THE MAY-FLY 53 



transparent wings to the breeze, sails 

 slowly down the stream like a tiny yacht. 

 For twelve months, down in the dark 

 and earthy river-bed, the May-fly has 

 been undergoing its metamorphosis, 

 passing through strangeand ugly phases, 

 but now it has risen into the genial sun- 

 light of a June day, a creature with a 

 rare delicacy of form and colour, and in- 

 vested with a life-history that is full of a 

 beautiful mystery. Yet it is born to live 

 but a day. Of the countless hosts that 

 flutter on wings of prismatic hues over 

 the water on a warm summer morning, 

 very few will remain until afternoon. 

 As often as not, the May-flies are 

 snatched by the greedy trout before they 

 have left their "old husk," and those 

 that are in the air fall a prey to flycatch- 

 ers, martins, and swallows. Even the 

 farmyard sparrows and starlings some- 

 times come to join in this great festival 

 of the English fisherman's year. 



