According to all appearances, the clicking is addressed to heedless ears. It rises in a passionate crescendo until it becomes a continuous rattle. It ceases when the sun vanishes behind a cloud and starts afresh when the sun shows itself again; but it leaves the ladies indifferent. She who was lying with her shanks outstretched on the blazing sand does not change her position; her antennary threads give not a quiver more and not a quiver less; she who was gnawing the remains of a Locust does not let go the morsel, does not lose a mouthful. To look at those heartless ones, you would really say that the singer was making a noise for the mere pleasure of feeling himself alive. It is a very different matter when, towards the end of August, I witness the start of the wedding. The couple finds itself standing face to face quite casually, without any lyrical prelude whatever. Motionless, as though turned to stone, with their foreheads almost touching, the two exchange caresses with their long antennæ, fine as hairs. The male seems somewhat preoccupied. He washes his tarsi; with the tips of his mandibles he tickles the soles of his feet. From time to time he gives a stroke of the bow: tick; no more. Yet one would think that this was the very moment at which to make the most of his strong points. Why not declare his flame in a fond couplet, instead of standing there, scratching his feet? Not a bit of it. He remains silent in front of the coveted bride, herself impassive. The interview, a mere exchange of greetings between friends of different sexes, does not last long. What do they say to each other, forehead to forehead? Not much, apparently, for soon they separate with nothing further; and each goes his way where he pleases. Next day, the same two meet again. This time, the song, though still very brief, is in a louder key than on the day before, while being still very far from the burst of sound to which the Decticus will give utterance long before the pairing. For the rest, it is a repetition of what I saw yesterday: mutual caresses with the antennæ, which limply pat the well-rounded sides. The male does not seem greatly enraptured. He again nibbles his foot and seems to be reflecting. Alluring though the enterprise may be, it is perhaps not unattended with danger. Can there be a nuptial tragedy here, similar to that which the Praying Mantis has shown us? Can the business be exceptionally grave? Have patience and you shall see. For the moment, nothing more happens. A few days later, a little light is thrown upon the subject. The male is underneath, lying flat on the sand and towered over by his powerful spouse, who, with her sabre exposed, standing high on her hind-legs, overwhelms him with her embrace. No, indeed: in this posture the poor Decticus has nothing of the victor about him! The other, brutally, without respecting the musical-box, is forcing open his wing-cases and nibbling his flesh just where the belly begins.