170 A FOKEST MINSTREL. 



I had not yet caught sight of the singer, I knew 

 that it must be a cicada. I soon pounced upon 

 the singular little vocalist, and captured him in 

 his native orchestra. He was a handsome little 

 fellow, with large bright shining eyes, wings like 

 the most delicate lace, coloured green, like the 

 leaves it loves to sit on, its body clothed in scales 

 like fairy armour. It turned out to be an en- 

 tirely new species, and now figures in the British 

 Museum as Cicada occidentalis. 



The genus Cicada is found in all the temperate 

 and warm countries of the globe ; some of them 

 are nocturnal revellers, others, as our friend, sing- 

 ing only in the daytime. They were celebrated 

 among the Greeks, who often kept them in cages 

 for the sake of their song. They believed the 

 cicacla3 lived on dew, and regarded them as al- 

 most divine. It was the nightingale of the 

 nymphs. Anacreon, hearing the cicada, says, 

 ' The Muses love thee ; Phoebus himself loves 

 thee, and has given thee a shrill song ; old age 

 does not wear thee out ; thou art wise, earthborn, 

 musical, impassive, without blood; thou art al- 

 most a god ! ' 



The Athenian ladies wore golden cicadas in 

 their hair, and it was used as the head-piece of 

 the ancient harp. The following fable will, per- 



