as an ant approached it, keeping a very sharp eye out, and never allowing one of the enemy to get near enough to touch him. Sometimes he had five legs in the air, and, if an ant came near one of the three on which he rested, he could always find space to put down one of the others to complete his tripod, while he lifted the threatened one high above the head of his tormentor—a wonderful exhibition of intelligence as well as presence of mind."
Passing under a tree on some bright morning in summer, one may chance to come upon three tiny balls on a thread of silk. They are as alike as beads on a string, and seem to be bits of rubbish wound with silk; but, like the balls of "my uncle," they are a trap for the unwary. Examine them. The upper one, easiest to reach, is the bundle of rubbish it looks to be; the lower one, also convenient to reach, is the same; but, touch the middle one, and out shall rush its owner, indignantly demanding by every movement what you mean by disturbing her. It is her castle, and behind its hinged door she lies in wait for the minute creatures that she eats, while enemies that would devour her on sight pass her ingenious home without suspicion.
A still more curious maker of balls "with intent to deceive" lives in New Jersey, and has been described by Mrs. Mary Treat. She constructs her balls of loose masses of her own silk, covered with bits of rubbish, even the cast-off garments of the insects she has eaten cut into atoms and scattered over them. Of these images she prepares several, fastened in a line through the web, with a vacancy for herself. The color is gray and white, and so closely do the balls resemble her that when she takes her place among them one can hardly tell which is spicier and which imitation. What is strange, and proves all this to be an intentional disguise for herself, the balls are always of her own size; when she is small they are so, and as she grows she adds to her "doubles." The same policy protects her cocoons, strung along beside the queer, spider-like objects. It requires the sharp eyes of a naturalist to detect them.
If the spider is a good hater, none the less is she a warm friend. She is quite willing to be friendly with man, and many accounts are on record of her pleasant relations with prisoners. In this close acquaintance her individuality and character come out. A story is told of one who appeared to be wanting in a sense of humor (as others of her sex are said to be). She did not relish a joke, and peremptorily declined to be made game of. The relater had cultivated her friendship so successfully that she readily came to him and took flies from his hand. After some weeks of this amicable understanding he began to tease her. He offered a fly as usual, and, when his small friend came confidently forward to take it, he snatched it away. The first time she evidently thought it an acci-
