against the very substance of cloud, as if upheld by
some thin lift of air, so these insects glided as easily and skimmed
as swiftly upon the surface film of water. I did not know even the
genus of this tropical form; but insect taxonomists have been
particularly happy in their given names--I recalled _Hydrobates_,
_Aquarius_, and _remigis_.

The spur-winged jacanas are very skilful in their dainty treading of
water-lily leaves; but here were good-sized insects rowing about on
the water itself. They supported themselves on the four hinder legs,
rowing with the middle pair, and steering with the hinder ones, while
the front limbs were held aloft ready for the seizing of prey. I
watched three of them approach the ant, which was struggling to reach
the shore, and the first to reach it hesitated not a moment, but
leaped into the air from a take-off of mere aqueous surface film,
landed full upon the drowning unfortunate, grasped it, and at the same
instant gave a mighty sweep with its oars, to escape from its
pursuing, envious companions. Off went the twelve dimples, marking the
aquatic footprints of the trio of striders; and as the bearer of the
ant dodged one of its own kind, it was suddenly threatened by a small,
jet submarine of a diving beetle. At the very moment when the pursuit
was hottest, and it seemed anybody's ant, I looked aside, and the
little water-bugs passed from my sight forever--for scattered over the
surface were seven strange, mumbling mouths. Close as I was, their
nature still eluded me. At my slightest movement all vanished, not
with the virile splash of a fish or the healthy roll and dip of a
porpoise, but with a weird, vertical withdrawing--the seven
dissolving into the milk to join their six fellows.

This was sufficient to banish further meditative surmising, and I
crept swiftly to a point of vantage, and with sweep-net awaited their
reappearance. It was five minutes before faint, discolored spots
indicated their rising, and at least two minutes more before they
actually disturbed the surface. With eight or nine in view, I dipped
quickly and got nothing. Then I sank my net deeply and waited again.
This time ten minutes passed, and then I swept deep and swiftly, and
drew up the net with four flopping, struggling super-tadpoles. They
struggled for only a moment, and then lay quietly waiting for what
might be sent by the guardian of the fate of tadpoles--surely some
quaint little god-relation of Nep