The Labyrinth Spider 



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 dilapi- 

 dated, proving that it has been but lately 

 quitted. Instead of hunting in the brushwood 

 whereon it rests, let us inspect the neighbour- 

 hood, 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 invari- 

 ably 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 curi- 

 osity. 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, be- 

 cause 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 



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