desirable. Suffice it to say, that they have been selected in order to show the wonderful variety that exists among them, and the exceeding beauty of their forms. Perhaps the most elegant forms are to be found among the Lepralia, plenty of which are to be found on any sea-coast, spreading over the fronds and stems of sea-weeds, and sometimes entirely hiding their surface. Further information may be obtained by reference to works on Natural History, and especially to the admirable monograph on this subject, written by Mr. Bush, which forms part of the catalogue of the British Museum.

The names of the different objects are as follows:

THE second aquatic habitation is of a very curious character, and is made by a spider. The reader will remember that the water spider is in the habit of constructing beneath the water a permanent home, to which it retires with the prey which it has caught, and in which it brings up its young. There is another spider which frequents the water, but which only makes a

temporary and moveable residence. This is the RAFT SPIDER (Dolomedes fimbriatus) which is represented in the illustration of its natural size.

As may be seen by reference to the figure, it is a large species, being, indeed, one of the largest British spiders, its size depending more upon the dimensions of the body than the length of the limbs. It is a remarkably handsome spider, its general colour being chocolate-brown, and a broad orange band being drawn so as to mark the outline of the abdomen and thorax. There is a double row of small white spots upon the surface of the abdomen, and a number of short dark transverse bars give variety to the colouring. The limbs are pale red.

This creature belongs to that group of spiders which do not live in a web, and wait for casual insects, but which chase their prey after the manner of carnivorous vertebrates. Indeed, it may fairly be said to belong to the large group of wolf spiders, and is nearly allied to them.

The Raft Spider is only to be found in fenny or marshy places, and is mostly seen in the fens of Cambridgeshire, where its remarkable habits have long been known. Not content with chasing insects on land, it follows them in the water, on the surface of which it can run freely. It needs, however, a restingplace, and forms one by getting together a quantity of dry leaves and similar substances, which it gathers into a rough ball, and fastens with silken threads. On this ball the Spider sits, and allows itself to be blown about the water by the wind. Apparently, it has no means of directing its course, but suffers its raft to traverse the surface as the wind or current may carry it.

There is no lack of prey, for the aquatic insects are constantly coming up to breathe the air; and although they may only remain on the surface for a second or two, the Spider can seize them before they can gain the safe refuge of the deeper water. Then there are insects, such as the gnat, which attain their wings on the surface of the water, and can be taken by the Spider before they have gained strength for flight. Also, there are insects which habitually traverse the water in search of prey, and which are themselves seized by the more powerful and equally voracious Spider. More than this, moths, flies, beetles, and other insects, are continually falling into the water, and

these afford the easiest prey to the Raft Spider, who pounced upon them as they vainly struggle to regain the air, and then carries them back to its raft, there to devour them in peace.

The Spider does not merely sit upon the raft, and there capture any prey that may happen to come within reach, but when it sees an insect upon the surface, it leaves the raft, runs swiftly over the water, secures its prey, and brings it back to the raft. It can even descend below the surface of the water, and will often crawl several inches in depth. This feat it does not perform by diving, as is the case with the water spider, but by means of the aquatic plants, down whose stems it crawls. Its capability of existing for some time beneath the surface of the water is often the means of saving its life; for, when it sees an enemy approaching, it quietly slips under the raft, and there lies in perfect security until the danger has passed away.

There is, living in the same localities, a closely-allied species, the PIRATE SPIDER (Lycosa piratica), which has similar habits, chasing its prey on the water, and descending as well below the surface. It does not, however, possess the power of making a raft.

IN a previous chapter of this work, the beautiful pensile nest of the Harvest Mouse has been described and figured, and the burrows of other species of mouse have been cursorily mentioned. I shall now proceed to describe the nests of the common Field Mice, together with the habitation of the little brown-coated, long-tailed, sharp-nosed rodent, that is so familiar in houses unguarded by cats or traps.

We will first take the nest of the SHORT-TAILED FIELD MOUSE, otherwise termed CAMPAGNOL, or FIELD VOLE (Arvicola arvensis). This pretty little creature, whose red back, grey belly, short ears, and blunt nose, might be seen daily if buman eyes were more. accustomed to observation, is extremely plentiful in the fields, especially those of a low-lying and marshy character, such as water meadows and hay-fields near rivers.

Though more nocturnal than diurnal in their habits, the little creatures are not afraid of daylight, and I have often captured them when the sun was at its meridian height. But they are so smooth and easy in their movements, harmonise so well with the colour of the soil, and glide so deftly between the grass, that

they can scarcely be distinguished even when the blades are only a few inches in length. I have known them to traverse the ground while a game at cricket was proceeding, and to cross the closely-mown space between the wickets, as if serenely conscious of their invisibility.

They seem to glide rather than to walk, and thread their way silently and without noise. Even when the grass is short, a little patch of reddish earth attracts no attention, and the redbrown fur of the mouse is so similar to such earth, that few would notice it. But if a more attentive observer finds that in a few seconds the ruddy patch has changed its place, his suspicions are at once aroused, and he examines the moving tint more curiously. He must, however, keep his eye upon it as he moves towards it, for if he once loses sight of it, he will in all probability miss it altogether, and think that his eye must have deceived him.

Towards the evening, however, the Campagnol is less fearful, and not only traverses the fields, but ascends the shrubs and plants in search of food. It climbs nearly as well as a squirrel, its sharp nails hooking themselves into every irregularity of the bark, and its long, finger-like toes clasping round the grass stems and little twigs like the paws of a monkey. An autumnal evening is the best time for watching the Campagnol, and if the observer will only remain perfectly quiet, and keep a good opera-glass in readiness, he will be greatly interested by the little animal. A hedge in which are plenty of dog-roses is a likely place for the Campagnol, as the animal is very fond of the ripe hips, and ascends the shrub in search of its daily food. When it reaches the branch, bending with the scarlet load, the mouse runs swiftly and sure-footed as a rope-dancer, and carries off a store of the fruit, partly for present consumption and partly for a stock of winter food.

For the little creature is not one of the hibernating animals, or, at all events, the semi-sleep is of so light a character that the mouse comes often abroad, even in the depth of winter. It is undeterred by severe frost, and takes little heed of snow, as is. proved by its tiny footmarks being tracked in the white and yielding substance.

This little mouse makes two kinds of nest, one for the winter, and another for the summer. The winter nest is below

ground, and is approached by a hole varying much in length. As the cavity in which the nest reposes is larger than the tunnel, and of a globular form, it is mostly usurped by the wasp when the Mouse deserts it for summer quarters. Sometimes it is placed at some depth in the ground; but usually is only a few inches from the surface. This is the nest to which Burns refers in his well-known poem upon the Field Mouse whose nest he had inadvertently ploughed up.

Besides the winter nest itself, the animal has a storehouse or cellar in which are placed the provisions intended for winter use, when the weather prohibits the Mouse from leaving its home, or when the surrounding shrubs and busnes are plundered of their fruits and denuded of their bark. In this storehouse the animal conceals quantities of hips and other provisions, among which are found numbers of cherry-stones.

The summer nest is of entirely a different construction, being placed above ground, though tolerably well concealed. The following account of it, by Mr. J. J. Eriggs, appeared originally in the Field newspaper. "No wonder that in districts where they are difficult to keep down they increase with rapidity, for, like the common Mouse, they are prolific breeders. I have found nests of this Mouse in almost every week from the end of May to the middle of August, and each containing from one to ten young, usually from five to seven. The young look poor helpless creatures, being both blind and naked. They leave the nest in about a month, but remain with their parents for some time afterwards.

"The nest is placed on the ground in a pasture or meadow: a field of mowing grass is preferred, but I have found it among corn, where the long herbage affords the coveted quiet and concealment; but when the crop is cut, the nest is laid bare, and the young frequently fall a prey to hawks and other depredators. The nest is built in a little hollow on the surface of the earth, just concealed at the bottom of the stems of grass. If you pull it out it looks like a lump of herds or flax, being composed of numerous small pieces of grass nibbled to a fine texture with care by the parent animals.

"I have taken up dozens of nests to examine, but in no single instance could I ever find an entrance to the interior. How the parents gain admittance to it seems extraordinary. This remark