I 7 8 
LIFE AND HER CHILDREN. 
CHAPTER IX. 
THE SNARE-WEAVERS AND THEIR HUNTING 
RELATIONS. 
So dangles o'er the brook, depending low, 
The spider artist, till propitious breeze 
Buoy her athwart the stream. From shore to shore 
She fastens then her horizontal thread, 
Sufficient bridge, and traversing alert 
Her fine-spun radii flings from side to side, 
Shapes her concentric circles without art, 
And, all accomplished, couches in the midst, 
Herself the centre of her flimsy toils. 
HURDIS. 
T was a hot spring night on 
the coast of the Mediterranean in 
the south of France, and the hum 
of the night insects filled the air. 
The night-beetles were flying hither 
and thither, and the crickets on the 
terraces of the olive -groves were 
loudly chirping their love-songs. 
One in particular, whose dark brown 
body could scarcely be distinguished 
against the bank even by nocturnal 
enemies, was working his wing-cases 
with a will and sending out a clear 
and piercing cry. He little thought 
that he was sounding his own death-note, but so it was, 
