Half of a dozen grasshoppers beneath a fern to make the area whole ring with their importunate chink, even as lots of extraordinary cattle, reposed under the shadow of the British oak, bite the cud and are silent, pray, to no longer think about that these who make the noise are the solely inhabitants of the field; that, of course, they are many in number; or that, after all, they are different than the little, shriveled, meagre, hopping, although loud and tough bugs of the hour.
