in and again. No. Objects to _sauce
piquante_, I suppose. Well, I will tempt him again in an hour's time
or so. The water is smooth here, and free from rapids; let us lie down
on the grass and see the birth of _Ephemera_--for that is the
May-fly's proper name. Here comes something floating down. It is
within the reach of my hand, so I will secure it. What is it? As I
thought. Ephemera is throwing off its swaddling clothes. See how it
twirls and twists itself about. Now it is free; and the
strange-looking worm has changed into a beautiful fly. But there is
yet one other operation to go through ere it assumes its final and
complete form; you see at present it is a heavy flier, for the wings
are scarcely dry, and the muscles as yet unequal to great exertion; so
in their present imperfect form they are constantly dropping for a
second or two in the water, and are often sucked down the throat of
some roach, trout, or other fish on the look-out. You should remember
that the _Ephemera_, or May-fly, in this its _sub-imago_, or imperfect
winged state, represents the "green drake" of the angler. What have I
here on this blade of grass? Do you see? What is the shadowy form that
lifelessly clings to it? It is a delicate membrane, thin and light;
see, I blow it away. You saw the split in the back, through which the
former tenant left the abode. It is the cast-off skin of the green
drake, now metamorphosed into a creature more active than harlequin or
columbine, the male into a dark brown insect, with gauze-like wings,
the female into a beautiful creature, with body marbled white and
brown, and able to fly well and strongly, now high in the air, now
sailing along close to the surface of the water, ever and anon dipping
gently into it for the purpose of laying her eggs. The small oval eggs
sink down to the bottom, and attach themselves to the weeds and stones
that are found there. The flight of the male Ephemera is different; it
is the males that practise together that peculiar up-and-down dance,
with heads erect and bodies curving prettily upwards; of course, you
can understand how countless multitudes fall victims to fish and bird,
for dainty morsels they are. These flies, though voracious feeders
both in the larval and nymphal state, never eat at all after they have
assumed their perfect form. Indeed, they have no true mouth, only an
imperfect or rudimentary one; and you would never find a particle of
food in their stomachs, which a