234 FIELD-CRICKET. 



toothed like the shears of a lobster's claws, they perforate and 

 round their curious regular cells, having no fore-claws to dig, 

 like the mole-cricket. When taken in hand, I could not but 

 wonder that they never offered to defend themselves, though 

 armed with such formidable weapons. Of such herbs as grow 

 before the mouths of their burrows, they eat indiscriminately ; 

 and, on a little platform, which they make just by, they drop 

 their dung ; and never in the day-time seem to stir more than 

 two or three inches from home. Sitting in the entrance of 

 their caverns, they chirp all night as well as day, from the 

 middle of the month of May to the middle of July ; and, in 

 hot w r eather, when they are most vigorous, they make the hills 

 echo ; and, in the still hours of darkness, may be heard to a 

 considerable distance. In the beginning of the season, their 

 notes are more faint and inward ; but become louder as the 

 summer advances, and so die away again by degrees. 



Sounds do not always give us pleasure according to their 

 sweetness and melody ; nor do harsh sounds always displease. 

 We are more apt to be captivated or disgusted with the 

 associations which they promote, than with the notes them- 

 selves. Thus the shrilling of the field-cricket, though sharp 

 and stridulous, yet marvellously delights some hearers, filling 

 their minds with a train of summer ideas of every thing that 

 is rural, verdurous, and joyous. 



About the 10th of March, the crickets appear at the mouths 

 of their cells, which they then open and bore, and shap$ very 

 elegantly. All that ever I have seen at that season were in 

 their pupa state, and had only the rudiments of wings lying 

 under a skin, or coat, which must be cast before the insect can 

 arrive at its perfect state ; * from whence I should suppose 

 that the old ones of last year do not always survive the winter. 

 In August, their holes begin to be obliterated, and the insects 

 are seen no more till spring. 



Not many summers ago, I endeavoured to transplant a 

 colony to the terrace in my garden, by boring deep holes in 

 the sloping turf. The new inhabitants staid some time, and 

 fed and sung ; but wandered away by degrees, and were heard 

 at a farther distance every morning ; so that it appears that, 

 on this emergency, they made use of their wings in attempting 

 to return to the spot from which they were taken. 



One of these crickets, when confined in a paper cage, and 



* We have observed that they cast these skins in April, which are then 

 seen lying at the mouths of their holes. 



