The Life of the Grasshopper 



within. Now is the time to redouble our 

 vigilance and multiply our visits, especially 

 in the morning. 



Fortune, which loves the persevering, re- 

 wards me for my assiduity. All round this 

 swelling where, by a process of infinite deli- 

 cacy, the line of least resistance has been 

 prepared, the end of the egg, pushed back 

 by the inmate's forehead, becomes detached, 

 rises and falls to one side like the top of a 

 miniature scent-bottle. The Cricket pops out 

 like a Jack-in-the-box. 



When he is gone, the shell remains dis- 

 tended, smooth, intact, pure white, with the 

 cap or lid hanging from the opening. A 

 bird's egg breaks clumsily under the blows 

 of a wart that grows for the purpose at the 

 end of the chick's beak; the Cricket's egg, 

 endowed with a superior mechanism, opens 

 like an ivory case. The thrust of the in- 

 mate's head is enough to work the hinge. 



The hatching of the eggs is hastened by 

 the glorious weather; and the observer's pa- 

 tience is not much tried, the rapidity rivalling 

 that of the Dung-beetles. The summer 

 solstice has not yet arrived when the ten 

 couples interned under glass for the benefit 

 of my studies are surrounded by their 



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