LIFE OF A DRAGONFLY 9 
bodied creatures, such as damselfly or mayfly nymphs are stuffed in 
just as they happen to be seized—head first, tail first, or even some- 
times doubled in the middle. One may often see a damselfly nymph, 
the major portion of whose body has already been benevolently 
assimilated by an Anax, while his head and legs, protruding from the 
jaws of his captor, wave a sad farewell to the watery world of which 
he has so recently been a free inhabitant. 
The appetite of an Anax nymph is well nigh insatiable. It is not 
dainty in its choice of food; it requires only that the prey be living 
and moving, and apparently any living thing that it is capable of 
handling will be devoured. If a number of dragonfly nymphs of 
various sizes and species be placed in water in a jar or bottle, the 
smaller ones will gradually disappear, until but one Anax is left. 
The Anax nymph is an extremely clever hunter. Its sly, stealthy 
ways are much like those of a cat. It clings to the stems of aquatic 
plants, preferably hanging head downward, and conceals itself as 
much as possible. If some hapless damselfly or mayfly nymph comes 
near Anax regards it with that air of unconcern with which a cat 
watches a mouse hole. It does not stir, but watches immovably until 
the prey comes within reach, then a swift stroke of the labium like 
the stroke of the cat’s paw captures it. Even the alert water boatman 
may not long escape this sly hunter. 
The duration of the nymphal life of Anax has been determined 
by Dr. Calvert as eleven months. During that time Anax lives con- 
tentedly in the pond, eating voraciously, when the food supply is 
abundant, and fasting expectantly when it is scanty. When the winter 
and spring have passed and the water is warm under the growing 
influence of the sun, the time comes at last when the span of the nym- 
phal life is ended and the marvelous change is at hand, which com- 
pletely alters every circumstance of the dragonfly’s life. From an 
inhabitant of the water it becomes a denizen of the air; from a quiescent 
creature, clinging for hours quietly to the stem of a water plant, it 
becomes an aerial sprite, winging its way untiringly through space; 
from a lover of water and coolness, it becomes a veritable embodiment 
of light and sunshine. In one respect only, it remains unchanged; 
its voracity is unaltered, and, as in the water it was the scourge of all 
living things smaller than itself, so in the air it is no less the dread and 
terror of the flies and mosquitoes. 
The spectacle of the transformation of a dragonfly nymph is wonder- 
ful, but though common enough, it is seldom seen. This is because 
most species transform at night or very early in the morning; and for 
