i82 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT 



heart. The best part of Hfe is not in the present, still 

 less in the past; it lies in the future, the domain of hope. 

 Let us wait. 



All day long, the sky, of a uniform gray, has appeared 

 to be brewing a storm. In spite of the threatened down- 

 pour, my neighbor, who is a shrewd weather-prophet, 

 has come out of the cypress-tree and begun to renew 

 her web at the regular hour. Her forecast is correct : it 

 will be a fine night. See, the steaming-pan of the clouds 

 splits open; and, through the apertures, the moon peeps, 

 inquisitively. I too, lantern in hand, am peeping. A 

 gust of wind from the north clears the realms on high ; 

 the sky becomes magnificent; perfect calm reigns below. 

 The Moths begin their nightly rounds. Good ! One is 

 caught, a mighty fine one. The Spider will dine to-day. 



What happens next, in an uncertain light, does not 

 lend itself to accurate observation. It is better to turn 

 to those Garden Spiders who never leave their web and 

 'Who hunt mainly in the daytime. The Banded and the 

 Silky Epeira, both of whom live on the rosemaries in 

 the enclosure, shall show us in broad daylight the inner- 

 most details of the tragedy. 



I myself place on the lime-snare a victim of my select- 

 ing. Its six legs are caught without more ado. If the 

 insect raises one of its tarsi and pulls towards itself, the 

 treacherous thread follows, unwinds slightly and, without 

 letting go or breaking, yields to the captive's desperate 

 jerks. Any limb released only tangles the others still 

 more and is speedily recaptured by the sticky matter. 

 There is no means of escape, except by smashing the 



