rounded balloon. The fabric of mixed cotton and tow is a rustic frieze
beside the spinstress' satin; the suspension-straps are clumsy cables
compared with her delicate silk fastenings. Where shall we find in the
Penduline's mattress aught to vie with the Epeira's eiderdown, that
teazled russet gossamer? The Spider is superior to the bird in every
way, in so far as concerns her work.

But, on her side, the Penduline is a more devoted mother. For weeks on
end, squatting at the bottom of her purse, she presses to her heart the
eggs, those little white pebbles from which the warmth of her body will
bring forth life. The Epeira knows not these softer passions. Without
bestowing a second glance an it, she abandons her nest to its fate, be it
good or ill.

CHAPTER III: THE NARBONNE LYCOSA

The Epeira, who displays such astonishing industry to give her eggs a
dwelling-house of incomparable perfection, becomes, after that, careless
of her family. For what reason? She lacks the time. She has to die
when the first cold comes, whereas the eggs are destined to pass the
winter in their downy snuggery. The desertion of the nest is inevitable,
owing to the very force of things. But, if the hatching were earlier and
took place in the Epeira's lifetime, I imagine that she would rival the
bird in devotion.

So I gather from the, analogy of _Thomisus onustus_, WALCK., a shapely
Spider who weaves no web, lies in wait for her prey and walks sideways,
after the manner of the Crab. I have spoken elsewhere {22} of her
encounters with the Domestic Bee, whom she jugulates by biting her in the
neck.

Skilful in the prompt despatch of her prey, the little Crab Spider is no
less well-versed in the nesting art. I find her settled on a privet in
the enclosure. Here, in the heart of a cluster of flowers, the luxurious
creature plaits a little pocket of white satin, shaped like a wee
thimble. It is the receptacle for the eggs. A round, flat lid, of a
felted fabric, closes the mouth.

Above this ceiling rises a dome of stretched threads and faded flowerets
which have fallen from the cluster. This is the watcher's belvedere, her
conning-tower. An opening, which is always free, gives access to this
post.

Here the Spider remains on constant duty. She has thinned greatly since
she laid her eggs, has almost lost her corporation. At the least alarm,
she sallies forth, waves a threatening limb at the passing stranger and
i