52 POND LIFE 



able to rotate in a most original manner. The legs, which 

 play an important part in the seizing of its prey, are veritable 

 steel traps, fringed with hair-like spines ; they are brought 

 together at the critical moment, in this way imprisoning the 

 victim. The wings, though so light and graceful, are yet 

 perfectly adapted to the creature's wants. Sometimes they 

 are coloured, but more often so transparent that they would 

 be totally invisible when the insect was engaged in flying, if it 

 were not for their remarkable polish. 



Dragon-flies have a habit of choosing a particular district : 

 it may be a glade in a wood, a length of road, or a cottage 

 garden, but whichever it is the insects keep to the boundaries 

 with astonishing exactitude, seldom varying the route, unless 

 in pursuit of an insect. Perhaps the extraordinary fact as to 

 dragon-flies is their dependency on sunlight. It would seem 

 that they rely on the sun for their energy. In the brilliant 

 light of a real summer's day, when clouds are conspicuous by 

 their absence, when the air is clear as if purified, the dragon- 

 flies are at their best. To and fro along their chosen paths, 

 soaring upwards towards the sky, or swooping down, until one 

 expects the creature to dash itself against the earth ; darting 

 round trees, turning at surprising angles, or chasing insects 

 that have crossed its path, thus the dragon-fly spends its time, 

 the embodiment of energy. 



But should a cloud appear, and but for a single moment veil 

 the sun, the wild life of the dragon-fly seems to be gone. It 

 settles on a convenient twig, folds its wings, and appears as if 

 life was one of worries and sorrows. But as soon as the sun 

 once more breaks from behind the clouds and shines in all its 

 glory, the insect's life rapidly returns, and away it flies, as 

 active as ever. 



Can anyone imagine a stranger contrast than that between 

 the young and the adult dragon-fly ? We know that there is an 

 old saying that persuades fond parents that the uglier the 

 children the better-looking adults they will be, and contrawise ; 

 and the dragon-fly's history seems to not only prove the 

 theory, but to do so to a remarkable extent, for the young 

 creature is the embodiment of sluggishness and ugliness, so fat 

 and slothful that we can hardly believe that it will ever be 

 anything even passable in these two qualities. 



The female deposits her eggs on the water or on the leaves of 

 aquatic plants. The young when first hatched have no signs of 

 wings, but after several moults the rudimentary wings make an 

 appearance. The larva, being totally incapable of active move- 

 ment, would soon die of starvation were it not for a curious 



