42 THE CANADIAN ENTOMOLOGIST 



tion each of these was found to close the mouth of a vertical tunnel 

 twelve to eighteen inches deep, at the bottom of which was a 

 torpid spider of this species, evidently retired for the winter. 

 Obviously the spider population of the beach was much greater than 

 I had suspected. 



Keenness of vision is as necessary to the wolf spider as agile 

 limbs, and so it is well provided with eyes, which are, too, much 

 better developed than those of the snare weavers that depend largely 

 on their sense of touch to acquaint them of the approach of their 

 prey. Apparently the "Wolf" can see in every direction, above, 

 before and behind. On the front of its head a row of four small 

 eyes surmounted by two larger ones inform it of happenings before 

 it and to either side, while two other large eyes on the top of the 

 head are directed upwards and backwards. The powerful jaws, 

 armed with a pair of needle-sharp fangs, each grooved with a 

 poison duct, are almost hidden by the long hair covering them. 

 She has indeed a repulsive countenance. We are often told of the 

 beauties revealed by the microscope. In this case it is a horror 

 that has been disclosed. But the race is not always to the swift 

 nor the battle to the strong, for with all her panoply, this redoubt- 

 able spider was overcome by an antagonist more terrible yet, as I 

 w^ill relate. 



One day in early September when seated on a log at my favorite 

 beach, and taking a quiet entomological survey of the surroundings. 

 I suddenly caught sight of an extraordinary many-legged insect 

 buzzing rapidly across the sand towards me. A second glance 

 resolved the anomaly into a digger wasp dragging with it a wolf 

 spider which it had paralyzed with its envenomed sting, and was 

 carrying to its nest to provide fresh food for its future larva^. The 

 wasp's shallow, sloping tunnel was in the sand close to my feet, 

 and she quickly pulled her prey within. I waited some time in 

 vain for her to emerge, and then dug up the nest. The wasp escaped 

 with a whirr of wings but the wretched spider, although alive, was 

 incapable of movement of any kind, and remained inert in my 

 hand. Commiserating a spider caught at its own rapacious game 

 is something like wasting pity on the incinerated crew of a baby- 

 killing Zeppelin, but I could not help feeling sorry for this erstwhile 

 lightning runner of the sands doomed never to move its swift limbs 



