herself as far as possible from her adversary. There, motionless, she
awaits events, which are soon disturbed by the fussy Bumble-bee. Should
the latter occupy the upper position, the Tarantula protects herself by
drawing up her legs, which keep the enemy at a distance. In short, save
for sharp scuffles when the two champions are in touch, nothing happens
that deserves attention. There is no duel to the death in the narrow
arena of the test-tube, any more than in the wider lists afforded by the
bottle. Utterly timid once she is away from home, the Spider obstinately
refuses the battle; nor will the Bumble-bee, giddy though she be, think
of striking the first blow. I abandon experiments in my study.

We must go direct to the spot and force the duel upon the Tarantula, who
is full of pluck in her own stronghold. Only, instead of the Bumble-bee,
who enters the burrow and conceals her death from our eyes, it is
necessary to substitute another adversary, less inclined to penetrate
underground. There abounds in the garden, at this moment, on the flowers
of the common clary, one of the largest and most powerful Bees that haunt
my district, the Carpenter-bee (_Xylocopa violacea_), clad in black
velvet, with wings of purple gauze. Her size, which is nearly an inch,
exceeds that of the Bumble-bee. Her sting is excruciating and produces a
swelling that long continues painful. I have very exact memories on this
subject, memories that have cost me dear. Here indeed is an antagonist
worthy of the Tarantula, if I succeed in inducing the Spider to accept
her. I place a certain number, one by one, in bottles small in capacity,
but having a wide neck capable of surrounding the entrance to the burrow.

As the prey which I am about to offer is capable of overawing the
huntress, I select from among the Tarantulae the lustiest, the boldest,
those most stimulated by hunger. The spikeleted stalk is pushed into the
burrow. When the Spider hastens up at once, when she is of a good size,