The Life of the Spider 



The whole family emerges from the bag 

 straightway. Then and there, the 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 fur- 

 ther thought. Huddled together, sometimes 

 in two or three layers, according to their num- 

 ber, 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 tod- 

 dles, clinging to its mother's skirts; others fol- 

 low closely, the biggest in the rear, ferreting 

 in the blackberry-laden hedgerows. It is a 

 magnificent spectacle of happy-go-lucky fruit- 

 fulness. They go their way, penniless and re- 

 joicing. The sun is hot and the earth is 

 fertile. 



But how this picture pales before that of 



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