146 UP AND DOWN THE BROOKS. 



From this, the observant reader will perceive 

 that I have never yet learned to grasp nettles 

 firmly enough, a lesson inculcated in the old 

 rhyme written by Aaron Hill in 1750 on that win- 

 dow in Scotland. 



" Tender-handed stroke a Nettle, 



And it stings you for your pains. 

 Grasp it like a man of mettle, 



And it soft as silk remains. 

 J T is the same with common natures, 



Use 'em kindly, they rebel ; 

 But be rough as nutmeg-graters, 



And the rogues obey you well.' ' 



That day I overheard a cry from my compan- 

 ion and rushed to the rescue. There in the shal- 

 low stream, doing his very best to get away, was 

 a full-grown larva of Corydalus. He was popped 

 into the bottle without ceremony and brought 

 home. In appearance Corydalus was no beauty. 

 I presume he would have frightened some people 

 out of their wits. But I was overjoyed to see 

 him, for he was the only one of his kind I had 

 ever beheld outside of a book. 



He was about two inches long, had a black 

 head with nippers, six legs in front, and eight 

 respiratory filaments standing out from either side 

 of his body and making themselves so conspicu- 

 ous that an impertinent little Caddis-worm that 

 wore a dress of sand caught hold of one of them. 

 I presume Caddis pinched, for Corydalus turned 

 around on him with the same quick motion that 



