threshold of the door, or even a few inches away, to see her reappear,
issue from her fortress and daringly recapture her prey. This is the
moment: the house is closed with the finger, or a pebble and, as Baglivi
says, '_captatur tamen ista a rustico insidiatore_,' to which I will add,
'_adjuvante Bombo_.' {7}

The object of these hunting methods was not exactly to obtain Tarantulae;
I had not the least wish to rear the Spider in a bottle. I was
interested in a different matter. Here, thought I, is an ardent
huntress, living solely by her trade. She does not prepare preserved
foodstuffs for her offspring; {8} she herself feeds on the prey which she
catches. She is not a 'paralyzer,' {9} who cleverly spares her quarry so
as to leave it a glimmer of life and keep it fresh for weeks at a time;
she is a killer, who makes a meal off her capture on the spot. With her,
there is no methodical vivisection, which destroys movement without
entirely destroying life, but absolute death, as sudden as possible,
which protects the assailant from the counter-attacks of the assailed.

Her game, moreover, is essentially bulky and not always of the most
peaceful character. This Diana, ambushed in her tower, needs a prey
worthy of her prowess. The big Grasshopper, with the powerful jaws; the
irascible Wasp; the Bee, the Bumble-bee and other wearers of poisoned
daggers must fall into the ambuscade from time to time. The duel is
nearly equal in point of weapons. To the venomous fangs of the Lycosa
the Wasp opposes her venomous stiletto. Which of the two bandits shall
have the best of it? The struggle is a hand-to-hand one. The Tarantula
has no secondary means of defence, no cord to bind her victim, no trap to
subdue her. When the Epeira, or Garden Spider, sees an insect entangled
in her great upright web, she hastens up and covers the captive with
corded meshes and silk ribbons by the armful, making all resistance