If, however, in spite of these artifices, its dwelling should be discovered, the spider, ascending to the mouth of the tube, pulls upon the lid so as to prevent, if possible, its being raised. Mr. Moggridge, who made a study of trap-door spiders, and has written a work upon them, says: “No sooner had I gently touched the door with the point of a penknife than it was drawn slowly downwards with a movement which reminded me of the tightening of a limpet on a sea-rock, so that the crown, which at first projected a little way above, finally lay a little below the surface of the soil. I then contrived to raise the door very gradually, despite the strenuous efforts of the occupant, till at length I was just able to see into the nest and to distinguish the spider holding on to the door with all her might, lying back downwards, with her fangs and all her claws driven into the silk lining of the under surface of the door. The body of the spider was placed across, and filled up the tube, the head being away from the hinge, and she obtained an additional purchase in this way by blocking up the entrance.” When a trap-door spider uses its claws like this to pull down the lid of its tube, they make little holes all round the edge of the inside of the lid. They can be seen, if one looks, quite plainly, and look as if the points of little pins had been stuck into the smooth surface of the web. Some trap-door spiders are of a large size, and when they lift up the lids of their tunnels, and look cautiously out, they have quite a formidable appearance. During the night, they leave their home, and hunt about for insects of various kinds. As soon as they have caught one they carry it into their dens and devour it there at their leisure. The Rev. Mr. Wood gives an amusing description of this spider’s actions. “New-comers,” he says, “into the country which the trap-door spider inhabits, are often surprised by seeing the ground open, a little lid lifted up, and a rather formidable spider peer about as if to reconnoitre the position before leaving its fortress. At the least movement on the part of the spectator, back pops the spider, like the cuckoo on a clock, clapping its little door after it quite as smartly as the wooden bird, and, in most cases, succeeds in evading the search of the astonished observer, the soil being apparently unbroken, without a trace of the curious little door that had been so quickly shut.”