Chapter III: Part 3

In dragging leaves into their burrows worms generally seize the thin edge of a leaf with their mouths, between the projecting upper and lower lip, the thick and strong pharynx at the same time being pushed forwards within their bodies, so as to afford a _point de resistance_ for the upper lip; but in the case of broad and flat objects the pointed anterior extremity of the body, after being brought into contact with an object of this kind, is drawn within the adjoining rings, so that it becomes truncated and as thick as the rest of the body. This part is then seen to swell a little, seemingly from the pharynx being pushed a little forwards. By a slight withdrawal of the pharynx, or by its expansion, a vacuum is produced beneath the truncated, slimy end of the body whilst in contact with the object, and by this means the two adhere firmly together. Worms can attach themselves to an object in the same manner under the water.

Out on a Foraging Excursion.]

As worms have no teeth, and their mouths consist of very soft tissue, it may be presumed that they consume by means of suction of the edges and parenchyma of fresh leaves after they have been softened by the digestive fluid. They cannot attack such strong leaves as those of sea-kale or large and thick leaves of ivy. They not only seize leaves and other objects for purposes of food, but for plugging up the mouths of their burrows. Flower-peduncles, decayed twigs of trees, bits of paper, feathers, tufts of wool and horse-hair are some of the many things other than leaves that are dragged into their burrows for this purpose. Many hundred leaves of the pine-tree have been found drawn by their bases into burrows. Where fallen leaves are abundant, especially ordinary dicotyledonous leaves, many more than can be used are collected over the mouth of a burrow, so that a small pile of unused leaves is left like a roof over those which have been partly dragged in. A leaf in being dragged a little way into a cylindrical burrow necessarily becomes much folded or crumpled, and when another is drawn in, this is done exteriorly to the first, and so on with succeeding leaves, till finally they all become closely folded and pressed together. Sometimes the mouth of a burrow is enlarged, or a fresh one is made close by, so that a larger number of leaves may be drawn in. Generally the interstices between the drawn-in leaves are filled with moist, viscid earth ejected from their bodies, thus rendering them doubly secure. Hundreds of such plugged burrows may be seen during the autumnal and early winter months.

When leaves, petioles, sticks, etc., cannot be obtained for the mouths of their burrows, heaps of stones, smooth, rounded pebbles, are utilized for protection. When the stones are removed and the surface of the ground is cleared for some inches round the burrow, the worms may be seen with their tails fixed in their burrows dragging the stones inward by the aid of their mouths, stones weighing as much as two ounces often being found in the little heaps, which goes to show how strong these apparently weak creatures are. Work of this kind is usually performed during the night, although objects have been occasionally known to be drawn into the burrows during the day. What advantage worms derive from plugging up the mouths of their burrows, or from piling stones over them, cannot be satisfactorily answered. They do not act in this manner when they eject much earth from their burrows, for then their castings serve to cover the mouth. Perhaps the plugs serve to protect them from the attacks of scolopenders, their most inveterate enemies, or to enable them to remain with safety with their heads close to the mouths of their burrows, which they like so well to do, but which, unless protected, costs many a fellow its life. Besides, may not the plugs check the free ingress of the lowest stratum of air, when chilled by radiation at night, from the surrounding ground and herbage? The last view of the matter seems especially well taken, because worms kept in pots where there is fire, having no cold air with which to contend, plug up their burrows in a slovenly manner, and because they often coat the upper part of their burrows with leaves, apparently to prevent their bodies from coming into contact with the cold, damp earth. But the plugging-up process may undoubtedly serve for all these purposes. Whatever the motive may be, it seems that worms much dislike leaving the mouths of their burrows open, yet, nevertheless, they will reopen them at night, whether or not they are able afterwards to close them.

Considerable intelligence is shown by worms in their manner of plugging up their burrows. If man had to plug up a cylindrical hole with such objects as leaves, petioles or twigs, he would push them in by their pointed ends, but if these were thin relatively to the size of the hole, he would probably insert some by their broader ends. Intelligence would certainly be his guide in such a case. But how worms would drag leaves into their burrows, whether by their tips, bases, or middle parts, has been a matter of interest to many. Darwin, who experimented upon the subject, found it especially desirable to experiment with plants not native to his country, for he conceived that although the habit of dragging leaves into their burrows is undoubtedly instinctive with worms, yet instinct could not teach them how to act in the case of leaves about which their progenitors knew nothing. Did they act solely through instinct, or an unvarying inherited impulse, they would draw all kinds of leaves into their burrows in the same manner. Having no such definite instinct, chance might be expected to determine whether the tip, base, or middle might be seized. If the worm in each case first tries many different methods, and follows that alone which proves possible or the most easy, then both instinct and chance are ruled out of the solution of the question. But to act in this manner, and to try different methods, makes what in man would be called intelligent action.

Three species of pine-leaves are mentioned by Darwin as being regularly drawn into the mouths of worm-burrows on the gravel-walk in his garden. These leaves consist of two needles, which are united to a common base, and it is by this point that they are almost invariably drawn into the burrows. As the sharply-pointed needles diverge somewhat, and as several are drawn into the same burrow, each tuft forms a perfect _chevaux-de-frise_. Many tufts were pulled up in the evening, but by the ensuing morning fresh leaves had taken their places, and the burrows again well protected. Impossible it would be to drag these leaves to any depth into the burrows, except by their bases, as a worm cannot seize hold of the two leaves at the same time, and if one alone were seized by the apex, the other would be pressed against the ground and resist the entry of the one that was seized. That the worms should do their work well, it was very essential that they drag the pine-leaves into their burrows by their bases, that is, where the two needles are conjoined. But how they are guided in this work was at first perplexing. The difficulty, however, was soon settled. With the assistance of his son Francis, the elder Darwin set to work to observe worms in confinement during several nights by the aid of a dim light, while they dragged the leaves of the aforementioned kinds into their burrows. They were seen to move the anterior extremities of their bodies about the leaves, and on several occasions when they touched the sharp end of the needle they suddenly withdrew as though they had been pricked, but it is doubtful that they were hurt, for they are indifferent to sharp objects, being known to swallow rose-thorns and small splinters of glass. It may be doubted whether the sharp end of the needle serves to tell them that is the wrong end to seize, for the points of many were cut off for the length of an inch, and these leaves were always drawn in by their bases and not by the cut-off ends. The worms, it seemed, almost instantly perceived as soon as they had seized a leaf in the proper manner. Many leaves were cemented together at the top, or tied together by fine thread, and these in the majority of instances were dragged in by their bases, which leads to the conclusion that there must be something attractive to worms in the base of pine-leaves, notwithstanding that few ordinary leaves are drawn in by their base or footstalk. Leaves of other plants, and also the petioles of some compound plants, as well as triangular bits of paper, dry and damp, were experimented with, and the manner of seizing the objects and bearing them into their burrows were as amusing as they were novel and interesting. The leaves and stems used were such as the worms had not been accustomed to in their respective haunts.

When the several cases experimented on are considered, one can hardly escape from the conclusion that some degree of intelligence is shown by worms in plugging up their burrows. Each particular object is seized in too uniform a manner, and from causes which we can generally understand, for the result to be attributed to mere chance. That every object has not been drawn in by its pointed end may be accounted for by labor having been saved by some being carried in by their broader ends. There is no doubt that worms are governed by instinct in plugging up their burrows, and it might be expected that they would have been taught in every particular instance how to act independently of intelligence. It is very difficult to judge when intelligence comes into play. The actions of animals, appearing due to intelligence, may be performed through inherited habit without any intelligence, although aboriginally acquired, or the habit may be acquired through the preservation and inheritance of some other action, and in the latter case the new habit will have been acquired independently of intelligence throughout the entire course of its development. There is no _à priori_ improbability in worms having acquired special instincts through either of these two latter means. Nevertheless it is incredible that instincts should have been developed in reference to objects, such as the leaves and petioles of foreign plants, wholly unknown to the progenitors of the worms which have acted in the manner just described. Nor are their actions so unvarying or inevitable as are most true instincts.

As worms are not controlled by special instincts in each particular case, though possessing a general instinct to plug up their burrows, and as chance is excluded, the next most probable conclusion is that they try in many ways to draw in objects and finally succeed in some one way. It is surprising, however, that an animal so low in the scale as a worm should have the capacity to act in this way, as many higher animals have no such capacity, the instincts of the latter often being followed in a senseless or purposeless manner.

We can safely infer intelligence, as Mr. Romanes, who has specially studied animals, says, only when we see an individual profiting by his own experiences. That worms are able to judge either before or after having drawn an object close to the mouths of their burrows how best to drag it in, shows that they must have acquired some notion of its general shape. This they probably acquire by touching it in many places with the anterior extremity of their bodies, which serves them as a tactile organ. Man, even when born blind and deaf, shows how perfect the sense of touch may become, and if worms, which also come into being in the same condition, have the power of acquiring some notion, however rude, of the shape of an object and their burrows, they deserve, it must seem to every sensible mind, to be called intelligent creatures, for they act in such a case in nearly the same manner as a man would under similar circumstances. That worms, which stand so low in the scale of organization, should possess some degree of intelligence, will doubtless strike everyone as very improbable. It may be doubted, however, whether we know enough about the nervous system of the lower animals to justify our natural distrust of such a conclusion. With regard to the small size of the cerebral ganglia, we would do well to remember what a mass of inherited knowledge, with some power of adapting means to an end, is crowded into the minute brain of a worker ant.

Two ways are adopted by worms in excavating their burrows. Either the earth is pushed away on all sides or it is swallowed by the animal. In the former case the worm inserts the stretched-out and attenuated anterior extremity of its body into any little crevice or hole, and the pharynx is pushed forward into this part, which consequently swells and pushes away the earth on all sides, the anterior extremity thus acting as a wedge. When placed in loose mould a worm will bury itself in between two and three minutes, but in earth that is moderately pressed down it often requires as many as fifteen minutes for its disappearance. But whenever a worm burrows to a depth of several feet in undisturbed compact ground, it must form its passage by swallowing the earth, for it is impossible that the ground could yield on all sides to the pressure of the pharynx when pushed forward within the worm’s body. Great depths are reached only during continued dry weather and severe cold, the burrows sometimes attaining to a depth of from seven to eight feet. The burrows run down perpendicularly, or, more commonly, obliquely, and are sometimes said to branch. Generally, or invariably as I think, they are lined with fine, dark-colored earth voided by the worm, so that at first they must be made a little wider than their ultimate diameter. Little globular pellets of voided earth, still soft and viscid, often dot the walls of fresh burrows, and these are spread out on all sides by the worm as it travels up or down its burrow, the lining thus formed becoming very compact and smooth when nearly dry and closely fitting the worm’s body. Excellent points of support are thus afforded for the minute reflexed bristles which project in rows on all sides from the body, thus rendering the burrow well adapted for the rapid movement of the animal. The lining appears also to strengthen the walls, and perhaps saves the worm’s body from being scratched, which would assuredly be the case when the burrows, as is occasionally observed, pass through a layer of sifted coal cinders. The burrows are thus seen to be not mere excavations, but may be compared with tunnels lined with cement. Those which run far down into the ground generally, or at least frequently, terminate in little chambers, where one or several worms pass the winter rolled up into a ball. Small pebbles and seeds as large as grains of mustard are carried down from the surface by being swallowed or within the mouths of worms, as well as bits of glass and tile, whose only use in their winter-quarters seems to be the prevention of their closely coiled-up bodies from coming into contiguity with the surrounding cold soil, for such contact would perhaps interfere with their respiration, which is effected by the skin alone.

After swallowing earth, whether for making its burrow or for food, the earth-worm soon comes to the surface to empty its body. The rejected matter is thoroughly mixed with the intestinal secretions, and is thus rendered viscid. After becoming dried, it sets hard. When in a very liquid state the earth is thrown out in little spurts, and when not so liquid by a slow peristaltic movement of the intestine. It is not cast indifferently on any side, but first on one and then on another, the tail being used almost like a trowel. The little heap being formed the worm seemingly avoids, for the sake of safety, the use of its tail, the earthy matter being forced up through the previously deposited soft mass. The mouth of the same burrow is used for this purpose for a considerable time. When a worm comes to the surface to eject earth, the tail protrudes, but when it collects leaves its head must protrude, and thus worms must have the power of performing the difficult feat, as it seems to us, of turning round in their closely-fitting burrows. Worms do not always eject their castings upon the surface of the ground, for when burrowing in newly turned-up earth, or between the stems of banked-up plants, they deposit their castings in such places, and even hollows beneath large stems lying on the surface of the ground are filled up with their ejections. Old burrows collapse in time. The fine earth voided by worms, if spread out uniformly, would form in many places a layer of one-fifth of an inch in thickness. But this large amount is not deposited within the old unused burrows. If the burrows did not collapse, the whole ground would be first thickly riddled with holes to the depth of ten inches or more, which in fifty years would grow into a hollow, unsupported place ten inches deep.

Hardly any animal is more universally distributed than worms. The earth-worm is found in all parts of the world, and some of the genera have an enormous range. They inhabit the most isolated islands, abounding in Iceland, and also being known to exist in the West Indies, St. Helena, Madagascar, New Caledonia and Tahiti. Worms from Kergulen Land in the Antarctic regions have been described by Ray Lankester, and Darwin has reported them as being found in the Falkland Islands. How they reach such isolated islands is quite unknown. They are easily killed by salt water, and it does not seem likely that young worms or their egg-capsules could be carried in earth adhering to the feet or beaks of land-birds, especially to Kergulen Land, for it is not now inhabited by any terrestrial bird.

We have seen that worms are found in nearly every part of the globe, that they are very numerous, as many as 348,480 having been found in an acre of rich ground in New Zealand, and that by the peculiar economy of their nature they are fitted to accomplish a great deal of good in the earth. They have played a more important part in the history of the world than most persons would at first suppose. In many parts of England, according to Darwin, a weight of more than ten tons of dry earth annually passes through their bodies and is brought to the surface in each acre of land, so that the entire superficial bed of vegetable mould passes through their bodies in the course of every few years; and in most parts of the forests and pasture-lands of Southern Brazil, where several species of earth-worms abound, the whole soil to a depth of a quarter of a metre looks as though it had passed through the intestines of worms, even where scarcely any castings are to be observed upon the surface. The upper crust is continually being eaten and ejected by them, thus aiding the fertility of the soil, as well as conveying water and air to the interior by the myriads of burrows which they drill. The vast quantities of leaves that they drag into their holes tend also to enrich the ground. Nor does their good end here. They cover up seeds, undermine rocks, burying them up, and to their labors is due the preservation of many ruins and ancient works of art. Numerous old-time Roman villas have been discovered beneath the ground in England, whose entombments were undoubtedly caused by the worms that undermined them and deposited their castings upon the floors, till finally, aided by other causes, they disappeared from sight.

When a wide, turf-covered expanse of earth is beheld, we would do well to remember that its smoothness, upon which so much of its beauty depends, is largely due to all the inequalities having been slowly levelled by worms. That all the surface-mould of any such expanse has passed, and will again pass, every few years through the bodies of worms is a marvellous reflection, and one which should not be lightly dismissed from the mind. The most ancient, as well as one of the most valuable of man’s inventions, is the plough. But long before man existed the land was in fact regularly ploughed, and still continues to be ploughed, by earth-worms. No other animal has played such a part in history as have these lowly-organized creatures. True it is that corals, which are still lower in the scale of animals, have performed more conspicuous work in the innumerable reefs and islands they have built in the great oceans, but their work is confined to the tropical zones, while that of the earth-worm is well-nigh universal. Verily it is by the little things in life that the Creator has erected the most stupendous monuments to show forth His infinite power and wisdom.

FIDDLER- AND HERMIT-CRABS.

Among our first acquaintances of the sea-shore are sure to be a number of merry little sprites which do not seem to have yet mastered the lesson of walking straight ahead. Their movements will be seen to be in a direction at right angles to that towards which the head points. It is a very interesting sight to watch these apparently one-sided creatures hurrying off in their lateral progression towards their burrows in the sand or mud, or in quest of food. Pass them, and you will be surprised to see how quickly some of them will reverse their motion, seemingly without so much as pausing to glance at their pursuer, their machinery appearing to have given out at one end, thus compelling them to reverse and travel back over their old courses.

These little Fiddler- or Calling-crabs, as they are termed, are the most pronounced offenders against the commonly accepted rule of proper walking. Scattered all over the salt marshes and mud-flats, at about high-water mark, may be noted their burrows, which are about as large as a thrust made by an umbrella point, and from which can be frequently seen the little animal peeping forth, preparatory to making a sally. At another part of the flat, where the noise of your footsteps has not given signals of danger, hundreds of crabblings are busy with their out-door occupations. Draw near to them, and away they scamper to their dwellings, males and females intermingled promiscuously, the former recognizable by the undue development of one of the claws, which is carried transversely in front of the head. When the animal is provoked, this claw is brandished in a somewhat menacing manner, which has been likened by some to the pulling of a violin bow, and by others to the action of beckoning or calling, and hence the names which have been applied to these eccentric creatures.

Have you a desire for a more intimate knowledge of the animal, take him up by the big claw, and you can now examine him without the least fear of incurring the proofs of his displeasure. Two bead-like, compound eyes, supported on long stalks, which can be readily withdrawn into the protecting shield of the carapace, will be observed. From the manner of this support, which allows of vision in almost every direction, the name of stalk-eyed crustaceans has been given to the group in which this structure is found. The two pairs of feelers, which you see in front of the eyes, are known as antennæ and antennules. They are of peculiar interest, for, aside from acting as feelers, they subserve the functions of smelling and hearing, the auditory apparatus being lodged in the base of the smaller pair. There are ten feet, and this is a character of importance, as it is a feature distinctive of the ten-footed, or decapod, crustaceans. At first sight it appears that the animal is devoid of a tail, but if you turn him over upon his back you will find a very short one tucked safely under the body. A comparison of our study of this crab with that of the lobster or cray-fish will show that the tail, or, more properly, the abdomen, is stretched out beyond the body proper, and that the elongation is in proportion to the length of the animal. Two distinct groups of ten-legged, stalk-eyed crustaceans are thus recognized, namely: the short-tailed forms, or crabs, and the opposite, or long-tailed forms, to which the lobster and shrimp belong, the hermit-crabs constituting an intermediate type.

Two species of the Fiddler, considerably resembling each other in color and ornamentation, are to be found upon our Atlantic Coast. The more common form, _Gelasimus vocator_, has a smooth, shining carapace, while that of _Gelasimus minax_ is finely granulated and in part tuberculated, the back of both appearing impressed with a figure very similar to the letter H. The latter, which appears to be a vegetable feeder, is the larger, its burrows not infrequently measuring one and a half inches in diameter. Estuarine regions, in close proximity to fresh water, rather than the tidal flats, are its habitat, and, in truth, it seems to be able to get along for weeks, and even months, without any absolute need of salt water.

Two Males Fighting for a Female.]

In the excavation of their homes the Fiddlers throw up the pellets of moist earth by means of their anterior walking legs, depositing their burden usually at some little distance from the mouth of the burrow. As winter approaches, the domiciliary apertures are closed up, and the famine of winter is spent in a state of torpidity.

With the advent of spring they come forth from their brumal retreats, and soon concern themselves with the duties incident to the propagation of their kind. Two males are often observed contending in the fiercest manner for the possession of a female. They strike with the formidable claw most powerful blows, and I have often seen an opponent so completely claw-locked as to be unutterly unable to make any determined resistance. These contests last a long while, and finally conclude with the complete vanquishment of one or the other of the fighting parties, one or both sustaining at times some severe injury as the loss of an eye-peduncle or the joint of a limb. All the while the battle is waging, the female is a silent, passive spectator, and generally allies herself with the successful competitor for her affections. Even during the summer season, when the cares of brood-raising no longer command and enslave the attention of the female, these combats are still indulged in by the males, growing out of, as it would seem, the lingering smarts of old animosities festering in the memory. While these carcinological lords of the sea-side are eminently fitted for the sparring business, the whole physiognomy of their smaller, weaker partners bespeaks a life in which broils can have no part, a life devoted to peaceful and domestic pursuits.

Differing widely in structure and habits from the Calling-crabs, and affecting watery situations near the shore, are to be found the Hermit-crabs. These sprightly little animals, which are usually of small size, and have truly habits of their own, that stamp them at once as being original and distinctive, are a source of never-failing delight to the student of nature. They derive their name, as is well known, from the seclusion into which they cast themselves as the inhabitants of the shells of other animals, but it is probably not generally known, however, that the rights of tenantry are oftentimes exercised in the most arbitrary manner. Not always satisfied with a dead shell, the Hermit-crab has been seen to raid upon a living possessor and attempt to drag him from his home, in which operation the assailant is often assisted by a number of his fellows, each bearing with him his castle as defensive armor. True, the attack is probably made in many instances for the purpose of getting possession of the enemy as well as his belongings, and, however this may be, forcible possession is by them considered no misdemeanor.

The body of the Hermit-crab, in the greater number of species, is unprovided with a carapace, and, being soft and liable to injury, the animal is compelled to seek shelter usually in a snail-shell, winding himself about the coils, to the inner extremity of which he attaches himself by his modified posterior feet. So securely is he now intrenched that it is only with difficulty he can be withdrawn, retracting himself as he does further and further within cover of the shell. A sudden fracture of the apex of the shell, under which appears to be the most delicate part of the animal’s body, will generally effect a speedy dislodgment, the frightened Crab dropping from the aperture.

With his progressive development in size the Hermit requires frequent changes of abode. His methods in securing a new habitation are among the most interesting of his life. He is very circumspect in his movements, and will make several reconnoissances before he is fully satisfied with the conditions of his prospective home, retiring after each visit to the old shell.

CRAB WAITING FOR FOOD UNDER A ROCK.

From a photograph taken through water.]

Like many bipeds, he has his first of May, and so he goes house-hunting. He finds a shell. Will it do? He examines it within, feelingly if not courteously, to see whether it is to let. Satisfied on this point, he turns it over, then turns it round, to know if it will suit, the weight of the house being quite an item in the reckoning to one who is to carry it upon his back. All things being right, his mind is made up to move, and quickly, too, at that, lest he miss his chance through some more active fellow house-hunter who is on the alert. Out comes the body from the old house, and pop it goes into the new. The resolution to move, the surrender of the old house, and the occupancy of the new, were all effected within a fraction of a second of time.

One at Home, the Other House-Hunting.]

But the matter does not always go on pleasantly. Two house-hunters may find the same tenement. Should they both desire it, then comes the tug of war. Dwell together they neither can nor will. Recourse is had to battle, in which the stronger proves his claim right by the rule of might. In these encounters terrible mutilations quite often occur.

As an offset to all this bad feeling and bloodshed, it is a sad sight to see the little Hermit when his time comes to die. However droll his career may have been, he is now very grave, for he knows he must part with life and all its joys and pleasures. Who can explain the strange fact? The poor little fellow comes out of his house to die. Yes, to die. To us humans home is the only fit place to die in, but to Eupagurus it has no attractions at this solemn time. Poor fellow! With a sad look and a melancholy movement he quits of his own will the house for which he fought so well. Those feelers that often stood out so provokingly, and that were quite as often poked into everybody’s business, now lie prone and harmless; the eyes have lost their pertness, and dead, stone dead, the houseless Hermit lies upon that moss-covered rock.

There are two species of Hermit-crab occurring on our coast, which are readily distinguishable from each other by their size and the difference in the shape of the big claw. _Eupagurus pollicaris_, the Warty Hermit, is the larger species. He inhabits the shells of the big Naticas and the Fulgurs, and can be easily recognized by his coarse, broad claws, which close up in great part the aperture of the shell which he occupies. In the more common form, _Eupagurus longicarpus_, which seldom attains a length exceeding an inch, the legs are all much elongated, giving the animal a very slender appearance.

FUNNEL-WEB BUILDER.

Simple nests and tubes are all the majority of spiders construct for their homes. The larger and better known webs for catching insects are made by comparatively few species. He who is astir in the grass-fields on damp summer mornings, will everywhere see innumerous flat webs, from an inch or two to a foot in diameter, which weather-wise folks consider prognostic of a fair day. These webs may always be found upon the grass at the proper season, but only become visible from a distance when the dew is upon them, making the earth appear as covered by an almost continuous carpet of silk.

By far the greater number of these nests is of the form which is termed funnel-webs, which consist of a concave sheet of silk, constituted of strong threads, crossed by finer ones, which the author spins with the long hind-spinnerets, swinging them from side to side, and laying down a band of threads at each stroke, the many hundred threads extending in all directions to the supporting spears of grass. The web is so close and tight that the footsteps of the spider can be distinctly heard by the attentive, listening ear as she runs hither and thither over its scarcely bending surface. At one side of the web is a tube, leading down among the grass-stems, which serves as a hiding-place for the owner of the web. Here, at the top, and just out of sight, the spider ordinarily stands, waiting for something to light upon the web, when she eagerly rushes out, seizing the prey unluckily caught and carrying it into her tube to eat. If too formidable an insect comes upon the web, she turns herself round, beating a precipitate retreat out of the lower end of her funnel and soon is lost beneath the mesh of enveloping and interlacing grasses.

Where favorably located, these webs remain through the entire season, and are enlarged, as the spider grows, by additions on the outer edges, and are supported by threads running up into the neighboring plants. Sometimes the webs are built in close proximity to a stone partially imbedded in the earth, the bottom of the funnel opening slightly underneath the stone, which secures to the spider a convenient harbor in case of threatening danger.

Agalenidæ, as our funnel-web weavers are called, are long-legged, brown spiders, in which the head part of the cephalo-thorax is higher than the thoracic part, and distinctly separated from it by grooves or marks at the sides. The eyes are usually in two rows, but in Agalena the middle eyes of both rows are much higher than the others. The feet have three claws, and the posterior pairs of spinnerets are two-jointed and usually longer than the others. _Agalena nævia_, the technical name of our Common Grass Spider, abounds in all parts of the United States, but its very commonness is the principal reason why it is so little known except by the trained naturalist, its very familiarity leading the average man and woman to look upon it with contempt.

House-Fly, Caught in the Toils, Becomes a Victim.]

Persons unfamiliar with spiders find it difficult to distinguish the young from the old, and male from female. This is caused, in part, by the great differences between different ages and sexes of the same spider, on account of which they are supposed to belong to distinct species. The adult males and females, however, are easily distinguished from each other, and from the young, by the complete development of organs peculiar to each sex, the palpal organs on the ends of the palpi in the males, and the epigynum, a hard swollen place just in front of the opening of the ovaries in the females. Usually the males are smaller than their partners, and have, in proportion to their size, smaller abdomens and longer legs. They are generally darker colored, especially on the head and front part of the body, and markings which are distinct in the female coalesce and become darker in the male. In most species these differences are not very great, but in some, Argiope and Nephila for examples, where the males are about one-tenth as large as the females, one would hardly suppose, without other evidence, that the males and females had any relationship to each other. The palpal organs and the epigynum are sexual characters which do not attain their functional value until after the last moult has been effected.

Spiders are naturally very selfish creatures. Their chief concern in life seems to be the gratification of their desires for food. They are eminently unsocial, the sexes preferring to live solitary lives. It is only when actuated by amatory influences that the females will tolerate their weaker lords, and in some instances it is only by stratagem and agility that the latter are able to accomplish the fulfilment of the law of their being, the females by their ugly, vicious tempers resisting to the utmost. In the case of Agalena the male is the stronger of the two. He, at the proper time, when the reproductive cells are matured, takes the female in his powerful mandibles, lays her gently on one side, and inserts one of his palpi, whose little sacs had previously been filled with the fecundating discharge, into the epigynum underneath. After a time, necessarily brief, he rises on tiptoe, turns her around and over, so that she comfortably lies on the other side, her head being in the opposite direction, and inserts the other palpus. All through the operation the female lies as though she was dead. The ends of nature being served, the sexes separate, the male returning to the solitary life he previously led, while the female busies herself in providing for the duties of maternity.

The eggs becoming mature, the latter proceeds to make a little web and lays them in it, practising the utmost care. She now covers them over with silk, which she weaves into a cocoon, where the young remain some time after they are hatched. Seldom is the laying seen, for it generally happens in the night-time, or in retired places. Often, in confinement, the spider refuses to lay at all. An egg of a spider, like that of any other animal, is a cell which separates from the body of the female, and subsequently unites with one or more cells that have separated from the body of the male. This process of union, termed fertilization, doubtless takes place when the eggs have attained their full size and are about to be laid. After being laid and hardened it is a very easy matter to watch their development. All that is necessary to be done is to cover the egg to be examined with oil, alcohol or any liquid that will wet it, for this tends to make the shell transparent. Eggs laid in summer are ready to hatch in a fortnight, while those laid in autumn develop slowly all through the winter. A day or two are occupied in hatching. When the time has arrived the shell, or more properly the skin, cracks along the lines between the legs, and comes off in rags, and the spider slowly stretches itself and creeps about. Pale and soft it appears, and devoid of hairs or spines, but its feet are armed with small claws. In two or three days it gets rid of another skin, and begins to assume a spider-like appearance, the eyes becoming dark-colored, the thoracic marks growing more distinct, and a dark stripe appearing across the edge of each segment of the abdomen. The hairs are now long, but few in number, and arranged in rows across the abdomen and along the middle of the thorax. Before the next moult they usually forsake the cocoon, and live together for a short time in a web spun in common. Where larger broods of young spiders live together, they soon show cannibal-like qualities, and if kept in confinement one or two out of a cocoon-full may be raised without recourse to any other food.

As spiders grow larger, they must moult from time to time. This is an interesting process. The spider hangs herself by a thread from the spinnerets to the centre of the web. In a short time the skin cracks around the thorax, just over the first joints of the legs, and the top part falls forward, being held only at the front edge. The skin of the abdomen now breaks irregularly along the sides and back, and shrinks together in a bunch, leaving the spider suspended only by a short thread from the spinnerets, her legs still being trammelled by the old skin. Fifteen minutes of violent exertion releases her from the encumbrance, when she drops down, hanging by her spinnerets like a wet rag. She can do nothing in this condition, not even draw her legs away from an approaching hand. In ten or twelve minutes the legs show signs of strengthening, and she is able to draw them gradually towards her. A few up-and-down movements, and she manages to get into the web again.

That which, more than anything else, discriminates spiders from other animals is their habit of spinning webs. Some of the mites spin irregular threads upon plants, or cocoons for their eggs, and many insects cocoons in which to undergo their changes from larva to imago, but in the spiders the spinning-organs are much more complicated, and used for a greater variety of purposes, for making egg-cocoons, silk linings to their nests, and nets for catching insects. The spider’s thread differs from that of insects, in being constituted of a great number of finer threads laid together, while soft enough to coalesce into one. Each spinneret is provided with a number of little tubes, which convey the viscid liquid that forms the thread from glands in the spider’s body. In Agalena the two hinder spinnerets are long, and have spinning-tubes along the under side of the last joint.

When about to produce a thread the spider presses the spinnerets against some object and forces out from each tube enough of the secretion to adhere to it, when the spinnerets are moved away, drawing the viscid liquid out, which hardens at once into threads for each tube. A band of threads is formed when the spinnerets are kept apart, but when closed together the fine threads unite into one or more large ones. Commonly the spinning is aided by the hinder feet, which guide the thread, keeping it clear of surrounding objects, and even pulling it from the spinnerets.

Spiders are best known and hated as animals that bite. Their biting-apparatus, the mandibles, are located in front of the head. Partly in the basal joints of these organs and partly in the head, the poison-glands are seated, from which is discharged through a tube the venom, which makes spiders so much to be feared. This tube opens at the point of the claw of the mandible. When the apparatus is not in use the claws are closed up against the parts between the rows of teeth; but when the jaws are opened to bite the claws are turned outward, so that their points can be made to penetrate anything that comes between the jaws. The ordinary function of the mandibles is the killing and crushing of insects, so that the soft parts can be eaten by the spider, and in this preparation they are substantially aided by the maxillæ. Spiders will sometimes chew an insect for hours, until it becomes a mere ball of skin, only swallowing such bits as may happen to be sucked in with the blood. Let alone and unmolested, they bite nothing except insects that are useful for food. But when attacked and cornered, all species open their jaws and bite if they can, their ability to do so depending upon their size and the strength of their jaws. Notwithstanding the large number of pimples and stings ascribed to spiders, undoubted cases of their biting the human skin are exceedingly rare, and the stories of death, insanity and lameness from spider-bites are probably all untrue. Many experiments have been made to test the effect of the bites of spiders on animals. Insects succumb most readily to their bites, some sooner than others, but birds, except when bitten by the larger Mygale, recover after the lapse of a few hours. The effect upon man, even when the bite is deep enough to draw blood, is like the pricks of a needle, attended by little or no inflammation or pain. Even in cases where death among insects and birds ensues it is claimed by the authorities, men as eminent as Blackwall, Moggridge and Dufour, that the secretion from spiders’ jaws is not poisonous, but that the animals die, when bitten, from loss of blood and mechanical injury.

Such is the prejudice against the spider, that its presence, no matter where found, whether in the open field or in a corner of the house, is an inducement for its inveterate enemy, man, to sweep it to the ground or floor and crush its frail life out with one blow of the foot. Few know, or care to know, it would seem, the good it does for man. He owes to it, in a large measure, the protection of his crops, and no little of the comfort he enjoys in life. Spiders are carnivorous creatures, and destroy vast number of insects, many of which are man’s worst enemies. They merit, and deservingly, too, his kindness and protection for the benefits they confer.

Tarantulas have been supposed to produce epilepsy by their bites, which could only be relieved by music of certain kinds. Such stories, and they have been widely circulated and believed, are the veriest nonsense, for tarantula-bites produce no such effects nowadays. These spiders, which live in holes in sand, out of which they reach after passing insects, are no more savage in their habits than other spiders, for Dufour, a celebrated French naturalist, once kept one that soon learned to take flies from his fingers without manifesting the least disposition to bite. Different species quickly learn, when treated with kindness, to regard man as their friend. I have seen Agalena take food from the hand out of a pair of forceps, or water from a brush, and even to reach on tiptoe after it from the mouth of a bottle placed for her accommodation. Though naturally timid and shy, and prone to flee to her funnel on man’s approach, yet she has been known to permit the most unexpected familiarities without fear or resentment. Many a female has taken from my hand the proffered fly, and submitted to the gentle caresses of my finger down the back and abdomen with the most pleasurable satisfaction. They have come at the sound of my voice, dancing upon their sheeted web like one gone mad, so perfectly carried away with delight. An interesting experience of last summer during a brief stay in the country seems apropos at this time. While sauntering carelessly along a forest-road I came unexpectedly upon a rustic bridge, with a railing on one side, which overspanned a small water-course. Leaning for rest and support against the railing, soon my attention was arrested by a huge female spider, which I recognized as _Epeira domiciliorum_. She was evidently in quest of something, as I was led to suspect from her seemingly thoughtful and deliberate movements. I watched her closely and criticisingly for a long while, and in one of her contemplative moods, when she stood perfectly motionless and fixed as it were to the railing, I reached out my finger rather impulsively and began stroking her along the abdomen, a familiarity which she did not resent, and which seemed to give her the most intense delight. When the caressing had ceased, she would turn round and confront her newly-made acquaintance, but the lifting of the finger was always the signal for her to assume an attitude of the most perfect quiescence. That she enjoyed these little attentions there cannot be a shadow of doubt, or actions are no use in the interpretation of feeling. Had they been painful, she would have sought relief in flight, or in the manifestation of an untoward disposition towards her unintentional persecutor.

BOOK-LOVERS.

Living in chinks and crannies of ranges in our homes, and occasionally in bookcases and closets where glutinous and sugary matters abound, but which has probably not been met with elsewhere, is a strange but beautiful little creature which, as far as can be determined, goes through the brief round of its existence without a name to distinguish it from its fellows.

Few entomologists have given any special attention to its family relationships. The possession of certain bristle-like appendages which terminate the abdomen, and which are no doubt comparable with the abdominal legs of the Myriopods, or Thousand Legs, classes it with the Bristle-tails, or Lepismas. In general form, a likeness to the larva of Perla, a net-veined neuropterous insect, is manifest, or to the narrow-bodied species of Blattariæ, or Cockroaches, when divested of wings.

_Lepisma saccharina_, of Europe, which is indistinguishable from our ordinary American form, is far from uncommon in old, damp houses. Its structure is less complicated than the heat-loving species to which I have alluded, and there are likewise differences of habits which show themselves to the close investigator of natural phenomena.

Not unlike the cockroaches, which our little denizen of the hearth somewhat vaguely resembles in form, it affects hot, dry localities, and is always astir at nights in quest of its fare, for it disdains the light of the day and the consequent publicity of its deeds of shame and plunder.

Many a housewife in the discharge of duty has unearthed, so to speak, the miscreant from its hidden retreat, and sought by foot or hand to crush the life that dares obtrude its uncleanly presence in her larder, but the cunning, swift-footed Lepisma darts off, like a streak of light, to some near-by crack or breach, where it manages to hide from threatening danger. The bodies of these nimble, silent-moving creatures being coated in a suit of shining mail, which the arrangement of the scales so very much resembles, they have a weird and ghostly look. This appearance, and the swiftness of their movement, which the eye can hardly trace, have led the vivid mind of man, in country town and village, to dub them “silver witches.”

So fleet of foot are they, and so like a wave of blurred light they cross the vision, that it is vain to try to figure what they are in shape and look. In death they yield their all of earth to prying science. Their body’s form is narrow, flattened; their legs in pairs of threes, each of six joints consisting, the basal joints broad, flat, triangular, the tarsal large, in number two, and armed at end with pair of claws incurved. The three thoracic segments are very like in size, and eight abdominals, of similar length and width. So weak it seems the rather long abdomen is, that two pairs or six of bristles, simple, unjointed, and freely movable, serve as support, and also, as in other groups of insects, as organs locomotive.

The mode of antenna-insertion--and the same prevails in the entire family--is much like that of the Myriopods, the front of the head being flattened and concealing, as in the Centipedes, the base of the antennæ. Indeed, the head of any of the Bristle-tails, as seen from above, bears a general resemblance in some of its features to that of the Centipede and its allies, and so, in a less degree, does the head of the larvæ of certain beetles and neuropters. The eyes are compound, the individual facets constituting a sort of heap. The mouth-parts are readily compared with those of the larva of Perla, the rather large, stout mandibles being hid at their tips by the upper lip, which moves freely up and down when the creature opens its mouth. In length the mandible is three times its breadth, and furnished with three sharp teeth on the outer edge, and with a broad cutting margin within, and still further inwards with a number of straggling small spines. The lower lip is broad and stout, with a distinct medium suture, which indicates a former separation in embryonic life into a pair of appendages. Its palpi are three-jointed, the joints being broad, and directed backwards in life, and not forwards, as in the higher insecta.

How Books are Destroyed.]