When the eggs of the spider mentioned in the last chapter as so devotedly attached to its treasure as to prefer death to parting with them, are hatched, they make their way out of the bag by an opening in it, being assisted by the mother in this difficult task. De Geer indeed states that this is the reason why the mother clings so tenaciously to the bag of eggs, as if she knew that her assistance in extricating her young from it was necessary. But this is not altogether correct, as they are able to make their way out by themselves in due time. When the young larvæ have come forth from the shell they run towards the mother, and climb upon her body; some get on her head, some on her back, and some on her limbs. In this manner she carries them about, and is said to feed them until they become strong enough to shift for themselves. "I have more than once been gratified," (writes one of the authors of the Introduction to Entomology,) "by a sight of this interesting spectacle; and when I nearly touched the mother, thus covered by hundreds of progeny, it was most amusing to see them all leap from her back, and run away in all directions."
For another instance of affection almost maternal for the young and helpless larvæ, let us take a peep into an ant's nest. So soon as ever the young larvæ emerge from the eggs they require the unremitting attention of the best and most careful nurses in order to rear them. They must be kept clean, fed, and taken for an airing as regularly as the day returns. By means of their tongues, which are incessantly used in licking them, their coats are kept of the most snowy white. They are fed three or four times a day by their nurses, who take care to masticate the food for them, and thus prepare it for their tender mouths. But the most strange part is their regularly being taken out for the benefit of the air and warmth. Some of the ants at the top of the nest watch for the first beams of the welcome sun, and, as soon as they pour upon the nest, they hasten down below in a great bustle to wake up the nurses, and bid them take the young ones out of their chambers and bring them up to the light, which these indefatigable ants quickly set about to do. After basking there all day long the nurses take care not to expose the delicate constitutions of the larvæ to the chill evening air; and soon as the sun begins to sink towards the horizon they carefully take them up and carry them to the warm deep cell below. For fear, perhaps, of their taking cold, they never allow them to be taken out in raw, damp, or frosty weather. It must not be forgotten, however, that these ants are not the parents of the larvæ; they are only the nurses.