The Green Grasshopper 



My boarders' menu is settled: I will feed 

 them on Cicadas. They take such a liking 

 to this fare that, in two or three weeks, the 

 floor of the cage is a knacker's yard strewn 

 with heads and empty thoraces, with torn-off 

 wings and disjointed legs. The belly alone 

 disappears almost entirely. This is the tit- 

 bit, not very substantial, but extremely tasty, 

 it would seem. Here, in fact, in the insect's 

 crop, the syrup is accumulated, the sugary 

 sap which the Cicada's gimlet taps from the 

 tender bark. Is it because of this dainty that 

 the prey's abdomen is preferred to any other 

 morsel? It is quite possible. 



I do, in fact, with a view to varying the 

 diet, decide to serve up some very sweet 

 fruits, slices of pear, grape-pips, bits of 

 melon. All this meets with delighted appre- 

 ciation. The Green Grasshopper resembles 

 the English: she dotes on underdone rump- 

 steak seasoned with jam. 1 This perhaps is 



1 The author was obviously thinking of the English- 

 man's saddle of mutton and red-currant jelly. The mis- 

 take has been repeated much nearer to these shores. I 

 have in mind the true story of an Irish king's counsel 

 singing the praises of another, still among us, who had 

 married an English wife and who, in the course of an 

 extensive practice in the House of Lords, spent much of 

 his time in England: 



"Ah, is a real gentleman! He speaks with 



289 



