SPIDER - Cecil Warburton - Bog

THERE are certain days of the year when the immense wealth of spider industry going
on all around us is revealed in a way calculated to strike even the least observant. We all
know¿and derive no peculiarly pleasant thrill from the knowledge¿that we can, if so
minded, find abundance of cobwebs and their occupants by visiting the cellar or the
tool-house; and probably we have all at times noticed, with a languid interest, large
circular webs on our favourite rose-bushes, with a spider motionless in the centre.
But some spring or autumn morning, when the night has been foggy and the sun has
only just succeeded in dispersing the mists, every bush and hedge is seen to be draped,
every square foot of lawn and meadow to be carpeted with spiders¿ silk. There has been
no special activity in the domain of these creatures, but every silken line is beaded with
drops perhaps fifty times its diameter, and what yesterday required careful observation
to detect is now visible yards away, and we realise for once something of the prodigious
activity constantly going on though ordinarily unnoted.
And it never entirely ceases. True hibernation, if it ever occurs, is not the rule among
spiders, and there is no time of the year when some species may not be found at work.
Beat trees or bushes over an old umbrella, or sweep grass and herbage with a sweeping
net in summer, and you will never draw a blank¿some spiders are sure to be found. In
winter such measures are profitless, but if you take the trouble to grub among ground
vegetation, or shake fallen leaves over a newspaper, or search under stones or logs of
wood you will have no difficulty in finding spiders enough, and by no means dormant. I
have even seen an enthusiastic collector remove inches of snow and disinter rare species
from among the roots of the grass beneath!