One day, about the middle of July, a lady friend called in to see me.
"That's a neat sofa, Mrs. Smith," said she, in the pause of a conversation.
"I think it very neat," was my answer.
"It's made from the same pattern with one that I had. One that I always liked, and from which I was sorry to part."
"You sold it?" said I.
"Yes. I sent it to auction."
"Ah! Why so?"
"I discovered, this spring, that the moth had got into it."
"Indeed!"
"Yes. They showed themselves, every day, in such numbers, in my parlors, that I became alarmed for my carpets. I soon traced their origin to the sofa, which was immediately packed off to auction. I was sorry to part with it; but, there was no other effective remedy."