AN AUTUMN FISHING 185 



polished bows, she whispers for us her note 

 of warning — " useless, use-less." 



High on the landes, some distance 

 from the river, there is a reed-rimmed 

 lonely pond, wherein dwell eels both fat 

 and succulent. Now it lies brimming, 

 black and deep, but in the droughts of 

 summer the water drops stagnant to the 

 mud. Therefore the frogs enjoy it and 

 talk loudly day and night, but the eels get 

 up and leaA'e the place for fi-esher and less 

 noisy feeding-grounds. You'll meet them 

 — any dew-drenched moonlight night — 

 walking upon their tails. 



In the still reach below the mill-dam 

 live many water-spiders. You might 

 suppose on casual acquaintance that they 

 lead an idle water-side existence. But 

 just lie down and watch from the long 

 grass — that little lady there, beside the 

 weed-patch, has spent a long and tiring 

 day seeking provisions for her ample 

 household. Now watch her as she hauls 

 upon her rope of web, a tiny submerged 

 handrail leading direct downstairs. A few 

 seconds while she gathers up her parcels, 

 then a frisk and down she goes. You can 



