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 Ufe, pin-pricks 

 whereof I have my share like other men, a 

 ven' 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 1 To set them 

 forth worthily, the mar\'ellous 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 

 stiU 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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