"Ah!" sighed the bachelor, "I see there's nobody in this world cares for poor Jack Hardingham, but Martha Honeydew;" and he felt sorry that his housekeeper had departed ere his lips had emitted this grateful praise. Yes, Mr. Hardingham felt vexed he scarcely knew why; and uncommonly discontented he knew not wherefore; but had he troubled himself to analyze such feelings, he would have discerned their origin to be solitude and idleness. Mrs. Honeydew brought tea; she had buttered a couple of muffins superlatively well; and making her master's fire burn exceedingly bright, placed them on the cat before it, and a kettle, which immediately commenced a delicate bravura, upon the glowing coals; then, modestly waiting at the distance of a few paces from her master until the water quite boiled, she fixed her brilliant eyes upon his countenance with an expression intended to be piteous.
"Mrs. HoneydewMartha," said Hardingham in a low querulous tone, "I fancy I'm going to have a fit of the gout, or a bilious fever."
"Fancy, indeed, sir; why, I never saw you looking haler."
"Ay, Ay, so much the worse; a fit of apoplexy then maybe."
"Lauk, lauk! sir; a fit of the blue devils more likely. How can you talk so? A fit of perplexity! Dear, dear! how some men do go on to be sure;" pouring the steaming water upon the tea.
"You are a kind comforter, Martha; nobody ever raises my spirits like you. Get me my little leathern trunk."
"Why, then, that I won't;" getting it down from a closet-shelf as she spoke. "I wish it was burnt with all my heart, that I do; making you so lammancholy as it always do."
And well might this trunk make Mr. Hardingham melancholy, for it was the receptacle of letters and little gifts of a lady who had jilted him in early life; and upon whom he had often vowed vengeance. She was yet unmarried; butnoher once devoted admirer was resolved to follow the lady's advice, and place his "affections upon a worthier object than Caroline Dalton;" and, thought he to himself, she shall at last see that I have found one