The advent of the night means rest for them, but a rest frequently disturbed.

In the dense branches of the plane-trees a sudden sound rings out like a cry of anguish, strident and short.

It is the desperate wail of the Cicada, surprised in his quietude by the Green Grasshopper, that ardent nocturnal huntress, who springs upon him, grips him in the side, opens and ransacks his abdomen.

An orgy of music, followed by butchery.
I have never seen and never shall see that supreme expression of our national revelry, the military review at Longchamp; nor do I much regret it.

The newspapers tell me as much about it as I want to know.
They give me a sketch of the site.