CHAPTER XXI 



THE LIFE OF THE THREAD-LEGGED BUG 



Emesa longipes 



IT IS a musical night in mid-September, the zenith of the insect 

 season. Far in the void, moist bands of mist pass slowly across 

 the moon, raising and lowering the pale glow in the world 

 about us, first obliterating, now bringing into clearer relief, 

 shadows that melt away almost as we discover them. Dew is heavy 

 on the grass tips. It sparkles in the silver light and adds its mite to 

 September's fragrance, for each month has its perfume. 



Out there in the moonlit meadows and woodland, insect events 

 rush on. Peace and war and industry are heralded, each sound, 

 however tiny, fraught with meaning. All are working to one end. 

 This droning insect music of summer is the battle cry of their race, 

 each individual singing that he shall survive to perpetuate it. 



By some the battle is lost, but over each loser a victor shouts 

 his triumph and so the race goes on. Everywhere tiny wings vi- 

 brate with songs of life, while delicate odors emanate from quiver- 

 ing bodies, that strange mates may travel through the labyrinth 

 of life, at length to meet successfully! At our very doorstep lies 

 this world of insects, yet how little we understand and know its in- 

 habitants. 



Now on this very September night, perhaps the strangest of all 

 these myriad insects is preparing to perpetuate her race. She is 

 one that lays no claim to fame, for man has neglected her family 



history most completely. Unlike the housefly or mosquito, she is 



154 



