ig8 THE JOY OF GARDENS 



war on winged creatures and at sword's point with each 

 other. From the big meadow spider with yellow stripes 

 to the uncanny little red spider the size of a pin point in- 

 festing the roses, there are a score of families terrible to 

 think of, interesting to meet. 



The meadow spider, harmless to gardeners, is a friendly 

 dame. We say dame, because it is she who does the spin- 

 ning. Mr. Meadow Spider is a stranger, as spider lore 

 has not gone very far among us. Mrs. Meadow Spider, 

 or her daughter, has come year after year. It may be con- 

 ceit on our part, or plain courage on hers, which permits 

 us to imagine that she knows us. She sits very still in the 

 midst of her silken-thread palace swung from the chrys- 

 anthemums to the barberries, and lets us look at her 

 with a reading glass and comment on her surroundings. 



She is as indifferent to manners as the toads and the 

 lizards. If we come at the appointed hour she traps care- 

 less rainbow flies, binds them, and devours them before 

 our eyes. With every appearance of one contemplating 

 nature for the love of its beauty, she is cruel and cunning 

 only waiting her chance to take advantage of her 

 victim. 



I have observed, against my will, that there is an iron 

 hand in the velvet glove of the morning-glory. When 

 rich odors fail toward September, the tuberose sends up its 

 spikes of richly perfumed blossoms to make fragrant the 

 night. The tuberoses are the successors of a clump of 



