OLD MARTHA. 45 



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

 mender, of our wardrobe, announced the astonishing fact that 

 our "stockings were beginning 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 ; 

 tl 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 com- 

 pliment 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 

 reference, like the yarn it was intended to break, to a remote 

 age, drew at once from out the stores of memory such an in- 

 tricate mass of tangled threads, that not one could poor Mar- 

 tha 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 tfyese, 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 

 sufficiently afflictive to divert our thoughts from the all-perfect 



