At one time there were several large pike in my lotus pond. Under the huge floating leaves of this splendid plant they took refuge, and it was difficult to catch even a glimpse of them. At the same time the schools of minnows seemed to enjoy the sunlight and sported in the open water. More than once, however, I saw a pike rush out from its cover, and finally learned that it systematically lay in wait for the minnows; and I believe I am justified in adding that the minnows knew that danger lurked under the lotus leaves. The situation was not so hap-hazard a one as might appear at first glance, and hours of patient watching convinced me that there was a decided exercising of ingenuity on the part of both the pike and the minnows; the former ever on the lookout for a victim, the latter watchful of an ever-present danger. Day long it was a tragedy where brute force counted for little and cunning for a great deal. Another very common fish in my pond was likewise very suggestive in connection with the subject of animal intelligence. I refer to the common “sunny,” or “pumpkin-seed.” A shallow sand-nest had been scooped near shore and the precious eggs deposited. A school of silvery-finned minnows had discovered them, and the parent fish was severely taxed in her efforts to protect them. So long as this school of minnows remained together, the sunfish, by fierce rushes, kept them back; but soon the former—was it accident or design?—divided their forces, and as the parent fish darted at one assaulting party, the other behind it made a successful raid upon the nest. This continued for some time, and the sunfish was getting quite weary, when, as if a sudden thought struck it, its tactics changed, and it swam round and round in a circle and sent a shower of sand out into the space beyond the nest. This effectually dazed the minnows. Little incidents like this are forever occurring and effectually set aside the once prevalent idea that fish are mere living machines. Look a pike in the eye and you will detect something very different from mere instinctive timidity. But fish are not the only creatures that live in the water; there are one snake and several species of turtles, and frogs, mollusks, and insects innumerable. These are too apt to be associated with the land, and, except the two latter forms, are usually thought of as taking to the water as a place of refuge, but really living in the open air. This is a great mistake. There is a lively world beneath the surface of the water, and the tragedy of life is played to the very end, with here and there a pretty comedy that wards off the blues when we look too long and see nothing but the destruction of one creature that another may live.