And yet there is but one theme : the minstrels sing 

 always of that, but serenade the fair one after one 

 fashion by day and more serenely by the light of 

 the stars. She, having apparently no ears, hears none 

 the less, and perhaps detefts variations in this 

 monotonous ditty and even distinguishes the fine 

 quality of some particular voice — some clearness 

 of tone, some pathetic tremulo indicative of a 

 cricket's feelings. For is not this a song-festival of 

 all the grasshoppers? I noticed a common short- 

 horned grasshopper stridulating in the sunshine, 

 w^hich he did by taking short flights and rapidly 

 opening and shutting his wings like an accordion. 

 This produced a series of dry, crackling sounds as 

 the wing was scraped against the wing-cover. After 

 thus exhibiting his powers, a female at length 

 came from some little distance and lit beside him, 

 as much as to say, " If you can sing like that I am 

 yours .forevermore." 



One feels some sympathy with these sweet singers 

 of the fields in knowing what a little life is theirs, 

 how short is the span. For the most part they 

 have but a few months to sport in the sunshine. 

 This epithalamium is at the same time a requiem. 

 In Odlober it rises, a universal threnody, the 



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