The Life of the Spider 



I please, the fields' high festival, the 

 Thrushes' concert, the Crickets' symphony; 

 and yet my friendly commerce with the 

 Spider is marked by an even greater devotion 

 than the young type-setter's. I admit her to 

 the intimacy of my study, I make room for 

 her among my books, I set her in the sun on 

 my window-ledge, I visit her assiduously at 

 her home, in the country. The object of our 

 relations is not to create a means of escape 

 from the petty worries of life, pin-pricks 

 thereof I have my share like other men, a 

 Very large share, indeed; I propose to sub- 

 mit to the Spider a host of questions whereto, 

 at times, she condescends to reply. 



To what fair problems does not the habit 

 of frequenting her give rise! To set them 

 forth worthily, the marvellous art which the 

 little printer was to acquire were not too 

 much. One needs the pen of a Michelet; and 

 I have but a rough, blunt pencil. Let us try, 

 nevertheless: even when poorly clad, truth is 

 still beautiful. 



I will therefore once more take up the 



story of the Spider's instinct, a story of which 



the preceding chapters have given but a very 



rough idea. Since I wrote those earlier es- 



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