



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 v 



