The Life of the Spider 



is loosened from the spinnerets and cast aside 

 as a worthless rag. 



The little ones are very good: none stirs, 

 none tries to get more room for himself at 

 his neighbour's ejqjense. What are they 

 doing there, so quietly? They allow them- 

 selves to be carted about, like the young of 

 the Opossum. Whether she sit in long medi- 

 tation at the bottom of her den, or come to 

 the orifice, in mild weather, to bask in the sun, 

 the Lycosa never throws ofi her great-coat 

 of swarming youngsters until the fine season 

 comes. 



If, in the middle of winter, in January, or 

 February, I happen, out in the fields, to 

 ransack the Spider's dwelling, after the rain, 

 snow and frost have battered it and, as a rule, 

 dismantled the bastion at the entrance, I al- 

 ways find her at home, still full of vigour, 

 still carrying her family. This vehicular 

 upbringing lasts five or six months at least, 

 without interruption. The celebrated Ameri- 

 can carrier, the Opossum, who emancipates 

 her offspring after a few weeks' carting, cuts 

 a poor figure beside the Lycosa. 



What do the little ones eat, on the ma- 

 ternal spine? Nothing, so far as I know. I 



