one to the other. The observer is
not master of his time; opportunity leads him and by unsuspected ways. A
certain question suggested by an earlier fact finds no reply until many
years after. Its scope, moreover, is amplified and completed with views
collected on the road. In a work, therefore, of this fragmentary
character, repetitions, necessary for the due co-ordination of ideas, are
inevitable. I shall be as sparing of them as I can.

Let us once more introduce our old friends the Epeira and the Lycosa, who
are the most important Spiders in my district. The Narbonne Lycosa, or
Black-bellied Tarantula, chooses her domicile in the waste, pebbly lands
beloved of the thyme. Her dwelling, a fortress rather than a villa, is a
burrow about nine inches deep and as wide as the neck of a claret-bottle.
The direction is perpendicular, in so far as obstacles, frequent in a
soil of this kind, permit. A bit of gravel can be extracted and hoisted
outside; but a flint is an immovable boulder which the Spider avoids by
giving a bend to her gallery. If more such are met with, the residence
becomes a winding cave, with stone vaults, with lobbies communicating by
means of sharp passages.

This lack of plan has no attendant drawbacks, so well does the owner,
from long habit, know every corner and storey of her mansion. If any
interesting buzz occur overhead, the Lycosa climbs up from her rugged
manor with the same speed as from a vertical shaft. Perhaps she even
finds the windings and turnings an advantage, when she has to drag into
her den a prey that happens to defend itself.

As a rule, the end of the burrow widens into a side-chamber, a lounge or
resting-place where the Spider meditates at length and is content to lead
a life of quiet when her belly is full.

A silk coating, but a scanty one, for the Lycosa has not the wealth of
silk possessed by the Weaving Spiders, lines the walls of the tube and
keeps the loose earth from falling. This plaster, which cements the
incohesive and smooths the rugged parts, is reserved more particularly
for the top of the gallery, near the mouth. Here, in the daytime, if
things be peaceful all around, the Lycosa stations herself, either to
enjoy the warmth of the sun, her great delight, or to lie in wait for
game. The threads of the silk lining afford a firm hold to the claws on
every side, whether the object be to sit motionless for hours, revelling
in the light and heat, or to poun