with the black crown on the berries of
the hawthorn: a ridge that seemed composed
of many longitudinal ribs and folds extended
from this to the margin of the protecting cover.
Now the spider, formed by nature for the
express purpose—imitated this peculiar
conformation of the seed, by coiling up its small
black head and body on its plump,
disproportionately large, red abdomen, and laying its
stout black limbs close together to form the
ridge. The umbrella-like leaflet, which
partially enveloped the seed, performed the
same kind office for the spider, and completed
the disguise, which, if the reader should
think clumsy and ill-fitting, I beg him to
attribute to the uncouthness of my description,
and not to any want of talent in this
incomparable actor. The flies were evidently aware
of the presence of their enemies, and also
seemed to know, probably by their wanting
the fragrant and attractive gum, which
they were—for while the legitimate seed had
each one or more tenants, the pretenders, who
held a proportion to the others of fully one to
four, had only chance and unfrequent callers.

A difficulty here naturally arises:—what
led the flies, if they knew the real from
the feigned seeds, to wittingly seek their
destruction? Its attempted solution involves
probably the most singular fact connected
with the subject. A happy tippler, after
swilling the nectar for some time, would
carelessly buzz away to the first bright object
near him, unable to perceive, or entirely
regardless of danger. Can it be that the honied
liquid has proved too strong for his weak
head, and he fails to see clearly after deep
potations?—or does his sense of smell, which
alone enables him to discriminate friend from
foe, become cloyed and deadened by his
odorous draughts, and he falls a victim whilst
trusting to his eyes, which merely trace the
resemblance? Little does it matter what are
the precise circumstances; it is sufficient that
the spider is provided with food, while it
affords an instance of that nice adaptation of
the means to the end, and of that wondrous
instinct and sagacity, which is often so
profusely displayed by nature in these and other
insect tribes, and not more strikingly in the
more remote, as in those that are most familiar
to us. Yet how few are aware that an insect
which inhabits our houses, taking up its
quarters in our bed-chambers—nay, even in
our beds, and preying on a species of
vermin—with which we are most of us
acquainted, as in some localities few houses are
free from them—is in its own way—as talented
an actor as the subject of our sketch. I
allude to the larva of the bug-bear (Reduscius
personatus) which deceives its prey by
assuming the appearance of those aggregations
of flix and dust that strew the floors beneath
our beds, succeeding in this character by
arraying itself in a mantle of down and tiny
shreds. In the seed-covers now occupied by
the spider, I often found a pale yellow silken

purse—well stored with young: of this it was
almost impossible to dispossess the mother;
for, with true maternal affection, sooner than
part with it, she would suffer herself to be torn
limb from limb. It may be asked, how, in the
first place, the spiders managed to detach the
seeds, whose position they occupied? The most
natural reply is, that they merely take
possession after the birds have devoured them;
for it is probable that these are their proper
food, and not the insects, as I had at first
conjectured. May be the birds come to feed
on the spiders, and tear the seeds from their
delicate foot-stalks, in the endeavour to find
their prey, in whose appearance they may be
as often deceived as the flies themselves; it
must be confessed, however, that this latter
conjecture is neither so simple nor so plausible
as the former.

The complicated relations of plant, bird,
and insect, form one of those beautiful
harmonies between the different kingdoms of
Nature, which the amiable St. Pierre so
delighted to depict. The plant affords to the
bird its daily bread, with protection and
shade from the sun, and, it may be, materials
for a nest; as I have seen in other parts of
the forest, chiefly pendant from branches on
the banks of rivers and creeks, a small pouch-
like structure, artistically woven with delicate
threads, similar to the footstalks of the seeds;
the bird, in return, aids the propagation of
the plant, by dropping its seeds on the
boughs of various trees and shrubs, thus
enabling it to obey that primary mandate of
the Creator, " Increase and multiply! " By
multiplying the numbers of the plants, it
increases the quantity of food available for
itself, its offspring, and its kindred—an
exemplification of another of the wise ordinances
of nature, which makes the good and natural
action (and an action is only good in so far
as it is natural) bring its own reward, and the
bad and unnatural one its own punishment.

The spider is indebted to the plant for the
means—and to the bird for the opportunity
of catching its prey; the plant supplies food
to the fly, and it in turn forms the nourishment
of the spider. How many are the
ramifications of this harmony which we
understand!—how many more kind offices may the
members of one kingdom perform for those
of the other, which are beyond the range of
our knowledge! But I have reached my
assigned limits, and must reserve other notes
on this interesting family of insects to another
opportunity.

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