hat advanced
geometrical contrivance, the Garden Spider's net; and, in spite of its
ingenuity, it does not give a favourable notion of its constructor. It
is hardly more than a shapeless scaffolding, run up anyhow. And yet,
like the others, the builder of this slovenly edifice must have her own
principles of beauty and accuracy. As it is, the prettily-latticed mouth
of the crater makes us suspect this; the nest, the mother's usual
masterpiece, will prove it to the full.

When laying-time is at hand, the Spider changes her residence; she
abandons her web in excellent condition; she does not return to it. Whoso
will can take possession of the house. The hour has come to found the
family-establishment. But where? The Spider knows right well; I am in
the dark. Mornings are spent in fruitless searches. In vain I ransack
the bushes that carry the webs: I never find aught that realizes my
hopes.

I learn the secret at last. I chance upon a web which, though deserted,
is not yet dilapidated, proving that it has been but lately quitted.
Instead of hunting in the brushwood whereon it rests, let us inspect the
neighbourhood, to a distance of a few paces. If these contain a low,
thick cluster, the nest is there, hidden from the eye. It carries an
authentic certificate of its origin, for the mother invariably occupies
it.

By this method of investigation, far from the labyrinth-trap, I become
the owner of as many nests as are needed to satisfy my curiosity. They
do not by a long way come up to my idea of the maternal talent. They are
clumsy bundles of dead leaves, roughly drawn together with silk threads.
Under this rude covering is a pouch of fine texture containing the egg-
casket, all in very bad condition, because of the inevitable tears
incurred in its extrication from the brushwood. No, I shall not be able
to judge of the artist's capacity by these rags and tatters.

The insect, in its buildings, has its own architectural rules, rules as
unchangeable as anatomical peculiarities. Each group builds according to
the same set of principles, conforming to the laws of a very elementary
system of aesthetics; but often circumstances beyond the architect's
control--the space at her disposal, the unevenness of the site, the
nature of the material and other accidental causes--interfere with the
worker's plans and disturb the structure. Then virtual regularity is
translated into actual chaos; order degenerates into di