Have you ever thought of the wonderful struggles which are always going on in the insect world—the struggles to eat, and the struggles not to be eaten? Nearly all insects seem to be the food for something or other. Most animals enjoy them thoroughly, so do many birds, and many reptiles and amphibians (frogs and toads) and many fish. I think that spiders live on them entirely, and they have also cannibals to fear among their own kind, for though most insects feed on plant-juice, quite a large number of them turn to stronger meat, and spend their lives in hunting their poor relations. It sounds rather horrible, doesn't it? But we may be quite sure that everything of the kind has been mercifully arranged so that this beautiful world of ours, with all its joy and colour, and its millions and millions of happy children—I do not think that any lives but those of human beings are ever really unhappy—may keep its beauty always. That is why the ichneumon flies have to kill down the caterpillars, for, if there were too many caterpillars, there would be no hedgerows, let alone vegetables for dinner; and the Rove Beetles, who have curly cock-up tails, have to kill down the little boring beetles, for, if there were too many little boring beetles there would be no trees; and the Crabros have to kill down the blue-bottles, for if there were too many blue-bottles—well, goodness knows what would happen to some excitable people.
We must believe then that things are best as they are—that a struggle for life is part of a Great Plan, Greater than our human minds can grasp, and that the lives of the hunters are as useful in their way as the lives of the hunted.
Now how would we ourselves act, if our lives depended on catching things? And how would we act if our lives depended on not being caught? I don't think we could add much to what the insects and spiders have taught us. To hunt successfully you must get so near to your quarry that you can kill it. If you are quicker-footed, well and good. If you are slower-footed you may employ something quicker-footed than yourself—this is what happens in fox-hunting; or you may approach without being seen—this is what happens in deer-stalking: or you may hide yourself and wait for your quarry to approach you—this is what happens in tiger-shooting; or, lastly, you may employ traps and snares, which is how most fishing is done. I don't think that any creatures but ourselves employ lower creatures to hunt for them, but the other ways are used by all sorts of animals, and the last two are used more skilfully by insects and spiders than by anything else.
THE SPIDER ON THE BRAMBLE BLOSSOM
Look at the pictures of the spider on the bramble-blossom. This particular spider belongs to a family called Thomisus (I don't know why) and he varies in colour from a bright sulphur yellow to a delicate green, which is an exact match to the green of an unopened bramble-bud. In three of the pictures (a fly has settled close to the spider in two of them) you will be able to make out the spider pretty soon, I expect, for he has stretched his legs out. He keeps quite still in this position, and I think he fancies that he is a bramble-bud. But in the other picture I am pretty sure that, if he did not happen to be a rather fat spider, you would find it very difficult to distinguish him, and you may be certain that a fly would find it just as difficult. He is a wolf in sheep's clothing, and the sheep are bramble-buds.
The Dragon in the Water-weed
The Dragon in the Water-weed
This is the back of him, and you can see that he is covered with a delicate water-weed