eure et rode,
Tout bleme, et le nez violet,
Tachant de s'introduire en fraude
Par quelque fente du volet!

This poem is especially picturesque, and is intended to give us the
comfortable sensations of a winter night by the fire, and the amusement of
watching the wood burn and of hearing the kettle boiling. You will find
that the French has a particular quality of lucid expression; it is full
of clearness and colour.

"Blow on, cold wind! pour down, O rain. I, in my soot-black palace, laugh
at both rain and wind; and while waiting for winter to pass I remain in my
corner by the fire dreaming.

"It is I that am really the spirit of the hearth! The gaseous flame licks
the wood more softly with its bluish tongue when it hears me; and the
smoke rises up like an alabaster thread, and curls itself about (or
twists) at the sound of my voice.

"The kettle chuckles and chatters; the golden-footed flame leaps, dancing
to the accompaniment of my song (or in accompaniment to my song); the
great log covers itself with down, the sap boils in the wooden embers
("duvet," meaning "down," refers to the soft fluffy white ash that forms
upon the surface of burning wood).

"All night and all day I sing below the chimney. Often in my
cricket-language, I have consoled Cinderella for the snubs of her elder
sister.

"Ah, what pleasure to sit up at night, and watch the crimson flames
embracing the wood (or hugging the wood) with both arms at once, and to
listen to all the sounds and to hear the life of the house!

"Nestling in one's good warm nook, how pleasant to hear Winter, who weeps
and prowls round about the house outside, all wan and blue-nosed with
cold, trying to smuggle itself inside some chink in the shutter!"

Of course this does not give us much about the insect itself, which
remains invisible in the poem, just as it really remains invisible in the
house where the voice is heard. Rather does the poem express the feelings
of the person who hears the cricket.

When we come to the subject of grasshoppers, I think that the French poets
have done much better than the English. There are many poems on the field
grasshopper; I scarcely know which to quote first. But I think you would
be pleased with a little composition by the celebrated French painter,
Jules Breton. Like Rossetti he was both painter and poet; and in both arts
he took for his subjects by preference things from country life. This
little poem is entitled "Les