THE COUNTRY. 149

spiked with jet, buzz with sleepy importance,
or walk aimlessly along the edge of a leaf, or
climb with evident toil up a broad, stiff blade of
rush, to swing back and forth in the sunshine on
its slender tip.
 But the dragon-flies are most wonderful of
all. The soft, still air, the checkered shadows
on the water, and the shining blue heavens
glitter with their unceasing dance; it seems
as though a handful of jewels had been flung
up into the sunshine, and, caught in its warm
embrace, would not return to the earth again.
They dart and circle; they poise, motionless,
upon wings as tremulous as the light itself;
their flight is a streak of pulsating fire; the air
flashes with the dust of the gems which powders
the green bronze of their heads. The sunshine
in the middle of the creek is alive with them,
and they pierce the shadows along the edge
with zigzags of light; sometimes they stop to
rest upon a gray cypress knee, letting their
marvellous wings rise and fall in a sparkling
rhythm, as though to some unheard music from
the green aisles below the arching lily-leaves.