346 THE ZOOLOGIST. 



spoken of the Cicadas as " singing." To me it is music (though 

 most people consider it a hateful sound), recalling, as it invariably 

 does, so many happy hours spent in roving about the bush. But 

 even I can have too much of it. I can well remember one such 

 occasion. It was a glorious day, with a gentle breeze and a blue 

 sky, with the air clear and bright, when I sallied forth, making 

 my way to the ferry which traverses that long arm of Port 

 Jackson known as Parramatta River. I soon found plenty to 

 interest me, as the water was in parts almost alive with Disco- 

 medusse of several species, some small transparent ones (of a 

 bluish tint) floating lazily along at the surface ; others {Cram- 

 bessa), of a large size and fleshy-pink colour, forging along 

 steadily by means of the rhythmical contractions of their ciliated 

 discs; and others, again — " man-o'-war blubbers" — which espe- 

 cially attracted attention on account of their beauty. These last 

 are of a semi-transparent red tinge, the disc having all over its 

 surface large white spots. These spots become very dense near 

 the margin, the fringe being almost entirely white. (Recently — 

 Feb. 4th, 1900 — I observed a large number of these animals in 

 Circular Quay, Port Jackson. Some of them had been greatly 

 mutilated by the propellers of the many ferry-boats which ply 

 from here. In one instance I observed a specimen swimming 

 along serenely minus its manubrium, while in another there was 

 only three-fourths of a disc, and this still contracted rhythmically.) 

 From the borders of the disc depends, besides the usual short 

 fringe, a large number of long white and beautiful, though 

 treacherous, tentacles (these being thickly studded with lasso- 

 cells). When swimming in clear water the animal possesses a 

 most pleasing and beautiful appearance ; but when one's limbs 

 come into contact with its tentacles, as while wading, the most 

 intense and painful irritation is set up, which lasts for some 

 considerable time after (as I know to my cost). 



After travelling a few miles I landed at my destination — Ryde, 

 a pretty little village situated in a fruit-growing district. Several 

 hollows in this locality are a great breeding-ground for three or 

 four species of Cicada, notably one — Thopha saccata — a large 

 species. That day I heard such a tumult of insect-life as I have 

 never experienced either before or since. The noise was deafening. 

 Some men who were near at hand, upon seeing me searching 

 about amongst the stones, evidently guessed that I was on the 



