HARDWICKE'S SCIENCE-GOSSIP. 



whose voice is as the rush of a cataract, has already- 

 stepped out into the vacant field of glory. See, after 

 having flung out a defiance to his rivals, how meekly 

 he sits upon the twig over the head of Madam, to 

 whom he plays, and who from time to time feels 

 hesitatingly for him with her thread-like feelers. 

 Come, that was a gentle touch now, and none of the 

 smart boxing which the little wood white butter- 

 flies indulge in when they buffet with their nose-pads, 

 but Madam she won't endure it, and so she has 

 prudently hopped aside, just as the Signor comes 

 down with his impromptu leap and occupies her 

 vacant place. Of course at the outset it is a little 

 novel to be the witness of a performance where the 

 grasshoppers who play the bass are industriously 

 utilizing their legs as fiddle-bows, which, instead of 

 being. rubbed with rosin, have from sheer hard usage 

 acquired a row of ivory knobs ; and where the leaf- 

 crickets who undertake the treble, are employing an 

 ebon black comb concealed beneath the wing. And 

 do you not remark a superb and echoing ring in the 

 notes of Signor Locusta, who seems to chatter in 

 absolute despair ? And then as to ears, does it not 

 strike you that such frantic love-making must needs 

 set the whole body a trembling like the lustres of a 

 chandelier? and it is for this very reason that the 

 grasshoppers have theirs hidden away behind their 

 legs ; and as for the Signor and Madam, why they 

 carry a brace sticking into the first pair like a couple 

 of mushrooms. Our play, as you will recall, is All 

 for love. 



During the interlude the grasshoppers rattle on, 

 and the little Dectici whirr dizzily in the hedge-roots 

 with the tremulous sound of a watch that is being 

 wound up. Such music becomes a trifle monotonous, 

 predisposing you to slumber, but it finds a harmony in 

 the dull murmur of the meadows, and what seems 

 most strange, all the performers consider the roll of 

 the passing cart-wheel to be a cry of encore, even 

 saluting with a salvo the fitful chiming of the clock 

 on the grey church tower. Perchance the wish occurs 

 at the outset to seize and imprison one of our troop : 

 should you think proper to do so, he would then no 

 longer shrill his noon-tide reveries, but his ardours 

 would kindle and flash at the evening star, increasing 

 at the witching hour to a fusee of half a thousand 

 notes or so. Darkness, prithee, would then acquire 

 a new and melancholy sweetness. Meanwhile the 

 scene has changed, for the two rival Ephippigers of 

 the vine come stalking over the tops of the brambles, 

 pausing as they advance to snip-snap defiance at each 

 other, like two clicks of a steam engine, or two 

 jingles of the horse-bells. Very elegant are these 

 portly, hunched-backs with their white-ringed green 

 or brown bodies, that recall the cricketing flannels 

 and suggest a man-tiger corded with stays. Those 

 who have chanced to catch a glimpse of the cinerous- 

 coloured Thamnotrizon that chirps hidden in the ivy 

 of an English hedge-bank, and which during the 



prevalence of the opal mist that dims the morning 

 sun, is often out sunning in companies, will at once 

 recognize the kettledrum wings set awry, which have 

 conferred on these clowns the nickname of the 

 cymbal players. But come, now, one is silent and 

 the other is posed like an oil-beetle and executing 

 a solo. The notes they clash arid they tinkle as it 

 were the bound of a tambourine, and their refrain is 

 ever sweep-sweep or sweet-sweet, just as the air 

 pulsates, and the sentiment prompts ; one would 

 think that the grape-gatherer who is reposing 

 beneath the vine-leaves must have fairly mistaken 

 this charming overture for the drawing of wine-corks 

 and a rain of coin gilt with the yellow leaves. By 

 referring to the racy scores that Yersin noted down 

 on the solitude of his Alpine crags, it will be noticed 

 that he assigns to these musical orthoptera an idea 

 of number and pitch, but although this brilliant 

 music fairly moves at the rate of a beat every two 

 seconds, it becomes quite an open question whether 

 the performers distinguish between a six and an eight. 

 Apart from their marionettes they seem decidediy to 

 be what our servant-girls would call sillies, for they 

 are always ready to walk with a mincing and dainty 

 pace on to the extremity of your walking-stick or 

 umbrella. In regard to our programme, we find it 

 further stated that Madam Ephippiger will perform 

 a duet with the object of her choice among the 

 gently waving vine-leaves, but for all that she is 

 sitting on there in saucy silence, like a crocodile, and 

 now one of her admirers — would you believe it ? — has 

 actually jumped down and bestowed on her a kiss or 

 a bite; but Madam, after producing a squeal in 

 imitation of that of a vindicative weasel, she has 

 waddled off as if insulted. One would say that she 

 was one of those who can sing and wont sing. 



But do you not see, are you blind ? Hist ! now hist ! 

 this saddle-backed creature who is disguised in marine 

 green, is evidently the great gun of our performance. 

 See how dignified he holds himself aloof, embowered 

 among the interlacing thoms, and only notice that 

 strange rosy glow that overshadows his flattened 

 winglets of bronze and ebon black. Hark as he 

 spreads them like a cherub, and draws with his 

 fiddle-bow that long, powerful and steamy note, that 

 appears to strain in the execution like a cord that is 

 about to snap. Hist ! oh hist ! Surely he must have 

 been the apt pupil of Apollo's darling, the cicada, if a 

 comb can be said to twang like crinoline hoops. It 

 would seem, as he leisurely climbs to the topmost 

 twig, that you might hear him sound his old and 

 mellow violin fifty yards away in a fog. The 

 Ephippigers welcome their champion, and their 

 tambourines they dash around, and then far remote, 

 from the tops of the pollard oaks there echoes back 

 that Hist ! oh hist ! Indeed the notes of Locusta 

 were quite overpowering at the outset, as it were the 

 whistling gush of a waterfall after the downpour, but 

 those of this new hunchback resemble most the 



