acrid fluid, the cervical ganglia cease to do their work; and death
ensues. Nevertheless, this death is not immediate; the throes last for
some time. The experiment is not wholly satisfactory as regards
suddenness. Why? Because the liquid which I employ, ammonia, cannot be
compared, for deadly efficacy, with the Lycosa's poison, a pretty
formidable poison, as we shall see.

I make a Tarantula bite the leg of a young, well-fledged Sparrow, ready
to leave the nest. A drop of blood flows; the wounded spot is surrounded
by a reddish circle, changing to purple. The bird almost immediately
loses the use of its leg, which drags, with the toes doubled in; it hops
upon the other. Apart from this, the patient does not seem to trouble
much about his hurt; his appetite is good. My daughters feed him on
Flies, bread-crumb, apricot-pulp. He is sure to get well, he will
recover his strength; the poor victim of the curiosity of science will be
restored to liberty. This is the wish, the intention of us all. Twelve
hours later, the hope of a cure increases; the invalid takes nourishment
readily; he clamours for it, if we keep him waiting. But the leg still
drags. I set this down to a temporary paralysis which will soon
disappear. Two days after, he refuses his food. Wrapping himself in his
stoicism and his rumpled feathers, the Sparrow hunches into a ball, now
motionless, now twitching. My girls take him in the hollow of their
hands and warm him with their breath. The spasms become more frequent. A
gasp proclaims that all is over. The bird is dead.

There was a certain coolness among us at the evening-meal. I read mute
reproaches, because of my experiment, in the eyes of my home-circle; I
read an unspoken accusation of cruelty all around me. The death of the
unfortunate Sparrow had saddened the whole family. I myself was not
without some remorse of conscience: the poor result achieved seemed to me