IF ever I deciphered a "Parable of Nature" surely I did so one summer night at Meads. The gas was alight in my little room with its paperless bare wall.
On that wall appeared a spider, himself dark and defined, his shadow no less dark and scarcely if at all less defined.
They jerked, zigzagged, advanced, retreated, he and his shadow posturing in ungainly indissoluble harmony. He seemed exasperated, fascinated, desperately endeavoring and utterly helpless.
What could it all mean? One meaning and one only suggested itself. That spider was without recognizing his black double, and was mad to disengage himself from the horrible pursuing inalienable presence.
I stood watching him awhile. (Presumably when I turned off the gas he composed himself.)
To me this self-haunted spider appears a figure of each obstinate impenitent sinner, who having outlived enjoyment remains isolated irretrievable with his own horrible, loathsome self.
And if thus in time, how throughout eternity?
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