The unfortunate ant that ventures too close to the margin sets the sand off rolling, and it immediately begins to struggle against falling down, but the Ant-lion throws a few shovelfuls of sand against it, and it soon comes tumbling down to the bottom of the funnel, when it is instantly seized between the sharp mandibles in waiting, which, being perforated by slender tubes, enable their blood-thirsty owner to suck out its juices.

Country children, and adults as well, manifest a deep interest in these strange beings. They call them, as has been intimated before, You-ee-ups. How the name originated, and when, I do not pretend to know, nor have I been able upon inquiry to find out from the oldest inhabitants of the regions they affect. Old men and old women in the seventies and eighties knew these insects by this name when they were children, and I have been informed that they were always so spoken of by their fathers and mothers.

Even the insects themselves are believed to know the odd name by which they are designated. So fixed is the belief in the minds of the many that, to contradict it, is sure to subject the person so rash and presumptuous to the grossest abuse from the friends of the strange little creature. They have seen him in his sandy retreat, and have called him by name, and he has never been known to decline a response. "You-ee-up, you-ee-up,” cries one, with his mouth just over the opening, and up comes the strange "crittur" as obedient as a lackey. "You-ee-down, you-ee-down," says the same childish voice, and down he goes to his den to await, as is thought, the giving of further orders.

That the Ant-lion does seem to respond when called, cannot be denied, for I have tried the experiment myself, and others have tried it in my presence, and always with the same successful results. But people go through the world not only with their eyes closed and their ears sealed, but also with their minds forever locked against thinking, lest, by thinking, they might do themselves serious injury. Had but

a little of thinking been done, or some common sense exercised, the solution of the insect's strange actions could have been reached without any great difficulty.

Let me briefly explain. One cannot talk, as is well known, without some motion being imparted to the outlying air. This moving air impinging upon the loosely arranged sand piled up around the margin of the tiny pitfall, dislodges some particles, and these, falling into the jaws of the hidden Ant-lion, bring him to the surface, for he ascribes the commotion to some ill-fated ant, or other such insect, that has, in its anxious searching for food, tumbled unconsciously into his artfully-laid trap. In a moment the mistake is discovered, and, with all possible dispatch, he backs himself down into his den to await further developments. His appearance on the occasion is greeted by "you-ee-down, you-ee-down," and as he goes down apparently in obedience to the order, but really because it is a matter of business so to do, it is claimed by the unlearned and unwise that his movements are responsive to the command of the person by whom he is addressed. Two years of larval life, and the subject of our sketch is lost to the sight of the rural folks. A new life, where feeding is no longer necessary, awaits him, but one in which the most radical changes must occur if he is to fulfil the existence which nature designed in her grand scheme of creation. From a silk-gland, which, unlike those of the butterflies and moths, is situated at the end of the body, he spins a cocoon, but there being so little of silk to spare, he needs must supply the deficiency by the utilization of a quantity of sand, which he glues into the walls of his house. Here he dwells a comparatively inactive pupa for three brief weeks, retaining his large, powerful mandibles to the last, which he uses in cutting his way out of the cocoon, when he is ready to emerge as a winged neuropter. In the adult form he resembles the dragon-flies in flight, flapping wildly and irregularly about, as if his muscles were too weak to wield his great stretch of wings. But in repose his alar appendages

are folded above each other, forming an acute-angled roof above the long, slender abdomen. The antennæ or feelers are short, stout and club-shaped, and the wings long, narrow and densely veined.

Myrmeleon obsoletus, a name given to this insect by Thomas Say, a naturalist of repute, who lived in Philadelphia in the early half of the present century, is by no means a rare species, if search is made in the proper places. In the cut the larva is found to the right of the burrow, while deep in the bottom, with the jaws only in view, is another, prepared to receive the small ant just above should it lose its foothold and tumble into the trap. On the wing, a little in the background of the picture, may be seen the adult insect, represented in hawking for prey over a meadowy expanse of country.

TOWER-BUILDING CICADA.

CLO

LOSELY allied to the bugs is a group of remarkable insects to which naturalists now apply the name of Cicada, but which are generally, though improperly, designated Locust by the common people. They are readily distinguished by their broad heads, large prominent eyes, with three eyelets triangularly placed between them, and delicately transparent, veined wing-covers and wings. The abdomen is short and pointed, and the legs are short, the anterior femora being much thickened and toothed beneath. The hinder extremity of the body of the female is conical, and the under-side has a longitudinal channel for the reception of the ovipositor, or piercer, which is furthermore protected by four short-grooved pieces which are immovably fixed to the sides of the channel. The piercer itself consists of two outer parts grooved on the inside and slightly enlarged and angular at the tips, which are externally beset with small saw-like teeth, and a central spear-pointed borer which plays between the other two, thus combining the advantages of an awl and a double-edged saw, or rather of two key-hole saws cutting opposite to each other. A hard, horny substance, called chitine, the same as exists in the stings of bees and wasps, is the material of its composition. It would be impossible to conceive of anything more exactly fitted for its required uses than is this beautiful complicated instrument.

But the most peculiar characteristic of this family, however, consists in the structure of the mechanism by which the males make the trilling sound for which they have been

so long famous. In the male of the Seventeen-year Cicada the musical instrument consists of two stretched membranes, one on each side of the body, which are plainly to be seen immediately behind the wings. These membranes are gathered into numerous fine plaits, and are played upon by muscles or cords fastened to their under surfaces. When these muscles contract and relax, which they do with great rapidity, the drum-heads, which the membranes resemble, are alternately tightened and loosened, the effect of this alternate tension and relaxation being the production of a rattling sound very much like that caused by a succession of quick pressures upon a slightly complex and elastic piece of tin-plate. Certain cavities within the body of the insect, which may be seen on raising two large valves beneath the abdomen, and which are separated from each other by thin transparent partitions of the brilliancy of mica or highly polished glass, tend to increase the intensity of the sound.

In the winged state Cicada septendecim, as the subject of our sketch was named by the immortal Linnæus, is of a black color, with transparent wings and wing-covers, the thick anterior edge and veins of which being orange-red. Near the tips of the latter there is a dusky zig-zag line which resembles in shape the letter W. The eyes, when living, are also red, while the legs are a dull orange, which color is conspicuous along the edges of the rings of the body. The wings expand from two and a half to three and a quarter inches.

About the middle of June the perfect insects make their appearance, and as they generally come in large numbers they do a great deal of damage. In some localities they congregate to such an extent upon the trees as to bend and even to break down the limbs by their weight. The din of their discordant drums resounds in the woods and orchards from morning to evening. As their life is of rather short duration, not lasting for a longer period than a month, they soon begin to pair, and it is not long afterwards that the