224 
HOME OF THE SPIDER. 
The ants have just reached the point at which most of our African 
tribes have halted. Every evening they shut up their dwelling-places 
with immense labour—renewed daily—and by a little, unsubstantial 
lattice-work, which does not relieve them from the necessity of plant¬ 
ing sentinels. It is true, however, that these great, valiant, and well- 
armed peoples have no fear of invasion, and, like Lacedsemon, need 
neither walls nor ditches. Their proud intrepidity has set limits to 
their industry. 
On the other hand, the poor artisan which lives by itself, and is 
always exhausted by the incessant toil of spinning and weaving, cannot 
rely upon its valour. It has need, in certain countries and under 
certain alarming conditions, of profound ingenuity, and has discovered 
this little miracle of prudence and combination, which eclipses both the 
savage and the insect. I do not refer to the great animals, none of 
which, except the beaver, are very industrious. 
In the neighbourhood of Lucerne we for the first time saw the 
house of the spider (the Agelena). It was a kind of sheath, and very 
well made, with a vestibule facing the south, which expanded outward 
like a funnel. This exterior portion, forming a little sunny retreat, 
was the snare and the citadel. The lady of the house stationed herself 
quite at the bottom of the funnel; but behind this very bottom, at 
the lower extremity of the case or sheath, was constructed a back 
apartment, small and very secure, in a white substantial cocoon. In 
this she trusted so completely, that while we detached the silken cables 
which moored the entire edifice to the bush, she made no attempt to 
escape. We had neither destroyed nor damaged, but simply detached 
the dwelling, and on the day following we found it repaired and 
moored to the bush on every side. The exposure was no longer so 
favourable; but, undoubtedly, the workman, in an advanced season of 
the year (in September, and under the Alps), did not possess the re¬ 
sources for recommencing this grand summer-work. 
In the Brazilian forests a little spider has its case suspended exactly 
in the centre of its web; and thither it hurries at the slightest approach 
of danger, and has no sooner entered, says Swainson, than the door 
suddenly closes behind it by a spring. 
