JULY 137 



deep foliage with mouths open and wings 

 held away from the body. Over the hot, 

 dry ground of the cornfield the grasshopper 

 hovers in crackling, quivering glee, while 

 from the near-by grove the hum of the locust 

 starts out musically enough, though even it 

 gets wooden toward the end of the song. 



As evening approaches the musicians 

 change, but their numbers, if anything, in- 

 crease. Denied the power of beauty, these 

 denizens of the night must depend on their 

 voices for winning their friends, and the 

 night is strident with the shrill fiddling of the 

 crickets and, later, of the katydids. Some of 

 the insects, afraid of the birds, cautiously 

 light their lanterns and start out on their 

 search for a comrade by night. Even here 

 their fear of lurking foes has taught them to 

 flash their lights intermittently. 



THE LOCUST'S HOT SONG 



THE LOCUST'S DRUMS 



It sounds hot when the locust sings. He 

 never seems quite happy with the ther- 

 mometer anywhere that pleases us. When 



