A MONOGRAPH ON CRICKETS. 371 



never a foot burnt or a whisker singed, just like, if I may say 

 so, the three holy children in the book of Dan'el ; and what's 

 most unaccountable of all, and what makes me think above all 

 that they must be of the natur of sperits or fairies, they comes 

 and goes all of a sudden, nobody can tell when or how." 

 "Why, Dolly," said I, "they can burrow, you know, and creep 

 through crannies ; besides, they have large wings to carry them 

 wherever they please." " Well, dear, if they have, they're not 

 like a rale insect's, a fly's or a bee's, standing out plain and 

 straight to be seen by everybody ; besides, I've never seen one 

 a-flying of the hundreds as used to come to this fire-place. 

 But let 'em come and go however they may, one thing is cer- 

 tain, good luck comes with 'em, and, whenever they go, turns 

 tail at the same time. Crickets is' certainly wonderful creturs, 

 if not sperits, more like 'em than anything else that comes 

 about us." "You forget, Dolly," said I, "your favourite 

 black beadles." "No, dear," returned our Dove, "I don't 

 forget 'em, never have, never shall, since I lived in my first 

 place, where I was like to die, up at London, at Master Mor- 

 tiplume's the undertaker's. To see how they swarmed in the 

 kitchen after dark, like his own people at a grand funeral ; but, 

 thank goodness, there's nothink like 'em here, them beadles 

 as they call 'em: but it's my belief they're somethink worse 

 than they seems, as the crickets is somethink better." 



Here Mrs. Dove was interrupted by a short dry cough from 

 Caleb, but it did not silence her, for " Where," she proceeded, 



