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Updated: June 15, 2025
The night was absolutely still, and the fire had burned down till all that remained of it was a rounded heap of brightly-glowing embers. Far, far away a turtle dove was calling calling so softly that it almost seemed to be imagination. Now and then a katydid would lift its tiny voice for a few seconds. Willis rose cautiously on one shoulder, and looked about him.
Presently it was answered from a neighbouring island by a Katydid. My heart leaped for joy at hearing the note of this bird, the native minstrel of my own dear Maryland. In an instant the house where I was born stood before the eyesight of my imagination. There were the negro huts, the garden, the plantation, every thing exactly as I had left it.
"We had no need to work when the summer was here with its warmth and beauty. We danced away the happy hours." "Go dance away the winter, then," said the oldest ant. "I worked hard through all the long summer days, and I had no time to dance or sing." The locust and the katydid turned away shivering. "It is not fair," they said, "that the ant has plenty and we have nothing.
Any sport or variation in the shape of greater conspicuousness would fall a quick prey to the enemy and its line be cut off forever. The same sort of activity has resulted in the peculiar green color of the katydid. This creature lives chiefly upon the leaves of trees and shrubs. This insect is so large that, even though it is leaflike in color, it might still be conspicuous.
"Hear the bees a-buzzing, hour by hour, Gathering the honey from every little flower. The katydid is singing by his own front door, Now I'll have to stop this song I don't know any more." "Well, whoever that is, he's a jolly chap," said the rabbit, and with that who should come in but the giant himself. "Ho! Ho! Whom have we here?" the giant asked, looking at Uncle Wiggily.
His wife joined him after a moment, and the two walked slowly to and fro together, talking in low tones, while the soft summer darkness gathered closer and closer, and the pleasant night-sounds woke, cricket and katydid and the distant whippoorwill filling the air with a cheerful murmur. Long, long sat Hildegarde at the window, thinking more deeply than she had ever thought in her life before.
Nothing a frog had begun to croak far away, and the vibrations of the katydid were strident on the damp air. And here was the tanyard, a denser area of gloom marking where the house and shed stood in the darkness. He did not hesitate. He stepped over the bars, which lay as usual on the ground, and walked across the yard to the shed. The eaves were dripping with moisture.
If you look at the portraits of Cicada, the Hotweather-bug or Locust, and of the Katydid, you will not see their musical instruments very plainly, but believe me they have them; and you can hear them any late summer hot-weather time, in any part of the Eastern States and some parts of southern Canada. And now let me finish with a secret.
Chirpy Cricket had a great curiosity to know who made those queer noises. He asked everybody he met about them. And at last Kiddie Katydid told him that it was Mr. Nighthawk that he had heard. "He seems to think he's a musician," said Chirpy Cricket. "But I must say I don't care much for his music. He's not what you might call a steady player. And his notes are not shrill enough for my liking.
If an instrument subjected to such usage pipes out a silver note once in a dozen years, uncover your head when you hear it, for it is the original angel within the mechanism, which nothing can kill! The first katydid of the season has whipped out his bow and drawn the preparatory note across the strings of his violin.
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