The Life of the Grasshopper 



whereupon, loosened with one last shake, 

 the empty husk drops to the ground. 



The fact of its falling interests me, for 

 I remember the stubborn persistency with 

 which the Cicada's cast skin defies the winter 

 winds without being detached from its sup- 

 porting twig. The Locust's transfiguration 

 is conducted in much the same way as the 

 Cicada's. Then how is it that the Acridian 

 gives himself such very shaky hangers? 

 The hooks hold so long as the work of 

 tearing continues, though one would think 

 that this ought to bring down everything; 

 they give way under a trifling shock so soon 

 as that work is done. We have, therefore, 

 a very unstable condition of equilibrium here, 

 showing once more with what delicate pre- 

 cision the insect leaves its sheath. 



I said " tearing," for want of a better 

 word. But it is not quite that. The term 

 implies violence; and violence there cannot 

 be any, because of the unsteady balance. 

 Should the Locust, upset by his exertions, 

 come to the ground, it would be all up with 

 him. He would shrivel where he lies; or, 

 at any rate, his organs of flight, being un- 

 able to expand, would remain pitiful shreds. 

 The Locust does not tear himself loose; he 

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