OLD MARTHA. 45 



Yesterday, however, old Martha, the mistress and (eke) the 

 mender, of our wardrobe, announced the astonishing fact 

 that our " stockings were begining to go." 



"Bless us!' ; we exclaimed; "why it was only in last 

 November that they came." 



' ( True enough, Sir," responded our domestic with a sigh ; 

 " there's nothing lasts in our days ; but when I was a girl ' 



" You were the prettiest in the village, eh ! Martha ! ' 



We interrupted, hoping by means of this retrospective 

 compliment to cut short the accustomed comparisons which were 

 always of opposite quality to our short-lived cotton hose. Our 

 manoeuvre was successful ; for the compliment itself, having re- 

 ference, like the yarn it was intended to break, to a remote age, 

 drew at once from out the stores of memory such an intricate mass 

 of tangled threads, that not one could poor Martha single from 

 the mass. She thought no more of stockings, ancient or 

 modern, so many other things came crowding into head and 

 heart. Confused, partly by these, partly by her old master's 

 gallantry, not a word found utterance, but, with cheeks which 

 glowed like a shrivelled pippin, she dropped a curtsey and 

 withdrew. 



We might have cared less to rid ourselves thus speedily of 

 good Martha's not always unwelcome presence ; but our mind 

 had been busy, on her entrance, in choosing a subject for this 



day's lucubration. Her unlooked-for announcement was -not 

 I 



sufficiently afflictive to divert our thoughts from the all-perfect 



