A Spider Fight

I once bad a spider pet of a kind the books enabled me to identify. He was a fine, big fellow. I caught bim in the garden, carried him home, and for nearly two mouthshe and I took a close interest in each other, he for the flies I introduced to him and I for the amusement he introduced to me. I kept him in a milliner's box, letting him out when I visited him, specially delighting myself with allowing him to drop from one hand by his fine spun thread, and then either catching him in the other or gently compelling him toolimb back again by apparently eating his own ladder. One day I captured another spider of the same species. I kept him for a few days in a separate box, and then, with the kindly idea of corupanionship, I introduced him to Tiger. I have seen dogs fight; I have seen chanticleer fight and slay his man; I have seen rams fight till, with his skull crnshed in, one lay dead at the foot of the other; I have seen men fight; I have seen womeu fight - at least, they once were women - till they became a confusión of blood and hair aud shredded garments; but the fullest sense I ever realized of mad, murderous passion let ungovernably loose, centered in one destroying aim and sumruoning every physical energy to its devilish service, I realized when those two spidersrushed to mortal combat. I stood in boyish terror as their tangled legs drcpped off, torn by mutual raee, aud as, with vicious dexterity, they struck each other with their poisoned fangs, using for their own destruction the weapons and appliances with whioh nature has provided them for the capture and slaughter of their prey, I visibly turned pale. Tiger was the victor, but even while with brutal wrath, all mangled as he was, he bit and spurned his dead and limbless foe, he was seized with syruptoms I took to be paralytic, and in a minute or two I helped him to nis death. Aud this fearless gladiator was afraid of, I remember, and never would tackle, a big bluebottle fly. What is courage ?-