Can he have any further amorous pretensions? It is hardly likely. Affairs of that kind, calling for ruinous expenditure, are not to be repeated: it would be too much for the works of the organism. Nevertheless, next day and every day after, when a diet of Locusts has duly renewed his strength, the Decticus scrapes his bow as noisily as ever. He might be a novice, instead of a glutted veteran. His persistence surprises me. If he be really singing to attract the attention of his fair neighbours, what would he do with a second wife, he who has just extracted from his paunch a monstrous wallet in which all life’s savings were accumulated? He is thoroughly used up. No, once more, in the big Grasshopper these things are too costly to be done all over again. To-day’s song, despite its gladness, is certainly no epithalamium. And, if you watch him closely, you will see that the singer no longer responds to the teasing of the passers’ antennæ. The ditties become fainter from day to day and occur less frequently. In a fortnight the insect is dumb. The dulcimer no longer sounds, for lack of vigour in the player. At last the decrepit Decticus, who now scarcely touches food, seeks a peaceful retreat, sinks to the ground exhausted, stretches out his shanks in a last throe and dies. As it happens, the widow passes that way, sees the deceased and, breathing eternal remembrance, gnaws off one of his thighs. The Green Grasshopper behaves similarly. A couple isolated in a cage are subjected to a special watch. I am present at the end of the pairing, when the future mother is carrying, fixed to the point of her sword, the pretty raspberry which will occupy our attention later. [47] Debilitated by recent happenings, the male at this moment is mute. Next day, his strength returns; and you hear him singing as ardently as ever. He stridulates while the mother is scattering her eggs over the ground; he goes on making a noise long after the laying is done and when nothing more is wanted to perpetuate the race. It is quite clear that this persistent singing has not an amorous appeal for its object: by this time, all of that is over, quite over. Lastly, one day or another, life fails and the instrument is dumb. The eager singer is no more. The survivor gives him a funeral copied from that of the Decticus: she devours the best bits of him. She loved him so much that she had to eat him up. These cannibal habits recur in most of the Grasshopper tribe, without however equalling the atrocities of the Praying Mantis, who treats her lovers as dead game while they are still full of life. The Decticus mother, the Green Grasshopper and the rest at least wait until the poor wretches are dead.