she sits, with her paunch contained
in the round cavity and her forelegs resting on the ledge, ready to leap.
The lazy creature loves this position and rarely stations herself head
downwards on the web, as do the others. Cosily ensconced in the hollow
of her cup, she awaits the approaching game.

Her web, which is vertical, as is the rule among the Epeirae, is of a
fair size and always very near the bowl wherein the Spider takes her
ease. Moreover, it touches the bowl by means of an angular extension;
and the angle always contains one spoke which the Epeira, seated, so to
speak, in her crater, has constantly under her legs. This spoke,
springing from the common focus of the vibrations from all parts of the
network, is eminently fitted to keep the Spider informed of whatsoever
happens. It has a double office: it forms part of the Catherine-wheel
supporting the lime-threads and it warns the Epeira by its vibrations. A
special thread is here superfluous.

The other snarers, on the contrary, who occupy a distant retreat by day,
cannot do without a private wire that keeps them in permanent
communication with the deserted web. All of them have one, in point of
fact, but only when age comes, age prone to rest and to long slumbers. In
their youth, the Epeirae, who are then very wide-awake, know nothing of
the art of telegraphy. Besides, their web, a short-lived work whereof
hardly a trace remains on the morrow, does not allow of this kind of
industry. It is no use going to the expense of a signalling-apparatus
for a ruined snare wherein nothing can now be caught. Only the old
Spiders, meditating or dozing in their green tent, are warned from afar,
by telegraph, of what takes place on the web.

To save herself from keeping a close watch that would degenerate into
drudgery and to remain alive to events even when resting, with her back
turned on the net, the ambushed Spider always has her foot upon the
telegraph-wire. Of my observations on this subject, let me relate the
following, which will be sufficient for our purpose.

An Angular Epeira, with a remarkably fine belly, has spun her web between
two laurestine-shrubs, covering a width of nearly a yard. The sun beats
upon the snare, which is abandoned long before dawn. The Spider is in
her day manor, a resort easily discovered by following the
telegraph-wire. It is a vaulted chamber of dead leaves, joined together
with a few bits of silk. The refuge is deep: the