which prevents earth-slips and facilitates scaling when a prompt exit is
required.

Baglivi, in his unsophisticated Latin, teaches us how to catch the
Tarantula. I became his _rusticus insidiator_; I waved a spikelet at
the entrance of the burrow to imitate the humming of a Bee and attract
the attention of the Lycosa, who rushes out, thinking that she is
capturing a prey. This method did not succeed with me. The Spider, it
is true, leaves her remote apartments and comes a little way up the
vertical tube to enquire into the sounds at her door; but the wily animal
soon scents a trap; it remains motionless at mid-height and, at the least
alarm, goes down again to the branch gallery, where it is invisible.

Leon Dufour's appears to me a better method if it were only practicable
in the conditions wherein I find myself. To drive a knife quickly into
the ground, across the burrow, so as to cut off the Tarantula's retreat
when she is attracted by the spikelet and standing on the upper floor,
would be a manoeuvre certain of success, if the soil were favourable.
Unfortunately, this is not so in my case: you might as well try to dig a
knife into a block of tufa.

Other stratagems become necessary. Here are two which were successful: I
recommend them to future Tarantula-hunters. I insert into the burrow, as
far down as I can, a stalk with a fleshy spikelet, which the Spider can
bite into. I move and turn and twist my bait. The Tarantula, when
touched by the intruding body, contemplates self-defence and bites the
spikelet. A slight resistance informs my fingers that the animal has
fallen into the trap and seized the tip of the stalk in its fangs. I
draw it to me, slowly, carefully; the Spider hauls from below, planting
her legs against the wall. It comes, it rises. I hide as best I may,