The Life of the Grasshopper 



There, in front of you, is a growling pair 

 of jaws, open, white with foam, ready to 

 bite. The most elementary prudence ad- 

 vises you to keep them quiet by catching hold 

 of the back of the neck. 



In her fight with the Bee, the Spider has 

 not the same object. What has she to fear 

 from her victim? The sting before all 

 things, the terrible dart whose least stab 

 would destroy her. And yet she does not 

 trouble about it. What she makes for is 

 the back of the neck, that alone and never 

 anything else, so long as the prey remains 

 alive. In so doing she does not aim at copy- 

 ing the tactics of the Dog and depriving the 

 head, which is not particularly dangerous, of 

 its power of movement. Her plan is far- 

 ther-reaching and is revealed to us by the 

 lightning death of the Bee. The neck is no 

 sooner gripped than the victim expires. The 

 cerebral centres therefore are injured, poi- 

 soned with a deadly virus; and life is straight- 

 way extinguished at its very seat. This 

 avoids a struggle which, if prolonged, would 

 certainly end in the aggressor's discomfiture. 

 The Bee has her strength and her sting on 

 her side; the delicate Thomisus has on hers 

 a profound knowledge of the art of murder. 

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