spring, when the superadded construction of the valves may effectually restore its efficiency; as it is evident, upon close inspection, that the opening of the lid acts first upon the upper one, and this again upon the lower, which again sends out numerous elastic threads downwards. If this explanation be correct, as Mr. Sells justly remarks, "It is calculated to double our admiration of this creature's workmanship; proving, as it does, that the great Architect of all has gifted this interesting insect with such a measure of accommodating instinct." Another species of trap-door spider is that found in the Ionian islands. During a short excursion to Zante, Mr. Saunders noticed a number of the nests, and took up several for the purpose of examination. These nests were found close round the roots of the olive-trees, in a somewhat elevated situation, and were generally observed two or three together, about the same tree. The soil was a sort of sandy clay, of a light ochraceous colour. The upper portion of the nests was partially raised above the surface of the ground, but this might have arisen from the washing away of the surrounding earth during the heavy autumnal rains, the more especially as a coating of moss on the upper surface of the lid showed, in many cases, that the nest could not be of very recent construction. There was a very remarkable peculiarity about the nests of this species, consisting of a projecting portion of the lid, directly above the hinge, to the extent, in some instances, of one-third of the diameter of the lid. The object of this projection is supposed to be to supply a lever, on the slightest touch of which the lid should be raised, just as in some heavy tankards we find a projection near the hinge, which enables us to raise the ponderous cover with facility. The spider appears to have produced this lever by simply extending in that direction the respective layers of which the lid is composed. The readiness with which the opening of the lid is effected by this ingenious contrivance of a lever might lead one to suppose that an extra degree of care would be displayed in regard to the means of firmly closing the same from within, in the event of an outward attack, but no such provision appears to have been made in the case of this species; although in some others there are little hollows into which the insect inserts its claws when holding the door together. Another peculiarity in this species was, that the extreme end of the nest within the ground was not unfrequently constructed somewhat upon the same model as the top, being provided with a second door, smaller in size, but otherwise similar to that at the top. This second door was long a puzzle to the discoverer, no apparent use for such an opening being found. But on a second visit to the Mediterranean, a more extended research into the habits of these creatures gave a greater insight into this, as well as other points of their history. Several nests were taken from the ground in the month of October, and incased in some of their natural earth within a small box, the top of which was closed with bars of wood. This box remained in a balcony, neglected and unopened, until the month of April following, when the spiders were all found alive and well, clinging to their trap-doors in order to prevent the same from being opened. For this purpose they firmly grasped, with the four anterior feet and palpi, the bulb of the coverlid, the other feet resting low down upon the posterior walls of the nest, while the sharp mandibles were firmly inserted into the front part of the tube, near the top. Thus fixed they offered a powerful resistance to the opening of the door. The upper portions of two of these nests, which had been accidentally broken in the process of extraction, were then placed in an open flower-pot, with a sufficient quantity of the same earth, well moistened and com pressed, so as to form a compact body in imitation of the soil itself, the spiders clinging all the while to the trap-door, without regard to their temporary exposure | through the broken part of the tube. Thus imbedded, it remained to be seen whether they would construct a new bottom to their nests, and whether such bottom would be closed where the tube now terminated, or be carried farther down into the earth to the usual depth. A third spider was placed in the same pot, with his nest purposely reversed, the trap-door being buried to the depth of about three inches, and the open end, where broken off, being placed on a level with the surface, in order that the insect might be tempted to adapt a new door to this part. But lest the spider should escape before the necessary steps could be taken to cover the pot with some transparent substance to observe the work, Mr. Saunders fixed a strong paper stopper in the tube of the nest, intending it to remain until the following day. But in the morning he found the paper stopper taken out, and laid aside, and the open end of the nest covered in with a single layer of web and earth, offering but slight resistance to the touch, although by no means transparent, and presenting the rudiment of a hinge, formed by the web of silk being here in a straight line, instead of rounded. The side near the hinge was also on a level with the surrounding earth, while the opposite side, where the door would open, was a little depressed. No attempt was made to open this new door, for fear of disturbing the spider; but in order to see whether he worked from without or within, a little flour was shaken over the lid to whiten it. The next morning, to the surprise of the observer, the new door was entirely cut away, and was lying by the side of the nest, while in its place was now found a strong texture of whitish web. This remained in the same state from the 26th of April to the 2d of May, when it occurred to Mr. Saunders that the spider had been obliged to leave off work in consequence of the earth not being any longer sufficiently moist for his purpose; he therefore gave the soil a good watering, allowing a few drops to fall on the silken door, by way of signal. The next morning a new door was found, quite complete, and constructed according to the usual manner. Thus this nest, when extracted from the ground, presented a trap-door at each end with elastic hinges, and every other requisite. This singular fact seemed to explain the circumstance, otherwise so unaccountable, of nests being found with doors at each extremity, and there is very little doubt, but that in turning up the ground around the roots of the olivetrees (which is done every year), some of these nests are upset and broken, and the spiders, as in the case of this one, immediately set to work to form a new door at the open end. The circumstance of the lower opening being smaller than the upper one would naturally occur in a nest so reversed, since the nests are often more capacious towards the bottom, so that, when inverted and broken off, the new door would be larger than the old one. In the course of watching these spiders, it was found that some of them, annoyed perhaps by the frequent forcible opening of their doors, found out a new method of fastening them, and this was no other than weaving over them a firm texture of web, so that the door could not be moved without tearing away the strong silken fabric. By cutting off the top of one of the nests thus closed, it was seen that this fastening was not a mere bundle of threads near the opening, but a complete tapestry over the whole orifice of the nest, shaped like the interior of a thimble, and forming a texture of the most delicate whiteness. The most remarkable circumstance affecting the insects themselves was, that all those subjected to examination appeared wholly to abstain from food, and made no visible efforts to entrap their prey. At the end of six months they appeared plump and healthy, and up to the time when Mr. Saunders closed his communication they were apparently well, although, from the situation of the box on a balcony on the first floor, the supply of food, if any, must have been exceedingly limited. Poetry. [In Original Poetry, the Name, real or assumed, of the Author is printed in Small Capitals, under the title; in Selections, it is printed in Italics at the end.] VILLAGE LYRICS. No. III. THE CHURCHYARD. W. BRAILSFORD. THE wanton wind that scattereth All around the latticed windows Aye, ever while the moonlight shows The stillness of the room,-- With the solemn place of death. Bees will find no flowers; Thy heart hath faith too pure and fond That thou may'st meet her in the realms So take thy thoughts from this dim spot, And gaze upon the night. The stars that glitter all so fair Shall symbolize her worth, And thou in their bright orbs shalt read A message sent to earth; A calm, glad meaning, left for thee, To welcome and to prize; So leave the dross to moulder here- 'Las me, we bow and bend beneath All woes of earthly form; We shrink, and close our loving hearts,-- Few pausings in our griefs we make, Fresh tears adown our palsied cheeks, Our thoughts beside each tomb; Miscellaneous. SAILORS' PRANKS. DURING the night, some of those on deck would come below to light a pipe or take a mouthful of beef and biscuit. Sometimes they fell asleep; and, being missed directly that anything was to be done, their shipmates often amused themselves by running them aloft with a pulley dropt down the scuttle from the fore-top. One night, when all was perfectly still, I lay awake in the forecastle. The lamp was burning low and thick, and swinging from its blackened beam; and with the uniform motion of the ship the men in the bunks rolled slowly from side to side, the hammocks swaying in unison. Presently I heard a foot upon the ladder, and, looking up, saw a wide trousers leg. Immediately, Navy Bob, a stout old Triton, stealthily descended. and at once went to groping in the locker after something to eat. Supper ended, he proceeded to load his pipe. Now, for a good, comfortable smoke at sea, there never was a better place than the Julia's forecastle at midnight. To enjoy the luxury, one wants to fall into a kind of dreamy And reverie, known only to the children of the weed. the very atmosphere of the place, laden as it was with the snores of the sleepers, was inducive of this. No wonder, then, that after a while Bob's head sank upon his breast. Presently his hat fell off, the extinguished pipe dropped from his mouth, and the next moment he lay out on the chest as tranquil as an infant. Suddenly an order was heard on deck, followed by the trampling of feet and the hauling of rigging. The yards were being braced, and soon after the sleeper was missed, for there was a whispered conference over the scuttle. Directly a shadow glided across the forecastle, and noiselessly approached the unsuspecting Bob. It was one of the watch, with the end of a rope leading out of sight up the scuttle. Pausing an instant, the sailor pressed softly the chest of his victim, sounding his slumbers, and then, hitching the cord to his ankle, re turned to the deck. Hardly was his back turned when a long limb was thrust from a hammock opposite, and Doctor Long Ghost, leaping forth warily, whipped the rope from Bob's ankle and fastened it like lightning to a great lumbering chest, the property of the man who had just disappeared Scarcely was the thing done, when, lo! with a thundering bound, the clumsy box was torn from its fastenings, and, banging from side to side, flew towards the scuttle. Here it jammed; and, thinking that Bob, who was as strong as a windlass, was grappling a beam and trying to cut the line, the jokers on deck strained away furiously. On a sudden the chest went aloft, and, striking against the mast, flew open, raining down on the heads of the party a merciless shower of things too numerous to mention. Of course the uproar roused all hands, and, when we hurried on deck, there was the owner of the box, looking aghast at its scattered contents, and with one wandering hand taking the altitude of a bump on his head.-Adventures in the South Seas. 338 CHAP. II. THE quiet and graceful nonchalance with which Edith received all the varieties of compliment, homage, and devotion, which were tendered to her acceptance, spoke volumes for the experience she had acquired since her first introduction into society. Yet it could scarcely be called indifference - certainly not that indifference which would seem to be the natural result of preoccupation; for she was keenly alive to all that passed around her, and her appetite for gaiety had none of that languor which is often the result of satiety, and which, though it does not begin with disgust, frequently ends with it. Lightly as she appeared to esteem the admiration of which she was the object, so long as it was undisputedly hers, it might easily be discerned that she would have felt its withdrawal as a trial of no light order. Mr. Delamaine here broke in, panting under the enforced silence of the last five minutes. "Yes," cried he, "only just fancy shutting Thornton up from society. Why, now," addressing Miss Kinnaird, "I'll just tell you exactly, without farther circumlocution, what Thornton is. He is the centre of every circle into which he goes." "My dear fellow, don't be so geometrical !" said a voice from the window which opened upon the lawn. Mrs. Dalton clapped her hands. "I thought you would not be able to contain yourself much longer," exclaimed she. "Come in, Godfrey! How long have you been within hearing?" "Only since you saw me, half a minute ago," answered the new comer, cordially responding to her shake of the hand, and then turning to pay his compliHe was about eight ments to the rest of the company. and-twenty years old, a little below the middle height, but formed with singular grace and symmetry. His hair was dark and profuse, his face rather picturesque than handsome, his voice and manner peculiarly gentle, his eyes full of fire. After the ceremonies of greeting and introduction were at an end, he seated himself on a low ottoman at Mrs. Dalton's feet, his eyes seeking Edith's face with a frequency which nothing but good breeding prevented from degenerating into a fixed stare, and requested to be enlightened as to the subject under discussion. "We were talking," began Mr. Delamaine, "of society in general—” "Of society in particular, I should say," interrupted Sir Mark Wyvil. "Didn't somebody say something about seclusion?" inquired Lady Selcombe from her bay-window. "It was Miss Kinnaird," replied Lord Vaughan, "who was celebrating the praises of a life of seclusion." No, no, my dear fellow," exclaimed Mr. Delamaine; "I beg your pardon, but you entirely mistook Miss Kinnaird's meaning. She only said that she should like to live in complete retirement if she were going to be an artist." "I did not exactly mean that," interposed poor Edith, suffering from the embarrassment which so frequently befalls a woman when, having been betrayed by impulse into the expression of a sentiment at variance (1) Continued from p. 310. with the ordinary course of small talk, she is condemned to hear a distorted paraphrase of it quoted as hers by some afflicting bystander, and is thereby involved in the necessity of denying, defending, or explaining words, which she now feels that it was folly to utter at all. Mr. Thornton's face expressed a mixture of sarcasm deeming, however, that his best method of securing the and impatience, restrained by politeness. Wisely two ladies for himself, would be to keep the conversation at too high a level for the others to reach, he ventured to assume a tone somewhat graver than his wont, except in a tête-à-tête. "I don't wonder," said he, "that seclusion should seem, in England, to be the only atmosphere in which art can breathe. Our miserable common sense, as it is sarcastically called, is, in its way, as destructive of the true spirit of art as the frivolity of our neighbours the French." "Yes," said Mrs. Dalton, "and the popular idea of beauty finds here its fit embodiment in the 'handsome and substantial,' while there it is in the fantastic and "But in Italy," suggested Edith, with some hesitaincongruous." tion. "In Italy," said Mrs. Dalton, "where common daily life is, as it were, steeped in poetry, and the present is so beautiful that it almost wins you from contemto be born of nature, to come unsought and stay plating the past-and such a past !-art seems there unasked." "And is therefore undisciplined and impulsive, possessing men rather than possessed by them," re"My dear Godfrey ! what new theory is this?" cried his turned Mr. Thornton. "You a painter, and decry the art of Italy?" cousin in amazement. "You mistake me," replied he, smiling; "I was not speaking of works of art, but of the expression of their spirit in the actual life of the artist, moulding the structure of society into a correspondence with itself, so duction of its highest development. We must go to as to dispense with the necessity of seclusion to the proGermany for this-to Germany, which, if you will allow me to say so, leaves Italy as far behind in architecture, in music, and in poetry, as she is herself outstripped in painting." "I could dispute that of all but architecture," said Mrs. Dalton. "I will not allow you to do so,-at least not in music," "That which is passion in the one beanswered he. But I know you do, for you expressed it just now far comes spirit in the other- do you not feel the difference! better than I could hope to do. The one, as you truly said, comes by nature: it is a cavern full of radiating crystals, where you walk in a labyrinth of bewildering and stately, reared by laborious and devout hands, symbeauty; but the other is a mighty temple, symmetrical cannot represent except by symbol." bolizing something which is above earth, and which art "And England," said Edith. art at all?" Will you allow us no Nay!" cried Mr. Thornton; "we have had art of the first order, at least in poetry. But it must be content to be like that flower," pointing to a cactus; "it springs in sudden splendour out of a rugged and unsightly stem, which has no harmony or consistency with itself. The more fully we recognise its beauty, the more do we we find it." wonder at the strange and anomalous position in which "It is a part of our national reserve," said Mrs. Dalton, "of the moral cowardice which accompanies our physical courage, of the strange timidity which makes us distrust alike the past and the future, and actually see it before us. Our eyes are obstinately fixed believe only in the present, because, and so far as, we on the planks of the boat which carries us, and we see neither the leafy shore from which we have departed, | I breathe. I am for ever seeking for it-accepting mere nor the glowing depths of the sunset into which we are sailing." "Don't call it by so high a name as reserve," cried Mr. Thornton. "Call it, as I did, common sense,-by which I mean a resolute adherence to conventionalism in defiance of original thought." "Call it by what name you please," said Mrs. Dalton, "it is everywhere present with us, like fetters on the limbs and ice on the heart, and the only warmth and freedom one ever enjoys, is when one has succeeded in getting away from it for a few happy moments." She spoke with a bitterness of tone very unusual to her; and Mr. Thornton, glancing round the room, replied with a well-satisfied smile, " We have got away from it now, Amy. This is one of those few happy moments."" Mrs. Dalton looked up, and perceived with some amazement that Sir Mark Wyvil had drawn his chair to Lady Selcombe's side, so as to be virtually absent from the conversazione party at the table, while Mr. Delamaine had seized on Lord Vaughan and carried him off to the terrace, where, within sight of the window, he was pitilessly inflicting upon him the deferred story about the ear-rings. "Let us enjoy it while we can!" cried she. "Tell me, Godfrey, what have you been doing, thinking, and feeling, all this age that we have been separated?" "For the doing, first," he answered, "I have been enduring society." "What an expression!" exclaimed Edith, "and I am so fond of society !" So was I once," returned Mr. Thornton; "but since then I have looked under the surface, and the vision of what I saw there has haunted me from that moment forwards. Do you suppose that if the Diver had come back from those ghastly hollows where he saw the seahyænas and the hundred-jointed snakes, he could ever have admired the beauty of the ocean afterwards with an unruffled spirit?" "You remind me," said Edith, "of that strange little poem of Milnes's, in which he describes the wretched ness of the soul which is forced to look upon the world as it really is, and to see the seeds of decay and death visibly present in the midst of life and beauty. If that would be the result of opening one's eyes, I would rather keep mine always shut." Milnes's poem," said Mrs. Dalton, "is only an amplification, and a feeble one, of Hamlet's grand idea;-I need not quote, need I?" "If Mr. Delamaine were here," observed Edith," he would give us the passage entire." "Don't mention him," cried Mr. Thornton; " don't let there be a thought to break the unity of our one happy moment.' If you only knew what an indulgence this is to me after the life I have been leading for the last six months, mere charity would induce you to prolong it." 66 But, if you detest society so utterly," said Edith, simply, "why do you not break away from it altogether? A man has always the privilege of being able to act independently of others to follow the dictates of his dross and tinsel instead of it—hugging them for a little while with a fool's fancy that they are real-finding out that they are not the true gold-flinging them away in wrath and scorn, and setting out anew upon the same search, to be again deceived, and to begin it all over again; till I am inclined at last to question whether there is really any such thing in the world, and whether, if there be, it is worth while to take so much trouble in looking for it. But I don't want to arrive at this conclusion, for if I were once thoroughly convinced of it, I believe I should take the first opportunity of walking out of the world altogether, by a shorter and more effectual way than merely secluding myself from it." "No, you would not," cried Mrs. Dalton; "weakness of will would again beset you. Like Goethe, you would take the dagger to bed with you night after night, hold the point tenderly to your heart for half an hour, reasoning meanwhile most philosophically with yourself, then go to sleep." "If I am Psyche, you are the serpent!" exclaimed Mr. Thornton. "Yes," retorted she, "but you would require no effort to escape from my toils.” "And now," said Edith, "you have told us what you have been thinking of during these six months-the third question was, what were you feeling?" "Don't ask me," replied he, quickly; “I believe I never felt at all till this moment." From most persons this speech would have sounded like a mere jesting compliment, but there was so strong a colouring of sentiment in Mr. Thornton's playfulness that Edith felt herself blush, and then blush doubly lest the first embarrassment should be misinterpreted. "The dressing-bell rang ten minutes ago," said Mrs. Dalton, abruptly, "and Sir Mark and Lady Selcombe have already taken wing. Come, Edith, or we shall not have time to arrange our bouquets." She quitted the room as she spoke, followed by Miss Kinnaird. Mr. Thornton sauntered to the window, and stood for some minutes listlessly gazing at the smooth green lawn, with its carefully grouped shrubs, trim borders, and delicate flower-baskets- -no inapt, though certainly a most favourable symbol of the elegant conventionalisms of which he had just expressed his languid abhorrence. He was roused by a light tap on the shoulder, and, turning round, he beheld his cousin, her face radiant with restored good-humour. "Now, Godfrey, what do you think of her?" cried she, eagerly. "She is faultless," returned he, " or else I have lost my power to criticize. Amy, I must paint her picture. Do contrive it for me-you know you can manage anything and anybody, when you please." "Even you?" inquired she, archly. "Yes, truly," he answered. "Am I not here in obedience to your summons though in this case to obey was to please myself." "Ah!" replied Amy, "I am afraid that is always the secret of my power over you. I should not dare test it by asking you to do what did not please yourself." 66 Nay, not seriously, my cousin," said he, taking her hand, and looking earnestly into her eyes, "do you not know that the task would become a pleasure if it were done at your request?" She shook her head, smilingly, as she answered, "Well, Godfrey, I will have faith in your friendship. Having so little to lose, perhaps, makes me cowardly about losing that little; now, don't answer me--that does not apply to you. And as to your present wish, 'tis the easiest thing in the world. You cannot suppose that so beautiful a creature as Edith has finished her third season without learning her own charms. It will only seem to her a very natural and necessary little bit of homage on your part." "Ah," said he, with a sigh, " pity that she has been out three seasons!" |