l and sweep the
living burden from one of my Spiders, making it fall close to another
covered with her little ones. The evicted youngsters scamper about,
find the new mother's legs outspread, nimbly clamber up these and mount
on the back of the obliging creature, who quietly lets them have their
way. They slip in among the others, or, when the layer is too thick,
push to the front and pass from the abdomen to the thorax and even to
the head, though leaving the region of the eyes uncovered. It does not
do to blind the bearer: the common safety demands that. They know this
and respect the lenses of the eyes, however populous the assembly be.
The whole animal is now covered with a swarming carpet of young, all
except the legs, which must preserve their freedom of action, and the
under part of the body, where contact with the ground is to be feared.

My pencil forces a third family upon the already over-burdened Spider;
and this too is peacefully accepted. The youngsters huddle up closer,
lie one on top of the other in layers and room is found for all. The
Lycosa has lost the last semblance of an animal, has become a nameless
bristling thing that walks about. Falls are frequent and are followed
by continual climbings.

I perceive that I have reached the limits, not of the bearer's
good-will, but of equilibrium. The Spider would adopt an indefinite
further number of foundlings, if the dimensions of her back afforded
them a firm hold. Let us be content with this. Let us restore each
family to its mother, drawing at random from the lot. There must
necessarily be interchanges, but that is of no importance: real
children and adopted children are the same thing in the Lycosa's eyes.

One would like to know if, apart from my artifices, in circumstances
where I do not interfere, the good-natured dry-nurse sometimes burdens
herself with a supplementary family; it would also be interesting to
learn what comes of this association of lawful offspring and strangers.
I have ample materials wherewith to obtain an answer to both questions.
I have housed in the same cage two elderly matrons laden with
youngsters. Each has her home as far removed from the other's as the
size of the common pan permits. The distance is nine inches or more. It
is not enough. Proximity soon kindles fierce jealousies between those
intolerant creatures, who are obliged to live far apart so as to secure
adequate hunting-grounds.

One morning I catch the two har