It became important to observe the curious hatching. About a fortnight after the egg is laid, two large, round, rusty-black eye-dots darken the front end. A little way above these two dots, right at the apex of the cylinder, you see the outline of a thin circular swelling. This is the line of rupture which is preparing. Soon the translucency of the egg enables the observer to perceive the delicate segmentation of the tiny creature within. Now is the time to redouble our vigilance and multiply our visits, especially in the morning. Fortune, which loves the persevering, rewards me for my assiduity. All round this swelling where, by a process of infinite delicacy, the line of least resistance has been prepared, the end of the egg, pushed back by the inmate’s forehead, becomes detached, rises and falls to one side like the top of a miniature scent-bottle. The Cricket pops out like a Jack-in-the-box. When he is gone, the shell remains distended, smooth, intact, pure white, with the cap or lid hanging from the opening. A bird’s egg breaks clumsily under the blows of a wart that grows for the purpose at the end of the chick’s beak; the Cricket’s egg, endowed with a superior mechanism, opens like an ivory case. The thrust of the inmate’s head is enough to work the hinge. The hatching of the eggs is hastened by the glorious weather; and the observer’s patience is not much tried, the rapidity rivalling that of the Dung-beetles. The summer solstice has not yet arrived when the ten couples interned under glass for the benefit of my studies are surrounded by their numerous progeny. The egg-stage, therefore, lasts just about ten days. I said above that, when the lid of the ivory case is lifted, a young Cricket pops out. This is not quite accurate. What appears at the opening is the swaddled grub, as yet unrecognizable in a tight-fitting sheath. I expected to see this wrapper, this first set of baby-clothes, for the same reasons that made me anticipate it in the case of the Decticus: “The Cricket,” said I to myself, “is born underground. He also sports two very long antennæ and a pair of overgrown hind-legs, all of which are cumbrous appendages at the time of the emergence. He must therefore possess a tunic in which to make his exit.” My forecast, correct enough in principle, was only partly confirmed. The new-born Cricket does in fact possess a temporary structure; but, so far from employing it for the purpose of hoisting himself outside, he throws off his clothes as he passes out of the egg.