is whole method.

At first the work goes forward merrily. The excavator disappears under
the easily excavated soil of his prison after two hours' labour. At
intervals he returns to the orifice, always tail first, and always
raking and sweeping. If fatigue overcomes him he rests on the threshold
of his burrow, his head projecting outwards, his antennae gently
vibrating. Presently he re-enters his tunnel and sets to work again with
his pincers and rakes. Presently his periods of repose grow longer and
tire my patience.

The most important part of the work is now completed. Once the burrow
has attained a depth of a couple of inches, it forms a sufficient
shelter for the needs of the moment. The rest will be the work of time;
a labour resumed at will, for a short time daily. The burrow will be
made deeper and wider as the growth of the inmate and the inclemency of
the season demand. Even in winter, if the weather is mild, and the sun
smiles upon the threshold of his dwelling, one may sometimes surprise
the Cricket thrusting out small quantities of loosened earth, a sign of
enlargement and of further burrowing. In the midst of the joys of spring
the cares of the house still continue; it is constantly restored and
perfected until the death of the occupant.

April comes to an end, and the song of the Cricket commences. At first
we hear only timid and occasional solos; but very soon there is a
general symphony, when every scrap of turf has its performer. I am
inclined to place the Cricket at the head of the choristers of spring.
In the waste lands of Provence, when the thyme and the lavender are in
flower, the Cricket mingles his note with that of the crested lark,
which ascends like a lyrical firework, its throat swelling with music,
to its invisible station in the clouds, whence it pours its liquid arias
upon the plain below. From the ground the chorus of the Crickets
replies. It is monotonous and artless, yet how well it harmonises, in
its very simplicity, with the rustic gaiety of a world renewed! It is
the hosanna of the awakening, the alleluia of the germinating seed and
the sprouting blade. To which of the two performers should the palm be
given? I should award it to the Cricket; he triumphs by force of numbers
and his never-ceasing note. The lark hushes her song, that the blue-grey
fields of lavender, swinging their aromatic censers before the sun, may
hear the Cricket alone at his humble, solemn celebration.

But h