tion. Well, I have often noted the state of one of these ruins
and, the next morning, I have found it as it was, or even more
dilapidated. Never any repairs; never; never. I am sorry, because of
the reputation which our hard-pressed theorists have given her, but the
Spider is absolutely unable to mend her work. In spite of her thoughtful
appearance, the Epeira is incapable of the modicum of reflexion required
to insert a piece into an accidental gap.

Other Spiders are unacquainted with wide-meshed nets and weave satins
wherein the threads, crossing at random, form a continuous substance.
Among this number is the House Spider (_Tegenaria domestica_, LIN.). In
the corners of our rooms, she stretches wide webs fixed by angular
extensions. The best-protected nook at one side contains the owner's
secret apartment. It is a silk tube, a gallery with a conical opening,
whence the Spider, sheltered from the eye, watches events. The rest of
the fabric, which exceeds our finest muslins in delicacy, is not,
properly speaking, a hunting-implement: it is a platform whereon the
Spider, attending to the affairs of her estate, goes her rounds,
especially at night. The real trap consists of a confusion of lines
stretched above the web.

The snare, constructed according to other rules than in the case of the
Epeirae, also works differently. Here are no viscous threads, but plain
toils, rendered invisible by the very number. If a Gnat rush into the
perfidious entanglement, he is caught at once; and the more he struggles
the more firmly is he bound. The snareling falls on the sheet-web.
_Tegenaria_ hastens up and bites him in the neck.

Having said this, let us experiment a little. In the web of the House
Spider, I make a round hole, two fingers wide. The hole remains yawning
all day long; but next morning it is invariably closed. An extremely
thin gauze covers the breach, the dark appearance of which contrasts with
the dense whiteness of the surrounding fabric. The gauze is so delicate
that, to make sure of its presence, I use a straw rather than my eyes.
The movement of the web, when this part is touched, proves the presence
of an obstacle.

Here, the matter would appear obvious. The House Spider has mended her
work during the night; she has put a patch in the torn stuff, a talent
unknown to the Garden Spiders. It would be greatly to her credit, if a
mere attentive study did not lead to another conclusion.

The web