ce upon the passing prey.

Around the orifice of the burrow rises, to a greater or lesser height, a
circular parapet, formed of tiny pebbles, twigs and straps borrowed from
the dry leaves of the neighbouring grasses, all more or less dexterously
tied together and cemented with silk. This work of rustic architecture
is never missing, even though it be no more than a mere pad.

When she reaches maturity and is once settled, the Lycosa becomes
eminently domesticated. I have been living in close communion with her
for the last three years. I have installed her in large earthen pans on
the window-sills of my study and I have her daily under my eyes. Well,
it is very rarely that I happen on her outside, a few inches from her
hole, back to which she bolts at the least alarm.

We may take it, then, that, when not in captivity, the Lycosa does not go
far afield to gather the wherewithal to build her parapet and that she
makes shift with what she finds upon her threshold. In these conditions,
the building-stones are soon exhausted and the masonry ceases for lack of
materials.

The wish came over me to see what dimensions the circular edifice would
assume, if the Spider were given an unlimited supply. With captives to
whom I myself act as purveyor the thing is easy enough. Were it only
with a view to helping whoso may one day care to continue these relations
with the big Spider of the waste-lands, let me describe how my subjects
are housed.

A good-sized earthenware pan, some nine inches deep, is filled with a
red, clayey earth, rich in pebbles, similar, in short, to that of the
places haunted by the Lycosa. Properly moistened into a paste, the
artificial soil is heaped, layer by layer, around a central reed, of a
bore equal to that of the animal's natural burrow. When the receptacle
is filled to the top, I withdraw the reed, which leaves a yawning,
perpendicular shaft. I thus obtain the abode which shall replace that of
the fields.

To find the hermit to inhabit it is merely the matter of a walk in the
neighbourhood. When removed from her own dwelling, which is turned topsy-
turvy by my trowel, and placed in possession of the den produced by my
art, the Lycosa at once disappears into that den. She does not come out
again, seeks nothing better elsewhere. A large wire-gauze cover rests on
the soil in the pan and prevents escape.

In any case, the watch, in this respect, makes no demands upon my
diligence. The