The Labyrmth Spider 313 



the lower end of a thigh. The bite is a lingering 

 one : once the Spider has planted her fangs, 

 she does not let go. She drinks, she sips, she 

 sucks. When this first point is drained, she 

 passes on to others, to the second haunch in 

 particular, until the prey becomes an empty 

 hulk without losing its outline. 



We have seen that Garden Spiders feed in a 

 similar way, bleeding their venison and drinking 

 it instead of eating it. At last, however, in the 

 comfortable post-prandial hours, they take up 

 the drained morsel, chew it, rechew it and 

 reduce it to a shapeless ball. It is a dessert 

 for the teeth to toy with. The Labyrinth Spider 

 knows nothing of the diversions of the table ; 

 she flings the drained remnants out of her web, 

 without chewing them. Although it lasts long, 

 the meal is eaten in perfect safety. From the 

 first bite, the Locust becomes a lifeless thing ; 

 the Spider's poison has settled him. 



The labyrinth is greatly inferior, as a work of 

 art, to that advanced geometrical contrivance, 

 the Garden Spider's net ; and, in spite of its 

 ingenuity, it does not give a favourable notion 

 of its constructor. It is hardly more than a 



