urn to the youngsters.
It is not without a certain surprise that we see the little Lycosae, at
the first moment of their emancipation, hasten to ascend the heights.
Destined to live on the ground, amidst the short grass, and afterwards to
settle in the permanent abode, a pit, they start by being enthusiastic
acrobats. Before descending to the low levels, their normal dwelling-
place, they affect lofty altitudes.

To rise higher and ever higher is their first need. I have not, it
seems, exhausted the limit of their climbing-instinct even with a nine-
foot pole, suitably furnished with branches to facilitate the escalade.
Those who have eagerly reached the very top wave their legs, fumble in
space as though for yet higher stalks. It behoves us to begin again and
under better conditions.

Although the Narbonne Lycosa, with her temporary yearning for the
heights, is more interesting than other Spiders, by reason of the fact
that her usual habitation is underground, she is not so striking at
swarming-time, because the youngsters, instead of all migrating at once,
leave the mother at different periods and in small batches. The sight
will be a finer one with the common Garden or Cross Spider, the Diadem
Epeira (_Epeira diadema_, LIN.), decorated with three white crosses on
her back.

She lays her eggs in November and dies with the first cold snap. She is
denied the Lycosa's longevity. She leaves the natal wallet early one
spring and never sees the following spring. This wallet, which contains
the eggs, has none of the ingenious structure which we admired in the
Banded and in the Silky Epeira. No longer do we see a graceful balloon-
shape nor yet a paraboloid with a starry base; no longer a tough,
waterproof satin stuff; no longer a swan's-down resembling a fleecy,
russet cloud; no longer an inner keg in which the eggs are packed. The
art of stout fabrics and of walls within walls is unknown here.

The work of the Cross Spider is a pill of white silk, wrought into a
yielding felt, through which the new-born Spiders will easily work their
way, without the aid of the mother, long since dead, and without having
to rely upon its bursting at the given hour. It is about the size of a
damson.

We can judge the method of manufacture from the structure. Like the
Lycosa, whom we saw, in Chapter III., at work in one of my earthenware
pans, the Cross Spider, on the support supplied by a few threads
stretched between the ne