central point of this area is, before she can stretch one of her eccentric lines with propriety. She does not appear to work by sight, because, webs are woven as symmetrically by night as by day. Her only means are fine feeling, and the weight of her own body acting as a plummet in laying perpendicular lines from the upper to the lower parts of the web. But the wonder is, there are seldom or never any truly perpendicular lines in the whole fabric. How she finds or fixes on the direction of the first line which cuts the central point of the area is astonishing! and how in running along this she can fix on the point nearest the centre of the area is quite unaccountable. But this she does do with great exactness : for at this point she lays a little bundle of her silk, and to which all the diverging lines of her web are afterwards fixed. Her next manœuvre is stretching the radiating lines from the centre to the boundaries; this is performed by fixing one end at the centre, and running along the first diagonal till she reaches the boundary turns along the latter, and at a certain distance from the first diagonal there makes it fast; down this last stretched line she descends and forms a corresponding radiating line from the centre to the outside, in a directly contrary direction. This the insect continues to do till the whole space is filled with divergent lines. In stretching these lines one thing is particularly worthy of remark; they all diverge from the centre at exactly similar angles; as their attachments to the boundary lines, being necessarily at very different distances, owing to the obliquity of these last mentioned with the radii she is in the act of forming-by what means does she find on a tangental boundary line the exact point to fix her divergents, varying as they do consecutively as they succeed each other? This is of itself so surprising a tact in the spider, that it puzzles our understandings to account for this power of a small insect, which does what the most expert mathematician cannot do without his rules, or the cleverest workman without the aid of machinery. The boundaries, the central point, and the diverging lines being all fixed, the spider next repairs to the centre and binds all the divergents together by a pretty close lacing of concentric threads, reaching outwards about three quarters of an inch round the central point. This central platform is intended for the insect reposing on when watching for prey. From this she proceeds to finish her web, by forming a tissue of concentric lines between the divergents. This she invariably begins to do at the outside: and proceeds by first fixing a line at a due distance from the centre, on one of the radii, descending on this till she can reach across to the next: this she runs up and fixes her line at an equal distance from the centre, to correspond with the point where the end of the line was first fixed. She leads this line across the second space as she did the first, and continues round and round, in a kind of decreasing spiral, till the whole of the diverging lines are united together by concentric lacings, about one eighth of an inch from each other. During her progress in weaving these circular lines, it is astonishing to observe the skill she displays in making her work regular. If, as sometimes happens, when she arrives at the place where she began her first exterior circle, the line which she has carried round does not fit exactly to the point where she began in this case, if the new end comes to a point either above or below where she fixed the first, she does not fix it to the same divergent but to the one next before she arrives at it, carrying however the new line slantingly to the point where she first began, and returning back continues the circuit round, knowing, as it would seem, that, when she next gets round to the same place she can pass it without any turning or irregularity of her course or work. It is also perfectly obvious that the insect can perceive when spinning these circles, whether she is further from the centre in one place than another; for she always makes a double in those places to maintain the regularity of the web. The work is finished near the centre, where the radiating lines are so close as to need no crossing. When the web is thus formed, the spider immediately places herself, head downwards, on her platform in the centre to wait for prey. This spider has generally near her web a concave leaf or other projection, under which she can retire on nights or during rain. From the centre of the web to this retreat a strong line is made, along which she goes and returns. The web itself is never seen to be woven perpendicularly, that is, the lower boundary line is never directly under the upper. This position of the web requires the exercise of some instinctive design on the part of the spider; because in forming the web from a horizontal line, its natural position, it may be supposed, would be perpendicular, but this the little operative prevents by fixing one of the lower corners considerably to the right or left of a perpendicular falling from the upper boundary line. The purpose of this oblique position of the web answers several ends in the economy of the insect. prefers hanging to the under side when on the watch, rather than resting upon the upper side. So stationed, she can easier escape from danger, by suspending herself below; all remains of dead flies fall off without being entangled in, or deranging any lower part of the web; and, above all, she always receives the visits of the male from the upper side. She When an unlucky fly, or other insect, is caught in the web, this spider darts instantly upon the captive, but does not seize it with her jaws or mandibles, but, bestriding the victim, keeps turning it round and round with her two fore feet, while, with the two hinder, she draws from her spinners, threads with which she completely envelopes her prey, and which quickly proves a winding-sheet. She then fixes a line to the captive, and cuts the threads by which it is fixed on the web, and thus suspended to her tail, brings it to the central platform to be devoured at leisure. Soon as the repast is over, the spider cuts the carcass adrift, and re-arranges the web for another treat. This spider makes no selection or choice of her prey; whatever is caught, or which happens to intrude on her province, are involved in her toils and carried home; flies, beetles, and even her own species she captures and feasts on. Some of the flies which have very smooth and glossy coats of mail, as the Chrysis ignita, for instance, and which has besides very strong jaws, gives her a good deal of trouble to secure; they cutting her trammels as fast as she weaves it. Towards the end of autumn the females lay up their eggs in a closely worked bag of their web, and placed under some projection or in a hollow of the bark of trees, or other place where it may remain dry. The eggs are hatched by the heat of summer, and very soon begin to form webs; which are always in size according to that of the insect, but invariably constructed on the same plan. A young one no bigger than the head of a pin, forms the same kind of web as a full sized one as large as a mazagan bean. This circumstance shows that the construction of the web depends on the span of the insect and strength of the material which she has power to emit. This spider has several amusing tacts which she exhibits to those who study her economy. If in issuing from her cave in a morning she finds her web loaded with dew drops, she goes to the centre, and laying hold of the web with all her feet, gives her body three, or four convulsive jerks, which instantly shakes off the dew. If a spider of the same or of another species ventures upon her web, she endeavours to entrap or drive off the intruder; and if the stranger runs to the lower edge of the web to escape by suspending itself by a line as usual, the owner follows, and instantly cuts the line by which the stranger swings, who falls to the ground. Sometimes, instead of cutting the fugitive's line, she will endeavour to pull up the culprit, "hand over hand," with great adroitness, but seldom succeeds in this. If the web has been torn by the capture of a fly, the owner tries to repair it; but this is never neatly done, showing that she is a much better maker than a mender. If, however, a principal stay of the web be broken, she will quickly replace another, Spiders differ very much in their economy, as well in the manner of seizing their prey, as in the form of their webs for entrapping it. The house spider works a horizontal web in a corner, having a covered chamber in the angle, and when a fly alights on the surface, it is rushed upon and dragged perforce to the chamber. The ground spider seeks a hole, which she carefully lines with a closely-wrought web. Round the mouth of the hole she forms a web spread out on the surface, on which when a fly or any creeping insect gets entangled, it is seized and dragged into the nest. The Aranea labyrinthica lives on trees and hedges, but being small, and possessing but a trifling share of personal prowess, depends on the intricacy of her web for her support. This is a very curious edifice: between three or more branches, she first forms a horizontal apron of pretty close texture; and between this and a sort of canopy which she weaves over and two or three inches above it, she erects hundreds of upright columns, with interlacings between, so that if a fly enters by the open windows, it is almost sure of being detained by some of the net-work of the interior. Very different this from the black and bold short-legged spider whose bite is so deadly. This latter lurks in holes of walls, and around the mouth of her cave she spreads a loose irregular kind of web, of a flocky consistence most entangling to the feet of flies. When one is so caught, the spider rushes from her cave, inflicts a bite on the back of the fly, and instantly retreats into her den;-her victim quivers, and dies! This fell spider it would appear, feeds in the night, as they are never seen to drag their prey into the den. Much more might be added relative to the history of this very curious family of insects; but enough for the present. OBSERVER. Jan. 8, 1835. THE SUICIDE. A SKETCH FROM NATURE. I stood beside the thronged hotel: shrouded in dust, and fleet, That pageant and its gloomy lord, methinks I see them now: I hied me to my lonely couch; but slumber came not near : At length, to cool my burning brow, I sought the midnight air : As thus I mused, upon the wall there gleamed a lurid flash. Straight to the stranger's sleeping-room, instinctively I ran; March, 1835. VOL. 11. NO. VIII. F. F. N A SKETCH OF A VISIT TO MALVERN. BY AN ARTIST. We left Cheltenham on a lovely morning-the sky was of a soft and delicate blue, chequered with white and fleecy clouds-the distant hills scarcely darker than the sky-the middle distance filled with feathery willows, whose pointed leaves upturned by the morning breeze, shewed like silver in the sun-the foreground varied with every tint of early autumn-producing altogether a picture such as Dewint delights to paint, and paints so well. About three miles from the town we passed under "Piff's Elm," a magnificent tree which stretches its gigantic arms completely across the road, in the most picturesque manner. After ascending a slight eminence, we first caught sight of the object of our visit, the white villas of Malvern, though apparently mere specks brightly reflecting the rays of the morning sun. Upon reaching Tewkesbury, our eyes were rivetted to the beautiful Saxon arch of the west window, inclosing not only the window but the doors below, springing boldly from the very ground. At a distance we saw the battle-field where the rival roses were dyed in gore, and where expired the last hopes of the House of Lancaster: the spot is still called the "Bloody meadow." A few miles further on we left the main road, and turned off into one of a closer character, winding between gardens and orchards, filled with apple trees, many of them requiring a dozen props to support their load of golden fruit. Upton presents nothing worthy of notice except its bridge over the Severn, which is picturesque in appearance, and interesting from its antiquity. The road is enclosed by tall trees, and high banks, covered in spring with the primrose and hyacinth, the anemone and violet, but now purple with blackberries. Here, in a retired nook, we came to a "nut-brown maid," her lap full of brown corn, her straw hat tastefully wreathed with wild hops-standing with lips apart, while a ruddy swain, half way up the bank, supporting himself by an overhanging branch with the one hand, with the other dropped the ripe fruit into her willing mouth. We now emerged upon a long and narrow common, called "Hanley Green," from which we had an uninterrupted view of the hills in the whole extent of their gracefully varied outline-hills which had Claude ever seen would have been immortalized in more than one of his classic compositions. A short distance to the left we had a peep of Little Malvern church which rears its modest tower above the old elms that surround it. We now began to ascend the hills and passed "The Wells," where are many pretty villas, an hotel, and a boarding-house; and after a ride of a mile and a half along the side of the hills, |