I look for better things if circumstances favour her.  Toiling in the midst of a dense thicket, among a tangle of dead leaves and twigs, she may well produce a very inaccurate piece of work; but compel her to labour when free from all impediment:  she will then—­I am convinced of it beforehand—­apply her talents without constraint and show herself an adept in the building of graceful nests.

As laying-time approaches, towards the middle of August, I instal half-a-dozen Labyrinth Spiders in large wire-gauze cages, each standing in an earthen pan filled with sand.  A sprig of thyme, planted in the centre, will furnish supports for the structure, together with the trellis-work of the top and sides.  There is no other furniture, no dead leaves, which would spoil the shape of the nest if the mother were minded to employ them as a covering.  By way of provision, Locusts, every day.  They are readily accepted, provided they be tender and not too large.

The experiment works perfectly.  August is hardly over before I am in possession of six nests, magnificent in shape and of a dazzling whiteness.  The latitude of the workshop has enabled the spinstress to follow the inspiration of her instinct without serious obstacles; and the result is a masterpiece of symmetry and elegance, if we allow for a few angularities demanded by the suspension-points.

It is an oval of exquisite white muslin, a diaphanous abode wherein the mother must make a long stay to watch over the brood.  The size is nearly that of a Hen’s egg.  The cabin is open at either end.  The front-entrance broadens into a gallery; the back-entrance tapers into a funnel-neck.  I fail to see the object of this neck.  As for the opening in front, which is wider, this is, beyond a doubt, a victualling-door.  I see the Spider, at intervals, standing here on the look-out for the Locust, whom she consumes outside, taking care not to soil the spotless sanctuary with corpses.

The structure of the nest is not without a certain similarity to that of the home occupied during the hunting-season.  The passage at the back represents the funnel-neck, that ran almost down to the ground and afforded an outlet for flight in case of grave danger.  The one in front, expanding into a mouth kept wide open by cords stretched backwards and forwards, recalls the yawning gulf into which the victims used to fall.  Every part of the old dwelling is repeated:  even the labyrinth, though this, it is true, is on a much smaller scale.  In front of the bell-shaped mouth is a tangle of threads wherein the passers-by are caught.  Each species, in this way, possesses a primary architectural model which is followed as a whole, in spite of altered conditions.  The animal knows its trade thoroughly, but it does not know and will never know aught else, being incapable of originality.