NDER the popular name of "locust," our 
cicada, or harvest-fly, has long enjoyed the 
reputation as our chief insect musician, 
vying with the katydid in the volume of its 
song. We all know its long, whizzing crescendo 
in the sultry summer days. But let us call things 
by their right names. This buzzing musician is 
not a locust ; it is a cicada. The true locust is 
what we ordinarily call a grasshopper, that " high- 
elbowed grig" of the meadows, so generous with 
his " molasses," and with such a vigorous kick. 
He, too, is a musician in a modest way a fiddler, 
