ON POINTS OF VIEW


As I sat in the garden just now, with a writing-pad on my knee and my mind
ranging the heavens above and the earth beneath in search of a subject, my
eye fell on a tragedy in progress at my elbow. A small greenfly had got
entangled in a spider's web, and was fluttering its tiny wings violently to
effect an escape. The filaments of the web were so delicate as to be hardly
visible, but they were not too delicate to bear the spider whom I saw
advancing upon his prey with dreadful menace. I forgot my dislike of
greenflies, and was overcome with a fierce antagonism for the fat fellow
who had the game so entirely in his hands. Here, said I, is the Hun
encompassing the ruin of poor little Belgium. What chance has the weak and
the innocent little creature against the cunning of this rascal, who hangs
out his gossamer traps in the breeze and then lies in hiding until his
victim is enmeshed and helpless? What justice is there in nature that
allows this unequal combat?

By this time the spider had reached the fly and thrown a new filament round
him. Then at frightful speed he raced to the top of his web and disappeared
in the woodwork of the arbour, drawing the new filament tight round the
victim, which continued its flutterings for a little time and then gave up
the ghost. At this moment I was called in to lunch, and at the table I told
the story of the spider and the fly with undisguised hostility to the
spider. "That," said Robert, home from the front--"that is simply a
sentimental point of view. My sympathies as a practical person are all with
the spider. He is the friend of man, the devourer of insects, the scavenger
of the gardens. He helps in the great task of keeping the equilibrium of
nature. Moreover," said he, "I have seen you kill greenflies yourself. You