"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; but--no--her 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_; nor shall wild Tom, my graceless nephew, who lives
upon my fortune, ever more touch one penny of it. The postman rapped,
and in a few minutes his housekeeper appeared with many apologies for
bringing to him her own newspaper, but perhaps in it he might be able to
find the names of some of the new novels that he wished to have.

"Martha Honeydew," cried Hardingham with a smile, the first he had
sported that week, "I am, as you know, a man of but few words, and
straight-forward in my dealings; say that you can fancy me, and I'll
marry you tomorrow."

Mrs. Honeydew's reply will be surmised; Caroline Dalton saw who was
preferred before her, and the bachelor's revenge ruined wild Tom; for
Hardingham settled all his property upon his wife, and a pretty life the
amiable creature led him.