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On showing a very beautiful and perfect micro photograph, by Dr. Abercrombie, of the so-called tongue (ligula) of the house-cricket (Acheta domestica), the question arose, "What do crickets eat?" Now, our little merry fireside-chirpers seem never to have confided this secret to mortal ears, not even in the celebrated duett on the hearth when "kettle began it." One reason for this may be that the ladies of the family, who might be expected to look after the larder, are dumb poor things. So Xenarchus, or some crusty old Greek, wrote:—

The power of emitting the "crique! crique!" we hear is possessed only by the male insect, and is produced by a truly musical instrument, a sort of drum or tambourine formed of a part of the parchment, or partially horny substance, of the short upper wings, which in these Orthoptera take the place of the more elaborate wing-sheaths, called elytra, of the beetles; across or against this little drum, the cricket has the power of rubbing the toothed or corrugated inner edges of these upper partially sheathing wings—sometimes called tegmina—which fold a little over each other. In this way a pretty loud sound can be produced.

There is an elegant legend quoted by Dr. Shaw, in his volume VI., as from the Greek, of a cicada, which, as it might easily apply to our present friends, it may be allowable to repeat as gossip:—"A tale is related by ancient authors of two rival musicians, Eunomus, of Locris, and Aristo, of Rhegium, alternately playing for a prize; when one of the candidates was so unfortunate as to break a string of his lyre; by which accident he would certainly have failed; when a cicada, flying near, happened to settle on his lyre, and by its own note supplied the defective string, and thus enabled the favoured candidate to overcome his antagonist. So remarkable was this event that a statue was erected to perpetuate the memory of it, in which a man is represented playing on a lyre, on which sits a cicada."

Although the lady crickets are dumb, we must presume they are not deaf; Shakespeare does not consider them so when he says:—"I will whisper it gently, so that not even your crickets shall hear." The cricket then sounds his gong to summon the ladies from the tortuous passages and caves scooped out by their strong mandibles in the mortar of our walls, to join the festive board, when he finds some dainty crumbs scattered on the floor, particularly if they should be moist; for these chirpers are thirsty creatures, and have been known to devour holes in any wet woollen articles left by the kitchen-fire,—most likely for the sake of the moisture. They are said to have no objection to a savoury meal on a fat, juicy cockroach, and that the latter always abscond from places where crickets abound.

Sir. W. Jardine states, on the authority of Koch, that the cricket has the characteristics of omnivorous animals, in possessing both incisive and molar teeth, of which he gives a figure on Plate VI. of his "Introduction to Entomology" in the "Naturalist's Library;" and they appear to have a strong propensity for nibbling and gnawing. A tender, young passion-flower was planted in a warm corner of my conservatory, adjoining the kitchen-chimney, where numbers of these crickets were continually chirping, as fast as the poor little plant sent forth promise of young leaves, they were eaten off, and the tender twigs regularly decorticated by some sort of little, nibbling teeth, just as rabbits often bark young trees in a plantation. Now, the crickets were never actually caught in the fact of feeding on the plant; so their friends may consider this charge against them as not proven! But as nothing else likely to have eaten them could ever be traced, and the crickets were constantly heard in suspicious vicinity, there is at least strong presumptive evidence which, perhaps, some keener observer may be inclined to follow up.

The Rev. Gilbert White records that "in the summer we have observed them to fly, when it became dusk, out of the windows and over the neighbouring roofs."

M. Bory de Saint-Vincent relates that the Spaniards have such an affection for these little creatures that they construct neat little cages for them, and hang them up like singing birds.

M. Latreille thinks they live chiefly on insects; in summer, the house-crickets make long excursions into the fields and gardens, where they sing away merrily in the open air, during the warm summer-evenings; but usually return by the end of August to their haunts, near ovens, or kitchen-hearths,—a habit which calls forth this little address from the bard of Olney to the "Cricket on the Hearth":—

What we know, is a point to what we do not know. Open any recent journal of science, and weigh the problems suggested concerning light, heat, electricity, magnetism, physiology, geology, and judge whether the interest of natural science is likely to be soon exhausted.—Emerson.

A man is fed, not that he may be fed, but that he may work.—Emerson.