The song is a soft, slow gri-i-i, gri-i-i, which is rendered more expressive by a slight tremolo. On hearing it, we divine both the extreme delicacy and the size of the vibrating membranes. If nothing happen to disturb the insect, settled in the lower leaves, the sound remains unaltered; but, at the least noise, the executant becomes a ventriloquist. You heard him here, quite close, in front of you; and now, all of a sudden, you hear him over there, fifteen yards away, continuing his ditty softened by distance. You move across. Nothing. The sound comes from the original place. No, it doesn’t, after all. This time, it is coming from over there, on the left, or rather from the right; or is it from behind? We are absolutely at a loss, quite unable to guide ourselves by the ear towards the spot where the insect is chirping. It needs a fine stock of patience and the most minute precautions to capture the singer by the light of a lantern. The few specimens caught under these conditions and caged have supplied me with the little that I know about the musician who is so clever at baffling our ears. The wing-cases are both formed of a broad, dry, diaphanous membrane, fine as a white onion-skin and capable of vibrating throughout its whole area. They are shaped like a segment of a circle thinning towards the upper end. This segment folds back at right angles along a prominent longitudinal vein and forms a flap which encloses the insect’s side when at rest. The right wing-case lies above the left. Its inner edge bears underneath, near the root, a knob which is the starting-point of five radiating veins, of which two run upwards, two downwards and the fifth almost transversely. The last-named, which is slightly reddish, is the main part, in short the bow, as is shown by the fine notches cut across it. The rest of the wing-case presents a few other veins of minor importance, which keep the membrane taut without forming part of the friction-apparatus. The left or lower wing-case is similarly constructed, with this difference that the bow, the knob and the veins radiating from it now occupy the upper surface. We find, moreover, that the two bows, the right and the left, cross each other obliquely. When the song has its full volume, the wing-cases, raised high up and resembling a pair of large gauze sails, touch only at their inner edges. Then the two bows fit into each other slantwise and their mutual friction produces the sonorous vibration of the two stretched membranes. The sound appears to be modified according as the strokes of each bow bear upon the knob, which is itself wrinkled, on the opposite wing-case, or upon one of the four smooth radiating veins. This would go some way towards explaining the illusions produced by music which seems to come from here, there and everywhere when the timid insect becomes distrustful.