LOCUSTS 



of the Locust. Imagine four blades of thick grass, bent 

 and battered by a rain-storm, and you will have a fair 

 picture of the pitiable bunch formed by the future wings. 



The hind-legs are next released. The great thighs 

 appear, tinted on their inner surface with pale pink, 

 which will soon turn into a streak of bright crimson. 

 They come out of the sheath quite easily, for the thick 

 haunch makes way for the tapering knuckle. 



The shank is a different matter. The shank of the 

 full-grown insect bristles throughout its length with a 

 double row of hard, pointed spikes. Moreover, the lower 

 extremity ends in four large spurs. It is a genuine saw, 

 but with two parallel sets of teeth. 



Now this awkwardly shaped skin is enclosed in a sheath 

 that is formed in exactly the same way. Each spur is 

 fitted into a similar spur, each tooth into the hollow of a 

 similar tooth. And the sheath is as close and as thin as a 

 coat of varnish. 



Nevertheless the saw-like skin slips out of its long 

 narrow case without catching in it at any point whatever. 

 If I had not seen this happen over and over again I could 

 never have believed it. The saw does no injury to the 

 dainty scabbard which a puff of my breath is enough to 

 tear; the formidable rake slips through without leaving 

 the least scratch behind it. 



One would expect that, because of the spiked armour, 

 the envelope of the leg would strip off in scales coming 



[245] 



