Spider

a large order, nearly allied to insects but distinct from them. The spider is placed midway between the crayfish and the true insect. Some cave species are blind, but the spider usually has four pairs of eyes. Spiders have eight legs, no wings, and no feelers. All eat flesh. The abdomen is not jointed. It bears organs at its end for spinning silk. These organs consist of finger-like projections, on the tips of which are many fine tubes, as high as two hundred, through which the spider ejects or squeezes out a fluid which hardens on exposure to the air. By bringing the tips of the finger-like spinnerets together, the spider can cause the strands to unite in a single thread, or by holding the spinnerets in a row a filmy ribbon can be made. An examination of the web of a spider shows that the threads are of two kinds. If one touches a supporting thread, one that runs from the center out, or a brace, it will be found to be dry and rigid. The threads that run around and around, forming the body of the web, are elastic and sticky, ready to adhere to an insect and to stretch without breaking. Two kinds of spiders eject the fluid silk from the spinnerets into a sort of nipple from which they comb threads with their hind legs.

The spider uses its thread for many purposes, most noticeably in the construction of a web in which it hopes to capture heedless insects. Once an insect is ensnared, the spider is on it at once. If the insect be strong the spider hastens to tie it up in folds of silken thread. A large number of spiders, including tarantulas and others, called running spiders, chase their prey instead of catching it in webs. The spider weaves a silken purse in which to keep her eggs. Some species of running spiders carry this in the mouth or drag it by a cord. It is very light and seems no impediment at all.

The spider's thread is of use to it in traveling. If it wishes to drop, it is only necessary to fasten a thread and swing off, paying out thread as it descends. It can climb up by the same route. If the breeze be right, the spider can cross a wide chasm by means of a suspension bridge of its own construction. A thread is fastened at the proper place. The spider then pays out thread which is caught by the wind and carried across. When the farther end has been caught by some object the spider pulls it tight and the bridge is ready. In fine autumn days, the flying spider climbs to the top of a weed and pays out loops of thread until spider and loops are caught up in the moving air and are wafted, it may be, hundreds of miles, sailing, as the Scotch poet, Hogg, puts it:

These are the threads that the astonished ploughboy sees stretching from clod to clod on newly ploughed land.

The several families of spiders may be told apart readily by the shape of their webs or by want of them. Running spiders that spin no webs have been mentioned. The funnel-web weavers are long-legged brown spiders that build sheets of web on guys running to different blades of grass. They have a funnel-shaped lair in one corner where the maker lurks till an insect falls into its web. The funnels of the grass-spider webs are the most common in meadows. Frequently they half cover the stubble of a recently cut field. The traditional unshapely cobweb heartily dreaded by the careful housewife, and formerly prized by the surgeon in staunching the flow of blood from a cut, is made by a small, slim-legged spider that runs about, back downward, on the under side of its web or hides in a crevice until the presence of game demands its attention.

The beautiful, large, circular webs with supporting threads running from the center outward like the spokes of a wheel are made by several species of plump spiders. The spider goes at this work systematically. The space to be occupied by the web is first surrounded by an irregular line, fenced in as it were, passing from twig to twig and inclosing a many-sided figure. The next step is to fasten a thread at a chosen point in this outline and then walk round to the opposite side, spinning slowly. Here the spinner fastens the other end so that the thread is stretched straight across the space. The spider then goes out on this thread, fastens a new line to it at the proposed middle of the web, comes back, and attaches this new line to the outer boundary an inch or two from the first line. By repeating the operation a wheel is formed with spokes radiating from the center. The spider now goes to the center and starts a new thread, a stay rope or brace, which it carries around several times, like a spiral, each time farther out, and always crossing the spokes at right angles, until it approaches the outer line. All these lines are stiff and hard. The industrious spider then begins anew at the outside with a new thread, carrying it around again and again, each time a little further in until the center is reached. This last thread is sticky and elastic, so that a fly caught at any point may flounder about stretching the thread until hopelessly entangled in several strands. An orb-weaver of this sort is the spider reputed to have saved the life of Robert Bruce, the future king of Scotland, by spinning its web with marvelous rapidity across the mouth of a cave in which the Bruce had taken refuge. His enemies, seeing a large web across the entrance, thought he could not have gone in there and in their haste passed on.

A spider's line is the finest thread known. It is estimated that 30,000 of them may lie side by side within the compass of an inch, and that a thread long enough to reach around the globe would weigh not to exceed a pound or two. On account of its fineness the thread spun by the spider is used for the cross-lines of telescopes. Like the milk of a cow, the amount of thread that a spider can spin at any one time is limited.

There are spiders of some sort wherever there are insects to be eaten. Some live in water, some in deserts; some live in forests, others in meadows; some live in the open air, others desire the protection of a cave, a hollow tree, a barn, or a house. Some are smaller than the smallest gnat; others are as large as humming-birds.

The Greeks have a pretty story to tell of the creation of the spider. Arachne, a beautiful maiden, was a skillful spinner. She could spin wool and weave it into wondrous tapestry, depicting scenes in the lives of the gods. To see her at her work, it was difficult to know which most to admire, her deft, graceful fingers plying shuttles and embroidery needles, or the soft, fleecy, cloud-like creations of her skill. Even the nymphs would leave their groves to watch her nimble fingers and swift shuttles. But she was foolish enough to believe that she could surpass Minerva. Minerva accepted the challenge. The goddess embroidered the heroic deeds of the gods; the maiden pictured their failings. In anger at her presumption, Minerva rent Arachne's web with her shuttle, and laid her finger on the maiden's forehead. In rage and shame, Arachne hanged herself, but Minerva willed that she should live. The goddess sprinkled the maiden with the juice of the deadly aconite. Arachne's hair, nose, and ears fell off. Her body shrank up and became short, round, and repulsive. Her head grew small, her hands grew fast to the sides of her body; her fingers became legs. Arachne still hangs by a thread and spins beautiful webs, but children call her a spider.

A more modern (1907) spider story is told by Mr. A. E. Pratt, a member of the Royal Geographical Society:

One of the greatest curiosities that I noted during my stay in New Guinea was the spiders'-web fishing net near Waley. In the forest at this point huge spiders' webs, six feet in diameter, abounded. These are woven in a large mesh, varying from one inch square at the outside of the web to about one-eighth inch at the center. The web was most substantial, and had great resisting power, a fact of which the natives were not slow to avail themselves, for they have pressed into the service of man this spider, which is about the size of a small hazel-nut, with hairy, darkbrown legs spreading to about two inches. This diligent creature they have beguiled into weaving their fishing nets. At the place where the webs are thickest they set up long bamboos, bent over into a loop at the end. In a very short time the spider weaves a web on this most convenient frame, and the Papuan has his fishing net ready to his hand. He goes down to the stream and uses it with great dexterity to catch fish of about one pound weight, neither the water nor the fish sufficing to break the mesh. The usual practice is to stand on a rock in a backwater where there is an eddy. There they watch for a fish, and then dexterously dip it up and throw it onto the bank. Several men would set up bamboos, so as to have nets ready all together, and would then arrange little fishing parties. It seemed to me that the substance of the web resisted water as readily as a duck's back.

See Tarantula; Silk; Aconite; Gossamer