es the rest.

There are, however, some very few cases in which the bite is speedily
mortal. My notes speak of an Angular Epeira grappling with the largest
Dragon-fly in my district (Aeshna grandis, Lin.) I myself had entangled
in the web this head of big game, which is not often captured by the
Epeirae. The net shakes violently, seems bound to break its moorings.
The Spider rushes from her leafy villa, runs boldly up to the giantess,
flings a single bundle of ropes at her and, without further
precautions, grips her with her legs, tries to subdue her and then digs
her fangs into the Dragon-fly's back. The bite is prolonged in such a
way as to astonish me. This is not the perfunctory kiss with which I am
already familiar; it is a deep, determined wound. After striking her
blow, the Spider retires to a certain distance and waits for her poison
to take effect.

I at once remove the Dragon-fly. She is dead, really and truly dead.
Laid upon my table and left alone for twenty-four hours, she makes not
the slightest movement. A prick of which my lens cannot see the marks,
so sharp-pointed are the Epeira's weapons, was enough, with a little
insistence, to kill the powerful animal. Proportionately, the
Rattlesnake, the Horned Viper, the Trigonocephalus and other ill-famed
serpents produce less paralysing effects upon their victims.

And these Epeirae, so terrible to insects, I am able to handle without
any fear. My skin does not suit them. If I persuaded them to bite me,
what would happen to me? Hardly anything. We have more cause to dread
the sting of a nettle than the dagger which is fatal to Dragon-flies.
The same virus acts differently upon this organism and that, is
formidable here and quite mild there. What kills the insect may easily
be harmless to us. Let us not, however, generalize too far. The
Narbonne Lycosa, that other enthusiastic insect-huntress, would make us
pay dearly if we attempted to take liberties with her.

It is not uninteresting to watch the Epeira at dinner. I light upon
one, the Banded Epeira, at the moment, about three o'clock in the
afternoon, when she has captured a Locust. Planted in the centre of the
web, on her resting-floor, she attacks the venison at the joint of a
haunch. There is no movement, not even of the mouth-parts, so far as I
am able to discover. The mouth lingers, close-applied, at the point
originally bitten. There are no intermittent mouthfuls, with the
mandibles moving backwards