The Foamy CIcadella 



I have consulted my few books as to the 

 habits of the CIcadella. They tell me that 

 she punctures plants and makes the sap 

 exude In foamy flakes. Under this cover, 

 the insect lives sheltered from the heat. A 

 work recently compiled has one curious piece 

 of information : it tells me that I must get 

 up early in the morning, inspect my crops, 

 pick any twig with foam on it and at once 

 plunge It Into a cauldron of boiling water. 



Oh, my poor CIcadella, this is a bad look- 

 out! The author does not do things by 

 halves. I see him rising before the dawn, 

 lighting a stove on wheels and pushing his 

 Infernal contrivance through the midst of his 

 lucern, his clover and his peas, to boil you 

 on the spot. He will have his work cut out 

 for him. I remember a certain patch of 

 sainfoin of which almost every stalk had Its 

 foam-flakes. Had the stewlng-process been 

 necessary, one might just as well have reaped 

 the field and turned the whole crop Into herb- 

 tea. 



Why these violent measures ? Are you so 

 very dangerous to the harvest, my pretty 

 little Cicada? They accuse you of draining 

 the plant which you attack. Upon my word, 

 they are right: you drain it almost as dry as 



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