The fact of its falling interests me, for I remember the stubborn persistency with which the Cicada’s cast skin defies the winter winds without being detached from its supporting twig. The Locust’s transfiguration is conducted in much the same way as the Cicada’s. Then how is it that the Acridian gives himself such very shaky hangers? The hooks hold so long as the work of tearing continues, though one would think that this ought to bring down everything; they give way under a trifling shock so soon as that work is done. We have, therefore, a very unstable condition of equilibrium here, showing once more with what delicate precision the insect leaves its sheath. I said “tearing,” for want of a better word. But it is not quite that. The term implies violence; and violence there cannot be any, because of the unsteady balance. Should the Locust, upset by his exertions, come to the ground, it would be all up with him. He would shrivel where he lies; or, at any rate, his organs of flight, being unable to expand, would remain pitiful shreds. The Locust does not tear himself loose; he flows softly from his scabbard. It is as though he were forced out by a gentle spring. To return to the wings and wing-cases, which have made no apparent progress since leaving the sheaths. They are still stumps, with fine longitudinal seams, not much more than bits of rope. Their expansion, which will take more than three hours, is reserved for the end, when the insect is completely stripped and in its normal position. We have seen the Locust turn head uppermost. This upright position is enough to restore the natural arrangement of the wing-cases and wings. Being extremely flexible and bent by their own weight, they were hanging down with their loose end pointing towards the head of the inverted insect. Now, still by virtue of their own weight, they are straightened and put the right way up. They are no longer curved like the petals of a flower, they are no longer in an inverted position; but they still look miserably insignificant. In its perfect state, the wing is fan-shaped. A radiating cluster of strong nervures runs through it lengthwise and forms the framework of the fan, which is readily furled or unfurled. The intervening spaces are crossed by innumerable tiny bars which make of the whole a network of rectangular meshes. The wing-case, which is coarser and much less expanded, repeats this structure in squares. In neither case does any of the mesh show during the rope’s-end stage. All that we see is a few wrinkles, a few winding furrows, which tell us that the stumps are bundles of cunningly folded material reduced to their smallest volume.