Spiders, then, either through gossamer or their own structural modification, seem engaged in the conquest of the air. There remains but the water, and this element also they have partly subdued. There are raft-spiders and diving-bell spiders. The first, having woven a few dried leaves, stalks, grasses, etc., launches out as courageously from the shore as the first navigator, whose heart, according to Horace, was thrice bound in brass, but who probably was timid and cautious. Our spider, however, has no fears, nor need it to have any, since no sort of capsizal can affect a structure which answers its purpose as well one side up as another; whilst even if it were to sink—though that hardly lies in its nature—there is always the water to run on. The raft, in fact, is only like the nest or web ashore—a place to have a comfortable meal in. The prey—some aquatic insect—is caught generally on the surface of the stream, and the spider, after each successful raid, skims back with her booty to the little self-guiding boat which it has temporarily left. There, when no longer hungry, she sits and scuds about, careless and pleasure-loving, like another little Phædria in her “flitt barck” over the waters of the Idle Lake.[142] “Thus,” says Büchner, “everywhere in nature are battle, craft, and ingenuity, all following the merciless law of egoism, in order to maintain their own lives and to destroy those of others.” In man, indeed, there is some counterpoise to all this in the mind and _façon de parler_; but the lower animals do not think so much, and, having no proper language, cannot even talk altruistically. Lastly, we have the water-spider, whose little spun nest, against the submerged stem of some aquatic plant, is open at the bottom like a diving-bell, and filled with air which its owner carries down from the surface in successive bubbles, each one looking “like a globe of quicksilver.” To collect them she swims on her back, and, in some manner, entangles them amongst the numerous hairs with which her abdomen is covered, where they cling safely all through the journey, “Proud of that delicate lodgment.” There may be other bubbles as pretty, perhaps, but few, by bursting, do such good to those who have cherished them. In winter, it would seem, the spider closes the entrance to the diving-bell, and sleeps, dry and soft, in a well-aired bed, in spite of the damp situation. ----- Footnote 136: Vinson, Aranéides des Iles de la Réunion, Maurice, et Madagascar, pp. 268, 269. Footnote 137: Bates, The Naturalist on the River Amazon (1864), p. 96. Footnote 138: Annals and Magazine of Natural History, vol. x. (1872), pp. 273, 274. Footnote 139: Captain Thomas Hutton, “Observations on the Habits of a Large Species of _Galeodes_,” Journal of the Asiatic Society. Reprinted in Annals and Magazine of Natural History, August, 1873, No. 75. Footnote 140: