The captives were fed on grass-hoppers, crickets, cockroaches and wolf-spiders, but they ate sparingly, one grass-hopper sufficing for three days in the summer, while in the winter hardly any food at all was taken.
The sense of touch is extremely well developed in these spiders, but in sight, hearing and smell they are strangely deficient. No response whatever, was obtained to either high or low notes. A cricket sang for hours quite close to a spider which had been kept hungry for several days, without attracting any attention. It is very remarkable, by the way, that insects show no instinctive dread of these formidable creatures, not attempting to keep at a distance, and indeed frequently running over them in trying to find a way out of the cage. Nor do the spiders seem to be at all guided by smell; they evince no knowledge of the presence of insects which emit a strong odour, nor do they react to such tests as those to which the garden-spider was subjected unless strong irritants such as chlorine are employed, in the perception of which it is perhaps unnecessary that smell in the strict sense should take any part.
They have eight eyes—two of them round and rather business-like in appearance, and the others oval or pear-shaped—and they are very sensitive to light, retreating at once from the direct rays of the sun or from a light flashed on them, but they do not appear to _see_ anything at all, recognising neither friends nor enemies by sight, however close at hand. It was far otherwise with a wolf-spider in the same cage. Running towards the Dugesiella it was clearly aware of it at a distance of several inches, and could not be persuaded to approach nearer. But the supremacy of the sense of touch is most striking when the spiders are courting. When the male is seeking the female he seems quite unaware of her proximity unless he accidentally brushes up against her. If he loses contact for a moment he is quite at sea and wanders blindly about, turning, perhaps, to the left when the least motion to the right would bring them together again. This frequently happens when he has accidentally touched the female with one of the hind legs. He immediately turns about, and if she is still there, all is well, but if she has chanced to move out of reach, he is quite at a loss. Neither sight nor sound nor smell guide him, but touch only. The delicacy of this sense, however, is quite remarkable. He seems to be aware at once of the nature of the object which touches him, assuming a threatening attitude if the touch is hostile, or pouncing instantly if hungry and the touch is that of a passing insect. If, however, the insect is lucky enough to escape, it is in no danger of pursuit.