The Pond 



Here are the Water-boatmen, who swim on 

 their backs with two oars spread cross-wise, 

 and the flat Water-scorpions; here, squalidly 

 clad in mud, is the grub of the largest of our 

 Dragon-flies, so curious because of its manner 

 of progression : it fills its hinder-parts, a yawn- 

 ing funnel, with water, spirts it out again and 

 advances just so far as the recoil of its hy- 

 draulic cannon. 



The Molluscs abound, a peaceful tribe. At 

 the bottom, the plump River-snails discreetly 

 raise their lid, opening ever so little the shut- 

 ters of their dwelling; on the level of the 

 water, in the glades of the aquatic garden, the 

 Pond-snails — Physa, Limnaea and Planorbis — 

 take the air. Dark Leeches writhe upon their 

 prey, a chunk of Earth-worm; thousands of 

 tiny, reddish grubs, future Mosquitoes, go 

 spinning around and twist and curve like so 

 many graceful Dolphins. 



Yes, a stagnant pool, though but a few feet 

 wide, hatched by the sun, is an immense world, 

 an inexhaustible mine of observation to the 

 studious man and a marvel to the child who, 

 tired of his paper boat, diverts his eyes and 

 thoughts a little with what is happening in the 

 water. Let me tell what I remember of my 



163 



