MASTERPIECES OF INDUSTRIOUS SKILL. 
227 
towards its young. While the birds of prey—the winged hunters 
which have so many resources—drive away their young at a very 
early age, look upon them as greedy competitors, and force them by 
blows of their beaks to dwell afar from the domain which they 
reserve as their own, the spider is not contented with carrying its 
eggs in the cocoon, but, in certain species, nourishes them when 
living and greedy, guards them, bears them on its back; or else she 
makes them walk, holding them by a thread; if danger threatens, she 
draws in the thread, they leap upon her, and she saves them. If she 
cannot do so, she will perish. Some there are which, rather than 
abandon their offspring, will suffer themselves to be swallowed up in 
the gulf of the ant-lion. Others, of a slow species, which, when unable 
to save them, make no effort to escape, but allow themselves to be 
captured also. 
Their nests are frequently masterpieces. At Interlaken, in Swit¬ 
zerland, I have admired their long soft tubes, warm in the interior, and 
well-lined,—externally, disguised with much skill by an artistic pell- 
mell of small bits of leaf, tiny twigs, and fragments of gray plaster, so 
as to melt perfectly into the colour of the wall supporting them. But 
this was nothing in comparison with a work of art which I have here 
at Fontainebleau. 
On the 22nd of July 1857,1 discovered in an outhouse a very pretty 
round basket, about an inch across, made of all kinds of materials, and, 
as it had nothing to fear from rain, without any cover. It was very 
gracefully suspended to a beam by some elegant silken threads, which 
I should call little hands, such as are possessed by the climbing plants. 
Within, brooding on its eggs with a constant incubation, might be seen 
a spider. It never stirred, except, perhaps, for a moment at night, in 
quest of food. Never was there any animal so timid. At the gentlest 
approaches fear made it fly, and almost fall. Once when we disturbed 
it a little abruptly, it was seized with such an excess of terror that it 
did not recover for an entire day. It sat for six weeks, and, but for 
these perturbations, would perhaps have remained much longer. 
An admirable mother,—an ingenious and delicate artist,—before all 
things a female,—a female nervous and timid to the highest degree, 
