176 NATURE'S STORY OF THE YEAR 



One day early in November, on the top rail of a 

 shaded old gate, a lovely pale cricket, slender and 

 fragile, and of a kind never before found there, was 

 sitting. Golden leaves were falling from the great 

 elm tree spreading above, blossoms had long since 

 vanished, the birds had retired for the night, and 

 not even the great black beetle was abroad. Sadly 

 out of place seemed the dainty emerald-green 

 insect in that gloomy scene. Her large gauzy 

 wings were folded, the long slender antennas, or 

 horns, waved slowly, bending with the changing 

 currents of chilly air. All around were the evi- 

 dences of decay and death, but here life reigned 

 in exquisite beauty. In warmer days she had 

 lived in an airy home among the branches ; now 

 she had descended to a strange scene to fulfil the 

 sacred mission of maternity by finding an asylum 

 for her eggs. But a lover of such creatures was 

 near. She began to wave her horns in scrutiny of 

 the great dark object that had shut out the light. 

 But her wings were too cold for flight. She could 

 not escape. Then rough fingers seized her and 

 crushed out her life, heeding not the wild gnashing 

 of those delicate jaws, the last stroke of her elegant 



