128 FABRE'S BOOK OF INSECTS 



is a couple of inches deep, it suffices for the needs of the 

 moment. The rest will be a long affair, carried out in a leisurely 

 way, a little one day and a little the next : the hole will be 

 made deeper and wider as the weather grows colder and the 

 insect larger. Even in winter, if the temperature be mild 

 and the sun shining on the entrance to the dwelling, it is not 

 unusual to see the Cricket shooting out rubbish. Amid the 

 joys of spring the upkeep of the building still continues. It 

 is constantly undergoing improvements and repairs until the 

 owner's death. 



When April ends the Cricket's song begins ; at first in 

 rare and shy solos, but soon in a general symphony in which 

 each clod of turf boasts its performer. I am more than in- 

 clined to place the Cricket at the head of the spring choristers. 

 In our waste-lands, when the thyme and lavender are gaily 

 flowering, the Crested Lark rises like a lyrical rocket, his 

 throat swelling with notes, and from the sky sheds his sweet 

 music upon the fallows. Down below the Crickets chant 

 the responses. Their song is monotonous and artless, but 

 well suited in its very lack of art to the simple gladness of 

 reviving life. It is the hosanna of the awakening, the sacred 

 alleluia understood by swelling seed and sprouting blade. In 

 this duet I should award the palm to the Cricket. His 

 numbers and his unceasing note deserve it. Were the Lark 

 to fall silent, the fields blue-grey with lavender, swinging its 

 fragrant censers before the sun, would still receive from this 

 humble chorister a solemn hymn of praise. 



in 



His MUSICAL-BOX 



In steps Science, and says to the Cricket bluntly : 

 4 Show us your musical-box.' 



Like all things of real value, it is very simple. It is based 

 on the same principle as that of the Grasshoppers : a bow with 



