each other through 

 the labyrinth of his mind ? Or looked into the broad and 

 mild face of some dear old placidly ruminating cow, and 

 tried to guess how this strange and beautiful world pre- 

 sents itself to her slow intelligence ? From a child I have 

 been wont to do so ; and I am not very much wiser now 

 than I was then, or, if wiser, chiefly in this, that I realize 

 more fully the depth and breadth of my ignorance, and 

 have less hope of resolving it into the grateful light of 

 knowledge. And if through the lustrous eyes of the dog, 

 the friend and companion of my race, I can see but a very 

 little way, and that dimly, into the hidden recesses of his 

 soul, how stands it with yon garden-spider which has 

 spread her silken web across the blackthorn hedge ? 

 What of her inmost soul can I hope to see through those 

 eight small shining beads, by means of which she looks 

 out on a world rendered interesting by flies ? 



" Why bother about the matter at all ? " says my 



T 



