youngsters climb to the mother's back. As for the empty bag, now a
worthless shred, it is flung out of the burrow; the Lycosa does not give
it a further thought. Huddled together, sometimes in two or three
layers, according to their number, the little ones cover the whole back
of the mother, who, for seven or eight months to come, will carry her
family night and day. Nowhere can we hope to see a more edifying
domestic picture than that of the Lycosa clothed in her young.

From time to time, I meet a little band of gipsies passing along the high-
road on their way to some neighbouring fair. The new-born babe mewls on
the mother's breast, in a hammock formed out of a kerchief. The last-
weaned is carried pick-a-back; a third toddles clinging to its mother's
skirts; others follow closely, the biggest in the rear, ferreting in the
blackberry-laden hedgerows. It is a magnificent spectacle of happy-go-
lucky fruitfulness. They go their way, penniless and rejoicing. The sun
is hot and the earth is fertile.

But how this picture pales before that of the Lycosa, that incomparable
gipsy whose brats are numbered by the hundred! And one and all of them,
from September to April, without a moment's respite, find room upon the
patient creature's back, where they are content to lead a tranquil life
and to be carted about.

The little ones are very good; none moves, none seeks a quarrel with his
neighbours. Clinging together, they form a continuous drapery, a shaggy
ulster under which the mother becomes unrecognizable. Is it an animal, a
fluff of wool, a cluster of small seeds fastened to one another? 'Tis
impossible to tell at the first glance.

The equilibrium of this living blanket is not so firm but that falls
often occur, especially when the mother climbs from indoors and comes to
the threshold to let the little ones take the sun. The least brush
against the gallery unseats a part of the family. The mishap is not
serious. The Hen, fidgeting about her Chicks, looks for the strays,
calls them, gathers them together. The Lycosa knows not these maternal
alarms. Impassively, she leaves those who drop off to manage their own
difficulty, which they do with wonderful quickness. Commend me to those
youngsters for getting up without whining, dusting themselves and
resuming their seat in the saddle! The unhorsed ones promptly find a leg
of the mother, the usual climbing-pole; they swarm up it as fast as they
can and reco