"There is a large order of insects that live the first stages of life in water, where for weeks, months, in some instances years, they hide under stones; carve an abiding-place in submerged driftwood; feed on decaying vegetation in lazy, inert masses; burrow in the earth beneath the current; weave together bits of wood, gravel, stones, and floating debris, forming retreats that surround them as they swim or daintily walk; spin of silken thread individual domiciles that they guard from intruders with the valor of soldiers, or bodily and singly dash out in the current, swimming with agile rapidity. These are all fish food. But it is only when they assume the perfect form, when they cast aside their aquatic nature, and with gossamer wings float in the air, that they are of interest to the fly-fisher--as he seeks to deceive the finny tribe with their imitations, made of feathers, tinsel, and mohair. Insects are enfeebled at all changes in their life, and at each successive moult, when the pupa case is broken, too weak to keep guard, they flutter and rest on the water an instant before flitting away. At this instant many are seized by the wary fish. Insects leave the water mornings and evenings, particularly the latter, rarely at midday, never during rain storms or heavy winds. It is at these times, when they are leaving the water, their imitations are used to most advantage. It is that insect floating off into a new element that the fish are watching and waiting to feed on. At other times you may cast with success your favorite 'brown hackle' with its golden ribs and steel backbone--the bland professor, the modest queen of the water, or the grizzly king with his gray locks and flaming sword. Things which resemble nothing in the heavens above, the earth beneath, or the waters under the earth--why fish take these, whether from curiosity, or by way of dessert, no one perhaps will ever know, not fully understanding the nature of the fish. But there is one thing we do know, that when the countless myriads of these tiny creatures are entering a new life in untried regions, the favorite flies will be thrown in vain. The fish will regard with contemplative indifference every other lure but a close imitation of that particular insect. "One evening we sat on the bank of a creek, bug net in hand, watching the trout and the birds of the air feeding on a neuropterous insect that is constantly repeating the cycle of its life, 'As yet unknown to fame, And guiltless of a Latin name.'