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Rh Tuesday, 15th.—Very sultry; thermometer 95 in the shade. The sun rose clear and bright; but soon after a few clouds gathered on the hills, and hopes of rain were again awakened. Many anxious eyes were cast upward, but the clouds dispersed, and the heat continued unrelenting.

The geometric spiders are weaving their neat and regular webs about the gardens and out-buildings. The pea-brush and beanpoles are well garnished with them. The earth also is covered with webs, as usual at this season. In France the peasants call these, as they lie spread on the grass, fils de Marie— Mary's threads—from some half-religious fancy of olden times.

Sitting in the shade this afternoon, we watched a fierce skirmish between a black wasp and a large spider, who had spun its web among the tendrils of a Virginia creeper. The wasp chanced to alight on the outskirts of the spider's domain, where his legs became partially entangled; he had scarcely touched the leaf when the watchful creature made a rapid dash at him. The antagonists were placed face to face; whether the wasp wounded his enemy one could not say, but after the first touch, the spider instantly retreated several inches, still keeping, however, a bold, undisguised position, her great fixed eyes staring fiercely at the intruder. The wasp was getting more and more entangled in the web; he grew angry, moved his wings and legs rapidly, but to no purpose. Seeing his situation as clearly as the spectator, or probably more so, the spider made another attack, and the adversaries closed in a fierce struggle. The wasp seemed anxious to bring his sting to bear upon the enemy; the spider equally