This is the Cigale of the flowering ash, far more alert and far more suspicious than the common species.

Its harsh, loud song consists of a series of cries--_can! can! can! can!_--with no intervals of silence subdividing the poem into stanzas.
Thanks to its monotony and its harsh shrillness, it is a most odious sound, especially when the orchestra consists of hundreds of performers, as is often the case in my two plane-trees during the dog-days.

It is as though a heap of dry walnuts were being shaken up in a bag until the shells broke.

This painful concert, which is a real torment, offers only one compensation: the Cigale of the flowering ash does not begin his song so early as the common Cigale, and does not sing so late in the evening.
Although constructed on the same fundamental principles, the vocal organs exhibit a number of peculiarities which give the song its special character.

The sound-box is lacking, which suppresses the entrance to it, or the window.