scription for this tombstone--perhaps would ask some of her
grown-up friends to compose one for her. Sometimes the grown-up friend
might be a poet, in which case he would compose an epitaph for all time.

I suppose you perceive that the solemnity of this imitation of the Greek
poems on the subject is only a tender mockery, a playful sympathy with the
real grief of the child. The expression, "pass, friend," is often found in
Greek funeral inscriptions together with the injunction to tread lightly
upon the dust of the dead. There is one French word to which I will call
attention,--the word "guerets." We have no English equivalent for this
term, said to be a corruption of the Latin word "veractum," and meaning
fields which have been ploughed but not sown.

Not to dwell longer upon the phase of art indicated by this poem, I may
turn to the subject of crickets. There are many French poems about
crickets. One by Lamartine is known to almost every French child.

Grillon solitaire,
Ici comme moi,
Voix qui sors de terre,
Ah! reveille-toi!
J'attise la flamme,
C'est pour t'egayer;
Mais il manque une ame,
Une ame au foyer.

Grillon solitaire,
Voix qui sors de terre,
Ah! reveille-toi
Pour moi.

Quand j'etais petite
Comme ce berceau,
Et que Marguerite
Filait son fuseau,
Quand le vent d'automne
Faisait tout gemir,
Ton cri monotone
M'aidait a dormir.

Grillon solitaire,
Voix qui sors de terre,
Ah! reveille-toi
Pour moi.

Seize fois l'annee
A compte mes jours;
Dans la cheminee
Tu niches toujours.
Je t'ecoute encore
Aux froides saisons.
Souvenir sonore
Des vieilles maisons.

Grillon solitaire,
Voix qui sors de terre,
Ah! reveille-toi
Pour moi.

It is a young girl who thus addresses the cricket of the hearth, the house
cricket. It is very common in country houses in Europe. This is what she
says:

"Little solitary cricket, all alone here just like myself, little voice
that comes up out of the ground, ah, awake for my sake! I am stirring up
the fires, that is just to make you comfortable; but there lacks a
presence by the hearth; a soul to keep me company.

"When I was a very little girl, as little as that cradle in the corner of
the room, then, while Margaret our servant sat there spinning, and while
the autumn wind made everything moan outside, your monotonous cry used to
help me to fall asleep.

"Solitary cricket, voice that