SPIDERS. 
165 
else when, as I thread my way along a narrow jungle 
path, a soft and filmy web embraces my face and ears, 
and the over-fed spider who spread it trickles down my 
nose and over my lips and gets entangled in my beard. 
At such times one learns that one is only human, and 
virtue has a rare triumph if the spider does not learn it 
too. The worst of it is that theoretically I hold spiders 
in great esteem both for the work they do and the manner 
in which they do it. Alas ! theoretical and practical 
benevolence are not like the Siamese Twins, and I 
never see an Englishman distinguish himself in the press, 
or on the platform, as a friend of the natives of India, 
without wanting to know how he treats his servants and 
piLtty-wallahs. Believe me, it is often a good thing for 
the cause of political philanthropy that they cannot be 
put in the witness-box. But if I were on the press I 
would interview them. 
To return to spiders. Why must they spread their 
snares right across every track and make all my choice 
paths impassable? Here again I suppose that reason is 
on the side of the spider, though passion gets on mine. 
She has no intention of snaring me, but she knows that 
almost every denizen of the forest, from the tiger to the 
