ifice is slung. It is closed with a large lid, half satin,
half swan's-down. The rest is a stout white fabric, frequently covered
with irregular brown streaks.

The difference between the work of the two Epeirae does not extend beyond
the wrapper, which is an obtuse cone in the one case and a balloon in the
other. The same internal arrangements prevail behind this frontage:
first, a flossy quilt; next, a little keg in which the eggs are packed.
Though the two Spiders build the outer wall according to special
architectural rules, they both employ the same means as a protection
against the cold.

As we see, the egg-bag of the Epeirae, particularly that of the Banded
Epeira, is an important and complex work. Various materials enter into
its composition: white silk, red silk, brown silk; moreover, these
materials are worked into dissimilar products: stout cloth, soft
eiderdown, dainty satinette, porous felt. And all of this comes from the
same workshop that weaves the hunting-net, warps the zigzag ribbon-band
and casts an entangling shroud over the prey.

What a wonderful silk-factory it is! With a very simple and
never-varying plant, consisting of the hind-legs and the spinnerets, it
produces, by turns, rope-maker's, spinner's, weaver's, ribbon-maker's and
fuller's work. How does the Spider direct an establishment of this kind?
How does she obtain, at will, skeins of diverse hues and grades? How
does she turn them out, first in this fashion, then in that? I see the
results, but I do not understand the machinery and still less the
process. It beats me altogether.

The Spider also sometimes loses her head in her difficult trade, when
some trouble disturbs the peace of her nocturnal labours. I do not
provoke this trouble myself, for I am not present at those unseasonable
hours. It is simply due to the conditions prevailing in my menagerie.

In their natural state, the Epeirae settle separately, at long distances
from one another. Each has her own hunting-grounds, where there is no
reason to fear the competition that would result from the close proximity
of the nets. In my cages, on the other hand, there is cohabitation. In
order to save space, I lodge two or three Epeirae in the same cage. My
easy-going captives live together in peace. There is no strife between
them, no encroaching on the neighbour's property. Each of them weaves
herself a rudimentary web, as far from the rest as possible, and here,
ra