The Spider never ceases working at her carpet, which represents her investigation-platform.  Every night she goes to it, walks over it, inspecting her snares, extending her domain and increasing it with new threads.  The work is done with the silk constantly hanging from the spinnerets and constantly extracted as the animal moves about.  The neck of the funnel, being more often walked upon than the rest of the dwelling, is therefore provided with a thicker upholstery.  Beyond it are the slopes of the crater, which are also much-frequented regions.  Spokes of some regularity fix the diameter of the mouth; a swaying walk and the guiding aid of the caudal appendages have laid lozengy meshes across these spokes.  This part has been strengthened by the nightly rounds of inspection.  Lastly come the less-visited expanses, which consequently have a thinner carpet.

At the bottom of the passage dipping into the brushwood, we might expect to find a secret cabin, a wadded cell where the Spider would take refuge in her hours of leisure.  The reality is something entirely different.  The long funnel-neck gapes at its lower end, where a private door stands always ajar, allowing the animal, when hard-pushed, to escape through the grass and gain the open.

It is well to know this arrangement of the home, if you wish to capture the Spider without hurting her.  When attacked from the front, the fugitive runs down and slips through the postern-gate at the bottom.  To look for her by rummaging in the brushwood often leads to nothing, so swift is her flight; besides, a blind search entails a great risk of maiming her.  Let us eschew violence, which is but seldom successful, and resort to craft.

We catch sight of the Spider at the entrance to her tube.  If practicable, squeeze the bottom of the tuft, containing the neck of the funnel, with both hands.  That is enough; the animal is caught.  Feeling its retreat cut off, it readily darts into the paper bag held out to it; if necessary, it can be stimulated with a bit of straw.  In this way, I fill my cages with subjects that have not been demoralized by contusions.

The surface of the crater is not exactly a snare.  It is just possible for the casual pedestrian to catch his legs in the silky carpets; but giddy-pates who come here for a walk must be very rare.  What is wanted is a trap capable of securing the game that hops or flies.  The Epeira has her treacherous limed net; the Spider of the bushes has her no less treacherous labyrinth.

Look above the web.  What a forest of ropes!  It might be the rigging of a ship disabled by a storm.  They run from every twig of the supporting shrubs, they are fastened to the tip of every branch.  There are long ropes and short ropes, upright and slanting, straight and bent, taut and slack, all criss-cross and a-tangle, to the height of three feet or so in inextricable disorder.  The whole forms a chaos of netting, a labyrinth which none can pass through, unless he be endowed with wings of exceptional power.