408 ANNUAL. REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1923 



But the insect musicians are not all minstrels of the night ; there 

 are daytime concerts, too, and the bill includes, besides the strictly 

 daylight performers, some of the nocturnal singers. Gryllus, for 

 example, sings at all hours, and the black-horned tree cricket makes 

 the waysides ring with his shrill notes on warm bright afternoons 

 of fall. Others of too little consequence to mention here will be de- 

 scribed later. The great artist of the day is the cicada, an insect 

 whose individuality sets him apart from all others. His song is 

 that familiar, long, loud, buzzing hum which floats from the trees 

 in undulous tones during the hot weather of August and September. 

 Unfortunately, we commonly call the cicada a " locust," a name 

 which properly belongs to the grasshoppers. The famous 17-year 

 locust is a cicada that comes only periodically on the stage, but then 

 often in vast numbers, and his grand concerts are notable events 

 long remembered and discussed. 



Orocharis is the last performer to appear on the nocturnal pro- 

 gram. No other new notes after his are to be heard, though the 

 voices of the others will change. As the cold of fall increases, the 

 clear treat, treat, treat of the snowy cricket becomes a broken rattle, 

 the sonorous purr of the narrow-winged changes to a long hoarse 

 rasp, the notes of the trillers become weak and subdued, the cheerful 

 chirps of Gryllus feeble and shaky, the notes of Orocharis dulled and 

 tremulous. Yet on a cold wet night, such as those that so frequently 

 mar the autumn season in southern New England, when the whole 

 world seems blanketed in a dismal, cold, and penetrating mist, wetter 

 than rain itself, it is marvelous to hear the insects still painfully 

 proceeding with their concerts under circumstances that would 

 stiffen the limbs and deaden the vital forces of many a stronger crea- 

 ture. The little tree crickets, themselves the very essence of frailty, 

 not only keep their fires burning amidst their sodden environment, 

 but still have emotions that must be expressed in song. And how 

 gay and cheerful they seem again when the weather moderates, and 

 how hopeful their voices sound on those last warm nights of fall. 

 But at last the killing frosts arrive, insect voices are stilled, and the 

 season's concert series ends. 



The preceding is just a resume of what there is to be heard on 

 the insect stage day and night through the musical season. The con- 

 certs are all free and open to the public, but whoever would make 

 acquaintance with the musicians themselves will find that this is 

 not to be done by merely attending their performances, for condi- 

 tions are quite different on the insect stage from what they are on our 

 own. In the first place there is no conductor and all the artists, 

 soloists and choristers alike, insist on coming on at the same time, 



