I was born in the cellar of this very house, and, for a delightful, spidery residence, I know of no place to equal the dark, dust-stained window ledge where I first drew breath. After a long period of absence, I find my early home has lost none of its charms. This is the case with men as well as spiders, I am told. The American thinks there is no river in the world so grand as the great Mississippi; the Frenchman none so beautiful as the Seine; the Englishman none so famous as the Thames; the German as the Rhine; and the Egyptian as the sacred Nile,—because home is represented by each.

"So, too, with me the cellar window has rare attractions: there one can spin a dainty web to snare the silly flies and gnats, when they come dancing along, for supper. Never believe the life of a spider is an easy one, though: that is an altogether false idea. We work hard enough, although we wear such good armor, and have such sharp, strong claws; for we live by our wits, and a dull, stupid spider has but a poor chance of it. First, one has to be on the watch for stray morsels of food, to be ready for a pounce; then one's net may become torn in some way so as to require mending; or a wandering spider comes prowling along to try and conquer a home without the trouble of making it: so between all these cares there is little leisure time to spare. The class to which I belong does not have the constant labor that falls to the share of some of our cousins, who spin their webs from trees, or festoon them about verandas and other exposed localities, where the wind often blows them about so roughly, that they are obliged to suspend bits of wood and stone to the corners to maintain an equilibrium. I have some other relatives, to think of whom alone is enough to warm any spider's heart with pride.

"Foremost of these ranks the scorpion of warmer climates, where it creeps into sheltered crannies under every stone or sandy bank, even inhabiting boots and gloves. When disturbed, out it pounces, with an angry snap of the claws and a savage whisk of the tail, ready for some mischief, you may be sure.

"Ah, I wish I was a scorpion, instead of a mere ordinary spider! But then every one cannot be great, after all.

"Well, even the scorpion is foolish sometimes, as I will presently tell you. It lives in burrows, which it digs in the ground, the entrance being formed to the exact size of the insect. By the shape of the hole people discover the residence, and, when they wish to destroy the inmate, they pour some water down, to see if the scorpion is at home. The scorpion detests water; and it no sooner feels the stream trickling through the opening, than out it rushes, to see what is the matter. To drive a spade into the hole and kill the scorpion is then an easy task.

"There is still another mode of destroying these princes of our race. A circle of smouldering ashes is made around the burrow, and the scorpion, after running for some minutes about the space inclosed, and seeing no means of escape from the ring of fire, invariably bends its tail up over the back, and inserting the point between two segments of the body, stings itself to death.

"I have another powerful relative, to be found in South America. This is a large hairy spider, two inches long in body, and seven inches with expanded legs. Only fancy such a size! I should be a mere pigmy in comparison. This spider is so powerful that it can kill small birds, by entangling them in a strong web. Think of that!" cried the Spider, hugging himself with satisfaction.

"You need not turn up your broken nose, Madame Teapot: we are all murderers; still we do any amount of good, after all, in destroying insects that would otherwise cause much trouble."

"I don't believe a word of what you say," interrupted the Saucepan. "A spider kill a bird, indeed! Nobody ever heard of such a thing."

"My dear," interposed the Teapot scornfully, feeling very much angered at the allusion to her nose made by the ill-bred stranger, "great travellers always tell fine stories."

"While you stay at home, and, seeing nothing, doubt what we say," retorted the Spider half angrily.

"Oh, dear me!" exclaimed the Cricket impatiently, "shall we never have peace? I was so much interested in your recital, friend, that an interruption seems very annoying indeed."

"I am glad to find you a Cricket of such large views," replied the Spider politely; "so I will proceed, if it affords you any pleasure. My mother had much more experience of the outside world than any of her neighbors, and, when I was still young, she talked with my father one night about my future prospects in life. I remember that we children were in the nursery—a silken tube, very soft and warm for our tender bodies—when I overheard her remarks.

"'I cannot consent that my eldest son should settle down here at home, when there is so much to be seen that will improve his mind,' she said.

"'That is foolish,' returned my father wisely. 'He will only fall into all manner of mischief, and he cannot make himself any thing but a house spider after all.'

"I never slept a wink afterward, that night; and soon after I gained the consent of my parents to start on my travels.

"I had an easier time than most insects would enjoy, in leaving the shelter of their homes. When I was in danger I could generally trust that my long legs would carry me out of harm's way; and, if I was not able to escape, I just hid under a stone, or rolled myself up into a snug ball among the loose soil.

"I cannot begin to tell you all the curious adventures I had, or the strange things I heard; for I have been away such a long while, I have forgotten more than half. Still I remember a few particulars of interest.

"I was trotting about one day through a field of dry stubble, when I saw a pleasant river winding along in the sunlight, and sought the bank. The first object I noticed was a Kingfisher, seated motionless upon an overhanging branch, and peering eagerly down into the water in search of food. A very handsome bird is the Kingfisher, I assure you, with his blue coat of shining feathers, and scarlet shirt front; but so still is he when watching for prey, you would not notice him, sometimes, among the bushes.

"'How are you to-day, sir?' I cried, while still at a distance. 'Are the fish lively, may I inquire?'

"'Keep quiet, will you?' said the Kingfisher, turning his head impatiently towards me.

"'There, I have lost a splendid chance through your speaking,' he added angrily, as a fish darted past.

"'I am very sorry to have disturbed you,' I replied, crawling out upon a twig, the better to observe his proceedings.

"'I have carried every thing home to my family, and I am now as empty as a drum,' said the Kingfisher in an aggrieved tone, and then he resumed his watch.

"Suddenly down he dropped into the water, with a rush that fairly took my breath away, and, after splashing about furiously for a few seconds, returned to land, having a small fish in his beak.

"'Ha, ha!' laughed the Kingfisher, 'I've got you at last. Yes, and there is plenty of room left for some of your plump brothers and sisters besides.'

"So saying, he tossed the poor fish up in the air; then, opening wide his beak, caught and swallowed it with great apparent relish. I was very much amused by all this; so I said, as he settled upon the perch once more,—

"'Well, well, we spiders are considered terrible butchers by most people, but we are rather more dainty than to gulp down our meals in that fashion. I hope you may not suffer from an indigestion, Mr. Kingfisher.'

"'Do not worry over that,' returned he, cocking his bright eye at me. Then he flew away, and I scrambled after him as fast as I could, for I was curious to see how Madame Kingfisher and the babies fared.

"I followed the flight of the bird until he disappeared on the ground somewhere, and I arrived just in time to see him pop into a hole on the water side of the bank. I crept into the tunnel, which was originally made by a tiny animal, the water-shrew, and which had been enlarged by the Kingfisher to suit the size of the nest. This nest, my dear friends, I found to be composed of dried fish-bones,—mostly those of minnows,—and arranged in a nearly flat form, save a slight hollow pressed by the bird's shape while laying eggs."

"Oh, oh!" spurted the incredulous Saucepan, "that is a worse fib than the account of the bird spider."

"Very wonderful, indeed," bubbled the Kettle, who had not ventured to speak since he scalded the company.

"I could tell you stranger things than that," said the Wasp, hopping out upon the hearth nimbly as the Kettle swung.

"One at a time, if you please," interposed the Cricket, restoring order.

"You would not doubt the truth of what I say," continued the Spider, shrugging his shoulders, and making a comical grimace, "if you once sniffed the horribly fishy odor of the Kingfisher's burrow. Bah! I can smell it yet. I hid in a dark corner, watching them as long as I dared; for I feared I should be crushed when the bird came out again, the entrance was so small.

"'How do you find yourself, my love?' inquired the father Kingfisher politely.

"'It is rather dull, you know,' replied the mother Kingfisher. 'Hush, nestlings, you cannot eat another morsel; so be quiet.'

"They chippered together for a while; then I ran out just in time, for the other followed quickly.

"'What are you doing in my house?' he asked angrily.

"'I wanted to see how pretty it might be,' I answered saucily.

"Upon this the Kingfisher pounced at me; but I dodged this way and that, and a fine race we had of it. Finally, I saw a lady and gentleman walking along together; so I climbed upon her trailing dress, while the bird grew shy, and flew away. I strolled about upon the lady's dress for a while, until she saw me, and gave a shriek of alarm. This was even better fun than the race with the Kingfisher. I cantered up and down, the gentleman trying in vain to catch me; I pretended to run off upon the grass; then I stole back, and hid inside one of her curls. Here I remained all the evening, peering out now and then, when she returned to the house, to watch the gay lights and people. When she retired to her room, she combed me out of my hiding-place; but I did not care, so I walked out the window as if nothing had happened. The stars were shining brightly, and, as the night was so warm, I thought I would walk on a bit farther before finding a night's lodging. Like all good travellers, I had learned not to care much where I slept.

"The bats were swooping about on the watch for mosquitos and other insects; the owls hooted from the tree-tops, and the bull-frogs croaked duets across the marshes with each other; while beautiful moths fluttered on the still air, to enjoy themselves after sleeping all day.

"Seated before the door of his house was a relative of yours [addressing the Chairman], the Field-cricket, chirping briskly. I knew he was a fierce, combative sort of fellow; still I tried to be very polite, as I wanted to get a peep into his mansion.

"'I am glad to meet so clever a house-builder, as yourself,' I said, with a low bow.

"'As to that,' returned he modestly, 'I am nothing to the Mole-cricket.'

"'If I could only have a glimpse of your residence,' I sighed.

"The Cricket grew affable, and offered to make a call with me upon the Mole-cricket. Accordingly we started together; and it was fortunate I had a guide, for otherwise I never should have discovered the abode of this curious insect. It is very quarrelsome with its own kind, as perhaps you are aware; and it passes nearly the whole of its life underground, in the many winding galleries and passages, excavated by means of the spade-like limbs.

"'I hope we may find him in a good humor,' remarked the Field-cricket. 'Hulloa!'

"He called several times; then, receiving no answer, pushed a blade of grass into the opening, when out dashed the Mole-cricket, furious at the intrusion.

"'What do you want?' he asked, snapping his strong claws at us in a very unpleasant manner.

"'The Field-cricket was so kind as to bring me here, hoping that you would allow me to see something of your house,' I said boldly.

"'I have just got it into a splendid state of order, so I do not mind.'

"'Wait,' exclaimed the Field-cricket, as we were about to enter, 'you must promise not to eat us up after we get in.'

"'I promise,' laughed the other; 'I have already had my supper, so I am not hungry.'

"For my own part I did not fear being devoured, as I knew I was too prickly and tough a morsel to tempt any appetite. The Field-cricket, however, might with reason entertain apprehensions, for he was as sleek and plump as I was lean and bristly. He took the precaution of putting me between himself and our guide, so that he could keep on guard should the Mole-cricket forget his promise. Well, the latter behaved very well instead; so I have really no complaint to make. He led us through such a number of dark passages, that I was fairly bewildered with the size and variety of the smooth-walled tunnels.

"'Why do you have so many?' I inquired, when we paused, quite out of breath, in a kind of central chamber.

"'Oh!' he replied, 'one must have a large house to run about in; and after all it is not so much work to make it. Besides, I can hide securely here, in ever so many different places, if necessary. This is the nursery,' he added, pausing before a really large cavity, which was much nearer the surface of the ground than the rest of his habitation. It was a fine apartment, nicely prepared for the reception of some two or three hundred yellow eggs.

"'I build this so much nearer the surface,' explained the Mole-cricket, 'so that the eggs may have the benefit of the sun's warmth, although I dislike it so much myself, that I always burrow deep in the earth while the daylight lasts.'

"All this time I observed the Field-cricket grew more ill at ease,—now giving an anxious croak, then skipping back a pace, if the Mole-cricket only looked at him. He had some cause, sure enough. When we arrived at the entrance once more, I saluted our host courteously, thanking him for the pleasure he had given us. The Mole-cricket, instead of replying politely, made a sudden rush at his cousin, with his large jaws wide open. I stepped between them just in time to save the Field-cricket, who ran away as fast as ever he could; and that is the last I ever saw of him.

"'You had better go home again,' I said to the disappointed Mole-cricket. 'All I regret is that I should have seen you do such a thing, for I did not suppose you were so much of a barbarian.'

"'Ho, ho!' he growled, in a sulky tone. 'I would eat you up for your impudence, were you not so tough-looking.'

"'I am afraid you would have a nightmare afterward,' I rejoined; and then we parted, never to meet again.

"My attention was next attracted to a globe, about the size of a cricket-ball, suspended from the head of a thistle by several stout grass stems. It was woven together firmly, and presented no opening that I could perceive; yet the walls were so delicately thin, that the forms of some tiny animals, packed snugly together in this secure, though airy nest, were to be seen. Presently I beheld a pretty little creature, clothed in thick, soft fur, marked with white, nimbly climbing the stem of a plant, to pounce upon an unsuspicious fly, which it did as swiftly and accurately as a swallow.

"'What do you want here?' said the Harvest-mouse suspiciously.

"'I am only seeking a night's lodging; so I will creep into this harebell, I think.'

"I slept soundly; the wind rocked my cradle delightfully. The next morning my curiosity was gratified, when I peeped out, by seeing the Harvest-mouse pay a visit to the baby mice. Her own body was so slender, that she could easily crawl through any space in the nest: which she did; and, when she came out again, the opening was carefully covered by the meshes of fine grass blades, so that the ball was apparently entire as before.

"'Ah, ha! my lady,' I cried, jumping down beside her. 'That is the way you do it, eh?'

"The mother-mouse gave a little shriek of terror; but then, seeing it was only a Spider that spoke, she laughed good-naturedly.

"'I am not afraid of harm from you,' she said 'but there are so many horrible creatures about, ready to destroy us, that my nerves are often sadly shaken.'

"'Pooh! you must not be so timid,' I urged. 'Now, for my part, I have travelled a long distance; yet I have found no peril that I could not easily escape from.'

"'Never mind,' returned the Harvest-mouse, shaking her head. 'You will be frightened yet, depend upon it.'

"I soon found, to my sorrow, that I was to be not only frightened, but in serious danger. I was nearly killed the next moment by the ant-lion."

"What is an ant-lion?" inquired the Teapot.

"Ah! I know," sighed the Wasp.

"And I also," echoed the Cricket.

"But what is it?" chimed in the eager Saucepan, by this time quite interested in the Spider's narrative.

"I will tell you," pursued the Spider. "The ant-lion is a beautiful kind of insect, resembling the dragon-fly in its larval or imperfect state. It feeds chiefly upon active insects; and, as it is too slow of motion to catch them otherwise, it resorts to a very clever expedient,—it makes all food come within reach; thus saving a world of trouble. The head is furnished with a pair of long, curved mandibles, which gives to the inner jaws a free play. The grub makes a pitfall to entrap any passing prey, by tracing a shallow trench, the circle varying from one to two inches in diameter. It then makes another round, starting just within the first circle; and so it proceeds, continually scooping up the sand with its head, and jerking it outside the trench. By continuing this process, always tracing smaller and smaller circles, the ant-lion at last completes a conical pit, buries itself in the sand, and waits.

"Like many another inquisitive ant, beetle, or spider, I went along to the edge of the pit, and peeped in to see what it might contain, when to my horror the sand gave way, and I slid down, down, almost into the jaws opened wide to receive me. I turned faint with fright for a moment; then strength returned, and I scrambled up the side again. This was not easy, as may be imagined: the sand loosened more and more every step I took, and, even faster than I showered it down, the ant-lion flung it back, endeavoring to keep the sides steep, and prevent my escape.

"I just struggled to the brink, when who should come to my assistance but the good-hearted Harvest-mouse, who had witnessed the whole affair from her overhanging nest. She kindly extended her long tail for my benefit, which I eagerly clutched, and so was dragged out alive.

"Ugh! I never see a dragon-fly floating along, without thinking of that dreadful pit where the ant-lion lurked in waiting for victims. I felt too much exhausted to move after that, and, while in so miserably helpless a state, a bird snapped me up, to carry me through the air by three legs, as food for the young birds. They were very hungry,—children generally are,—but they would not give me so much as a peck of their greedy bills.

"'Why did you not bring a nice, fat-bodied garden-spider, while you were about it?' said the robin-mother reproachfully.

"I was then flung out of the nest, and fortunately caught upon a projecting twig as I fell. I hid under a leaf to rest awhile, congratulating myself that I was so rough and ugly.

"Several pretty young squirrels were whisking about the branches, while their parents gravely watched their sports with tails curled up over their backs in repose; or joined in the fun, chasing to loftier perches, where it made me giddy to watch them swaying about, and leaping from tree to tree, then returning to my immediate vicinity again.

"'Do you live out here?' I inquired, going towards them.

"'Yes,' they said, 'this is our summer house, you know; and very comfortable we find it for the heat of the season.'

"'I wish you would let me look at it.'

"'Oh! you can do that, certainly. It is built in sight of all the world. This is not the case with our winter house, however.'

"The cage was made of very slight materials, and placed upon the extremity of a frail branch, that swayed with every gust of wind. 'I should think you would be shaken out,' I remarked.

"'Not a bit of it,' returned the mother Squirrel. 'We could not be reached by any animal, the branch is so slender; and I am seldom frightened by the cries of boys,—unless, indeed, a stone should rudely strike the cage, when I take each of my young ones in my mouth, and deposit them in a place of safety.'

"'Where, then, is your winter home?' I next asked.

"'Ah! that is a question,' replied the father Squirrel, rubbing his nose with one little paw, in a knowing way.

"'I do not wish to make any impertinent inquiries, but I should like very much to know something more of your interesting family,' I said modestly.

"Upon this the two parents whispered and nodded together for a time, then turned to me again. 'If you promise not to tell any cat afterward, you can see it,' they said.

"Of course I consented. The winter cage was located in the fork of a tree, where the boughs concealed it from view, and served to shelter from the wind as well. The nest was quite large, being composed of moss, leaves, and grass.

"'Come in and see how nice and warm it is,' invited the hospitable Squirrels.

"'Do you build a new house every year?'

"'No: that would be too much trouble; so we generally occupy one for several seasons.'

"Bidding the amiable Squirrel family good-by, I crawled down the tree to the earth once more. I began to weary of this rough-and-tumble sort of life. In the struggle with the ant-lion I had sprained my back, which malady was severely aggravated by the rude treatment of the bird that carried me through the air, only to throw me away when the nestlings declined tasting of me.

"I reached the bank of the stream where I had first seen the Kingfisher; then, as the day was cloudy and cool, I sat down in a nut-shell, that served to keep me warm. While I lazily watched the fish dart through the crystal waters, and the birds flutter overhead, a curious object came floating towards me. What do you suppose it was? Why, nothing less than a snug raft of dried leaves and twigs, fastened together with silken threads, that bobbed along right merrily, bearing the sailor who constructed it easily and securely. He was really a remarkably handsome fellow, of a dark, chocolate-brown color, marked with a broad, orange band, and with pale-red legs. This was the floating palace of the Raft-spider, who not only pursues insects on shore, but trots out upon the water after them just as well. In doing this he requires some resting-place, and so builds the raft that excited my wonder and admiration. When he saw me sitting in the nut-shell on the shore, he laughed loudly; while I was only too glad to attract his attention, for I had a favor to ask.

"'Will you take me on board?' I inquired.

"'Yes: run ahead to yonder large pebble; then you can jump on when I pass by.'

"I did so; and when he came alongside I sprang aboard of the raft, which was amply large enough to receive both of us. I thought there never was better fun than sailing down the stream in this style. We danced along smoothly on the current when the water was calm, or we whirled round eddies and rapids; but we passed through all these dangers in safety. The Raft-spider conversed pleasantly. He frequently dashed overboard after some unlucky insect that had fallen into the water, moths, flies, and beetles; or he snapped up some tiny wanderer that rose to the surface for air; sometimes even crawling down the stems of plants for prey to the depth of several inches. He always returned to the raft with these spoils, and cordially invited me to share them, which I did with relish.

"'Eat away,' he urged. 'I can get plenty more at any time, while you look as thin as a starved grasshopper.'

"We had already become excellent friends, when we suddenly beheld a large boat steering swiftly towards us. The Raft-spider is extremely cautious; so, bidding me follow, he slid overboard to hide, as he was in the habit of doing when any danger threatened. Now this was all very well for him, as he could live under water for some time; but what was to become of me? The water bubbled up into my ears; I opened my jaws to scream, only to have more gurgle down my throat. I sputtered and gasped and floundered, until my companion took compassion upon me, and held my head up until the boat had passed, when he dragged me on to the raft again, more dead than alive.

"'To be sure,' he remarked gayly, 'I forgot you were not the same kind of a Spider as myself. You are only a landsman, after all.'

"'Do you have to jump overboard in that fashion often?' I faintly asked.

"'Bless you! I have done so every five minutes sometimes.'

"'I should like to land, then, if you please.'

"The Raft-spider made fun of my fears; but I was determined to get away from the water as soon as possible, so he put me ashore, and went on his way, still laughing."

Here the narrator was interrupted by the entrance of Hulda, who whisked the Teapot and Saucepan off to a high shelf across the room. The Cricket, Wasp, and Caterpillar fled in opposite directions, but the unfortunate Spider was not quick enough to escape. The thrifty housekeeper espied him with her keen eyes, and, pouncing upon him, caught, and threw him out of the window.

Here was an abrupt close to the story. The others could do nothing but sigh over this misfortune, and finally the Cricket said,—

"I propose, for one, that we do not meet again until the family have gone to bed; as, by so doing, we will not run the risk of being thrown out of the window."

To this they agreed; and then they separated, the Wasp and Caterpillar accepting an invitation to visit the Cricket in his mansion behind the brick.

The next night, when the household had retired, the Kettle Club resumed their places about the hearth. The Teapot had been left beside the fire, fortunately; but the poor Saucepan, to her great vexation, still rested on the shelf. They had hoped to hear something of the fate of the Spider; but, although the Cricket had been out of doors, prowling about that day, he could find no trace of the missing member.

"Such an interesting Spider as he was, too," commented the Kettle.

"Yes, indeed," assented the Teapot amiably; "I did not suppose one of his race could be so agreeable."

"There is no use groaning, since it cannot bring him back again," said the Wasp sharply. "Who is to speak to-night?"

"We should be delighted to hear you," said the crafty Cricket, desirous of keeping the Wasp in a good humor.

"Perhaps you will not find my history interesting, after that of the Spider," said he with affected modesty: he thought it would be much more so all the time.

"I am sure we shall," cordially returned the Cricket.