able, in the shade,
before the open window. Soon, the exodus commences, but slowly and
unsteadily. There are hesitations, retrogressions, perpendicular falls
at the end of a thread, ascents that bring the hanging Spider up again.
In short much ado for a poor result.

As matters continue to drag, it occurs to me, at eleven o'clock, to take
the bundle of brushwood swarming with the little Spiders, all eager to be
off, and place it on the window-sill, in the glare of the sun. After a
few minutes of heat and light, the scene assumes a very different aspect.
The emigrants run to the top of the twigs, bustle about actively. It
becomes a bewildering rope-yard, where thousands of legs are drawing the
hemp from the spinnerets. I do not see the ropes manufactured and sent
floating at the mercy of the air; but I guess their presence.

Three or four Spiders start at a time, each going her own way in
directions independent of her neighbours'. All are moving upwards, all
are climbing some support, as can be perceived by the nimble motion of
their legs. Moreover, the road is visible behind the climber, it is of
double thickness, thanks to an added thread. Then, at a certain height,
individual movement ceases. The tiny animal soars in space and shines,
lit up by the sun. Softly it sways, then suddenly takes flight.

What has happened? There is a slight breeze outside. The floating cable
has snapped and the creature has gone off, borne on its parachute. I see
it drifting away, showing, like a spot of light, against the dark foliage
of the near cypresses, some forty feet distant. It rises higher, it
crosses over the cypress-screen, it disappears. Others follow, some
higher, some lower, hither and thither.

But the throng has finished its preparations; the hour has come to
disperse in swarms. We now see, from the crest of the brushwood, a
continuous spray of starters, who shoot up like microscopic projectiles
and mount in a spreading cluster. In the end, it is like the bouquet at
the finish of a pyrotechnic display, the sheaf of rockets fired
simultaneously. The comparison is correct down to the dazzling light
itself. Flaming in the sun like so many gleaming points, the little
Spiders are the sparks of that living firework. What a glorious send-
off! What an entrance into the world! Clutching its aeronautic thread,
the minute creature mounts in an apotheosis.

Sooner or later, nearer or farther, the fall comes. T