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THE

CRICKET ON THE HEARTH.

[Illustration]




[Illustration: THE CRICKET ON THE HEARTH

A FAIRY TALE OF HOME]

    LONDON:

    Bradbury & Evans, 90, Fleet Street. & Whitefriars.

    1846.




THE

CRICKET ON THE HEARTH.

A

FAIRY TALE OF HOME.

       *       *       *       *       *

BY

CHARLES DICKENS.


    =ELEVENTH EDITION.=

    =London:=

    PRINTED AND PUBLISHED FOR THE AUTHOR,

    BY BRADBURY AND EVANS, 90, FLEET STREET,
    AND WHITEFRIARS.

           *       *       *       *       *

    MDCCCXLVI.




    LONDON:
    BRADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.




    TO

    LORD JEFFREY

    THIS LITTLE STORY IS INSCRIBED,

    WITH

    THE AFFECTION AND ATTACHMENT OF HIS FRIEND,

    THE AUTHOR.

    _December_, 1845.




ILLUSTRATIONS.


                                _Engraver._            _Artist._

  FRONTISPIECE                 _Thompson._         D. MACLISE, R.A.

  TITLE                        _G. Dalziel._       D. MACLISE, R.A.

  CHIRP THE FIRST              _G. Dalziel._       R. DOYLE.

  THE CARRIER'S CART           _T. Williams._      C. STANFIELD, R.A.

  JOHN'S ARRIVAL               _E. Dalziel._       J. LEECH.

  JOHN AND DOT                 _Swain._            J. LEECH.

  CHIRP THE SECOND             _E. Dalziel._       R. DOYLE.

  CALEB AT WORK                _G. Dalziel._       J. LEECH.

  BOXER                        _T. Williams._      E. LANDSEER, R.A.

  TILLY SLOWBOY                _Groves._           J. LEECH.

  MRS. FIELDING'S LECTURE      _E. Dalziel._       J. LEECH.

  CHIRP THE THIRD              _T. Williams._      R. DOYLE.

  JOHN'S REVERIE               _Groves._           J. LEECH.

  THE DANCE                    _Swain._            J. LEECH.




[Illustration: CHIRP THE FIRST]


THE KETTLE began it! Don't tell me what Mrs. Peerybingle said. I know
better. Mrs. Peerybingle may leave it on record to the end of time that she
couldn't say which of them began it; but I say the Kettle did. I ought
to know, I hope? The Kettle began it, full five minutes by the little
waxy-faced Dutch clock in the corner before the Cricket uttered a chirp.

As if the clock hadn't finished striking, and the convulsive little
Haymaker at the top of it, jerking away right and left with a scythe in
front of a Moorish Palace, hadn't mowed down half an acre of imaginary
grass before the Cricket joined in at all!

Why, I am not naturally positive. Every one knows that. I wouldn't set
my own opinion against the opinion of Mrs. Peerybingle, unless I were
quite sure, on any account whatever. Nothing should induce me. But this
is a question of fact. And the fact is, that the Kettle began it, at
least five minutes before the Cricket gave any sign of being in
existence. Contradict me: and I'll say ten.

Let me narrate exactly how it happened. I should have proceeded to do
so, in my very first word, but for this plain consideration--if I am to
tell a story I must begin at the beginning; and how is it possible to
begin at the beginning, without beginning at the Kettle?

It appeared as if there were a sort of match, or trial of skill, you
must understand, between the Kettle and the Cricket. And this is what
led to it, and how it came about.

Mrs. Peerybingle going out into the raw twilight, and clicking over the
wet stones in a pair of pattens that worked innumerable rough
impressions of the first proposition in Euclid all about the yard--Mrs.
Peerybingle filled the Kettle at the water butt. Presently returning,
less the pattens: and a good deal less, for they were tall and