'All things that speak the language of your hearth
and home, must plead for her!' returned the Cricket.
'For they speak the truth.'
And while the Carrier, with his head upon his
hands, continued to sit meditating in his chair, the
Presence stood beside him, suggesting his reflections
by its power, and presenting them before him, as
in a glass or picture. It was not a solitary Presence.
From the hearthstone, from the chimney, from the
clock, the pipe, the kettle, and the cradle; from the
floor, the walls, the ceiling, and the stairs; from the
cart without, and the cupboard within, and the house-
hold implements; from every thing and every place
with which she had ever been familiar, and with
which she had ever entwined one recollection of her
self in her unhappy husband's mind; Fairies came
trooping forth. Not to stand beside him as the
Cricket did, but to busy and bestir themselves. To
do all honour to her image. To pull him by the
skirts, and point to it when it appeared. To cluster
round it, and embrace it, and strew flowers for it to
tread on.
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