The Rambles of an Idler 



ing about, having no purpose. Cobwebs are 

 not rubbish and tell their own pretty story to 

 the patient listener. Whoever is willing to 

 trace their history is abundantly rewarded. 

 They lead us into the presence of spiders, and 

 these, in turn, are not as uncanny as is generally 

 supposed, even if first cousina to scorpions. 

 Our interest should not diminish because some 

 of them will bite, but increase because of their 

 skill as engineers, for many a suspension bridge 

 was built by them before man thought to span 

 our rivers with a wire cable. Then, not all cob- 

 webs are airy threads strung from chance pillar 

 to post. They are sometimes hinges to neat 

 doors that guard subterranean homes, and 

 again are cords that bind together sticks ar- 

 ranged in cob-house fashion; but more notice- 

 able than all is the closely woven fabric that is 

 spread out temptingly as a pleasant play-ground 

 for the foolish fly, but is not so desirable as it 

 looks, for the insect's feet stick fast, and the 

 weaver of the web knows he has a victim. 

 Every web has a purpose distinctively its own, 

 and how readily we enter the broad field of 

 speculation when we come to consider the cause 

 behind it all, that of specific differentiation ; for 



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