And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run
From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead;
That is the grasshopper’s.
The insect tribe, however, are peculiarly active and vigorous in the hottest weather. These minute creatures are, for the most part, annual, being hatched in the Spring, and dying at the approach of Winter: they have therefore no time to lose in indolence, but must make the most of their short existence; especially as their most perfect state continues only during a part of their lives. How appropriately may Anacreon’s celebrated address to the Cicada be applied to many of the happy creatures which sport in the sunshine—
Blissful insect! what can be
In happiness compared to thee?
Fed with nourishment divine,
The dewy morning’s sweetest wine;
Nature waits upon thee still,
And thy fragrant cup does fill,