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TBOU ART BEAD, MY BRIGHT,
BEAUTLFULI
"J
MY
a
DitD At the" residence trt fcer m6loer,Wxi
Ainanaa jirwn, jn -cape uirarueau, mo., on
the JTth of Wotembej1871, Mrs. Moi-tic 1.
Kmkit3. yourrrest'danehterof'trie late.OoT.'
Wilsoe Brown; fn the 26tffyoafof berage.
Thou tit aerny ngujj, ray'fcaulifull "
Deaduliliy: beauty's prime, -
And life'i perfeetest poetry 1
Haaloit ifs twecUs't rbynei - t-Ca" ,
thou wtrttoiao ot.woaiinkJnd ,
TWorJyprfect one, '
The hef4'of ray life eonld hill
ThanJieOjUo other .sunl j Kttl K
Thoa'Sff ie'siy IrTght, my: beanUfuU
wstiltheepaasedsway.fxoi
ArM4aaULma7,wU J proud
To wrap about tby queenly form
His aiemal bridal thread! 0 '
Thou-art dead, my bright, my be&ntifull
Art dead with all thy worth,..
And heaven In robbing ni of thee
Hai -pillaged the whole earth! .
For angels, few enough with u,
Are fewer now, J. weeni t
My sool seems like a kingdom eaek'd,
Detpoiled'of Its fair qaeenl-
Thou art dead, my -bright, my beautiful
And with tbee died the dreams
That drove the iKaflows from my life
r7ith"tat!r fve3fgbted beams I
Yet in my.heart thy picture hangs,
And fangs' open 'my wall,
I gate jnlf, and, gating, thai
The. bitter tear-drops faU t
Thou art iia i, myjbright, my beautifall
Earth's irlghtneis all.ii fled,
Save when mem'ry speaks, as now.
In the dear roiee that 's dead -In
tones jthat from aojh'er'to'a'es "
In musie stood apart, i .,
And set the joy-belh" ringing tit
The belfry of myheartl -
Thou art dead, my bright, my beautifall
And though thy dreamless sleep
Be where monamenttTihefts
Their marble vigils keep!
I know thou art beside me now,
I feel tby presence bright.
Thy tpirlt-Iips speak oomfoft to
My .stricken soul td-n!gatj
Thou art dead, my bright, my beautiful!
And this cold, bitter sight,
Winter with iey fingers weares
A sheet of snow so white.
And least it on thy earthy bed,
CareWi that 'neath It lies'
One once the glory of earth, and now
The glory of the skies'! - ' '
MARIA SAXONBURY! "
UT MRS. HENRY WOOD,
acmoa or "aasr LTKa'i," "viUKra's raisr,"
""TBlt.IITSTBaT," "TBS BiBL's HEIRS,"
"HIS CHAXMKC3, "i LlrE'S
' Ibecblt," Ac, ic.
CHAPTER L
VSSXU XaST.
It wftetbc height of tbetionrJon season
not now, but jesre ago and adrarring
room, all tan, and light, and heat, looked
oat on & (ishiga&At square; in &o exceed
ingly fashionable, localitv. At the ev
trem: end of tlhc room,' away from the.
etuV ittrs, v yet young and, exceedingly
lorelyilady reclined in an easy chair; a
feverish flush trsta on her cheek:, but
otherwise her''fea!nTeff'were white as the
pillow on which they rested. The house
was the residence of Mr. Verner Eaby;'
this lady was "big wife, and she was 'dying.
It was said of spinal complaint of
general debility of a sort of decline;
friends and doctors equally differed as to
the exact malady: Hone btnted that care,
disappointment; -crashed feelings, could
hare anything to do with her sinking: yet
it is probable they had more, by far, Uian
all the other ailments ascribed to her.
Somewhat of remorse jnay have been
added also.
Once, when young, she was engaged to'
be married to a Mr. Hair. She thought
she liked him; she did like him; but one,
bigner in toe world b, r&vor, came .across
her path. His dashing "appearance
zled her .eyes, as the baron dazzled iair
T ' : .1. i J I !
. as the baron dazzled iairl
iiuucues iu uje uiu Buugj file jottmoa
dazzled her judgment; and Maria Raby
would have discarded Arthur Hair for
him. Her parents said no; common jue
tice said no; but Mr, Verner exerted his
powers -of persuasion, and Maria yielded
to her own will, and clandestinely left her
father's house to become his wifev The
private-union -was followed by a grand
marriage,' .solemnized openly; and the
bridewroom took his wife's same with
her fortune, and became Verner Raby.
Very.very soon was her illusion dissolved,
and she iound that she bad thrown away
the substance to grasp the shadow. Mr.
Baby speedily tired of his new toy, and
she lapsed into a neglected, almost a de
serted wife. He lived a wild life; dissipa
ting his fortune, dissipating hers, tinging
his character, wasting his talents. Mean
while, the despisitd Arthur Hair, through
the unexpected death of a man younger
than himself, had risen to affluence and
rank, and was winning his way tothefap
probation of good men. He had prob
ably forgotten Maria Raby. It is cer
tain that his marriage had speedily fol
lowed upon her own; perhaps he wished
to prove to the world that her Inexcusable
conduct had notjtold irremediably upon
him. ThusMrs. Raby had lived for
many" years, Rearing her wrongs in silence
and battling with lier remorseful feelings.
But nature gave way at last, and her
health left hen a -few months -of resigned
suffering, and the grave drew very near.
She was conscious of it; more' conscious
this afternoon than she had yet been.
Her first child, a girl. Jiad died at its birth;
several years dfterwards' a' boy" wa born.
She was lying now, sadly thinking of him,
when her husband entered. He" had come
home to dress or an early dinner engage-
menu . .
"How hot you look f ' waejhis remark,
his eye carelessly noting the unusual hec
tic on her cheeks.
"Things are troubling me,'' she an
womanly raits ndjrnrJaj----'Tr5 wuu juu vy i net om?.
THE
VOL. 1.
eweredj her breathing more labored than
common. "Alfred, I want to talk ' tb
you." 2 .. .
- "Make haste, then," he replied, impa
tintypullinjf out his watch. "I have
not mucb time to waste. '
"To waste! On his dyinjr wife!.
"Oh yes, you have if you .like, Alfred.
And, ,if- not, you must make 'it.- Other
engagements maygive way to pie to -da
for L think it will heaviest."
".Nonsense, .filarial Yott arc nervous.
Shake it off What have you to eay?"
'Tthiofcrit.-will be" she repeated. "At
any rate, it- can" be but a question of s
few4avS tiow: a eekor two at'the-inost.
Aureolas,, -you ueneve you, could (ever
crsac an oatiu .
"iireaK an oatm ' ne echoed in sur
pnse.'
"Ybn are careless as to keeping your
Pflrrlr TirnmiwM vnn fnrtrtt ait .nnn nn
pia'Jeliut an 6atu imposes a.solemn'hbjii,
BDondedla ' tone of aaDDresied mockcrv.
m arrvft frd.i ni
"Cilrn yourself: it is not my intention to.
uu eu.
ITot so," she eadlv uttered: "ihat
would be an.obligation I Jiave no right
lay upon you: my ueath will leave you
tree. I want you to undertake to be a
good father to the child."
."And you would impose such obliga
tion by oathT" eried Mr. "Raby. "It is
scarcely necessary. Of course I shall be
good to hinu What L5 running in your
head, Maria? that I shall beat him, or
turn bim adrifw The boy shall co to
Eton, and thence to college."
She put out her fevered hands, and
clasped his, with the excitable, earnest
emotion of a dying spirit
"O Alfred 1 when vou are as near death
as I am, you will know that three are
other and higher in tercets. than even the
better interests of this world. If the
knowledge never comet to you before, it
will loo surely come then. It is for those
I wish you to train him."
"ily dear,' be rejoined, the mockinc
tone retnriiug to hisoiee, end thie time
it was not di'guiecd, "I will engege a cu
rate at a yearly stipend, and he shall cram
Uaoy with religion."
A cloud of pain passed across her brow:
then she looked pleadingly np again to
urge her wish.
"Thsre is no earthly interest can be
compared xith that we live here for a
.moment, in eternity forever. I went you.
to undert&Ve that he shall be trained for
iu"
"So far as my will is good, he is wel
come to grow up an angel," observed Mr.
Raby; "but as totakiog an oath that
he shall, you must excuse me. We vrill
leave tne topic: it is one that we shall do
uo'sood at together. The bov will do well
enoueh; what is there to hinder it? And
do you pet bat of this desponding fit
Maria, and let me find you belter when
I -come home to night,"
' ' "Stay!" she implored. "I lie here alone'
with all my pain and trouble; and wild
thoughts intrude themeclves into mv
Lmilid. omctbimr like they. come touijn
ujnui. xb vtu a itjiu luuugm an im
probable one to you of an oath; perhaps
it was a wrong one. Will you pass your
word to me, Alfred, that Raby Btia!l be
reared to rood, not to evil? And vou
surely'will hold good your -word to the
"I promise vou that the best shall be
done for the boy in all ways, Mariaso
far as I can do it."
He turned impatiently as he spoke.
and left the room. She did not call again.
And just then her little boy peeped in.
He had been -christened Raby.
"ion may come, dear.
Rabv Verner. a child of seven, who
kid inherited his mother's beauty, drew
towards her on tiptoe. He was too in
telligent for his years, too sensitive, too
thoughtful. Hie large and brilliant brown
eyes were raised to hers with a sweet, sad
expression of inquiry. Then the long,
dark eyelashes fell over tbem, and he
laid his head on her bosom, and threw
up his -arms' lovingly to clasp her neck.
"Raby, I was just thinking o you, X
must tell you something.".
- As he bad a dread presentiment of what
was coming, he did not speak, but bent
his face .where she could not see it. and
slightly shivered.
"ltaby, darlinr, do von know that I
am going to .leave-you that I.am going
to heavenr
The child had known it some time, for
he had been alive to the eossipping of the
servanU,,hut, true to his shy and sensitive
nature, he had buried. the knowledge and
tbe misery within his poor little heart.
m carta : .gaiigjjaad'mnst be binding on, the, t&Dzl
daz-LJLrue t0 l now, ,he would not give vent to
n3
emotions, but his mother fell'that he
shivered from head to foot, as his clasp
tightened upon her.
"1 read ml pretty book, Raby. once. It
told of of the creed of some people, far, far
away from our own land, who believe that
when they die if they die in God's love
tbey are permitted to become ministering
spirits to those whom they leave here; to
hover invisibly round them, and direct
their thoughts and steps away from harm.
My dearest, how I should really .like to
find this to be really tlje case! I would
come and watch over youf'
His sobs could no longer be suppressed,
though he strove for. itftill. They broke
out into a wail.
"Raby, dear, you have heard that this
is a world of care. All people find it so:,
though some more than others. When it
shall fall upon you hereafter as it is sure
to do remember that God sends it only
to fit you for a better land."
What more she would have said is un
certain. Probably much. " The child was
not like a child of seven; he was more like
one of fourteen, and he understood welL
It was Mr. Raby who interrupted them.
"Raby! crying, sir! What for? Has
your mamma been talking gloomy stuff to
yon, or saying that she fears she is worse?
It is not true, boy, either of it. Dry up
that face of yours.- Maria, you are not
worse: if you were, I should see it. Bun
away into the nursery, sir."
The boy drew away choking, and Mr.
,Raby continued
'lt is' not judicious of you, Maria, to
alarm the boy. I cannot think what has
put these ideas into your head. He will
be in tears lot the rest of the day."
"lie is so sensitive," she whispered.
"Alfred, something seems to tell me he
(will he destined to sorrow. It is an im
pression I have always felt, but never eo
forcibly as now. Shield him from it wher
ever you can. Oh" that I could take hift
with me!"
"You are growing fanotil," answered
HARTFORD
"I COME, THE HERALD OF A HOIST. WOULD, XHE JUEWS OF ALL NATIONS LUMBERING AT MY BACK.'
HABCDPOBD, OHIO
Mr. Raby. "Destined to Borrow', 'ihJee'd!
is there nothing else you fancy ;him des
tined, to? Whence draw you. your-deduc
lion?" ,
1 ''Ido not know. Bat a' timfd. sensitive
refined! nature,. such as his, with its unu
sual gin oi genius,, is generally, destped
to what.'tlie world looks upon-as "adverse
fate. It may he deep sorrow,-or Jt may
he nn earlv rlpntfi "
"All; mothers think their 'child a ge-
piuff,"iiiterrupted2dlr. Raby, in.hifl slight
ing tone, t t -
"Wel, if he' lives', time will prove," she
panted. -"J. tear' you will- find my words
true. When the mind is about-to .sepa
rate from the body, I believe' it sees with
unusual clearness that it can sometimes
read the future, almost with a spirit of
propnecy, , .
"I am not given to metaphisies, Maria,''
remarked Mr. Raby, as .he again escaped
from the room. j
Mrs. Verner KAnv' died. wlfahV. In ilrfp
couTH'j, it cut iu 'xu)U, and .alterwardsto
college. .A ,shy, proud-young man: at
least, his reserved 'manners and his refined
appearance gave tt stranger tne iaea mat
be was proud. He kept one term at Ox
ford, and had returned to keen another.
when a telegraphic de.'pitch summoned
him to London. Mr. Verner ilabv had
died a sadden death. .
When Rabv went back to Oxford.it was
only to take his name off tbe college books,
for his father had eaten up all he possess
ed, had died in debt, and Raby must no
longer oe a eentleuian. a. rentier, tbe
French would say, which is a much more
suitable term: we have no word that an
swers to it. Mr. Raby, after the death of
his wile, had plunged into -worse expense1
than before; he had lived a life of bound
less extravagance, and his affairs proved
to be in a sad state. He had afforded Ra
by a home: he had educated him in ac
cordance witn his presumed ranK; but he
had done no rnore. He had giveq him
no profession; he had.squandered his mo--
thers money, as well as his own; he had
bequeathed him no means to live, or even
to complete his education; he left him-to
struggle with the world as he beet could.
And that was how he fullilledfhis prom
ise to his dead wife!
Yes; Raby must straggle, now with the
world fight with it for'a living. How
iTflH li. nhl frt drt if? TTim mntliAi. a?rl do
possessed genius, and he Undoubtedly did
a genius lor painting, tie nad loved
the art all his life, but his father had. been
againBt his pursuing it, even aa.au ame
teur aadjobstinately set his face and in
terposed his veto against it ' Raby deter
mined to turn to it with' a will now.
CHAPTER II.
DREAMS OF FAME.
A gentleman stood one morning in the
studio of a far-famed painter, the great Co
ram, as tbe world called him. The visit
or was Sir Arthur Saxonbary,- one of those
warm patrons ot art all too Tew in .hog-
land.- Rich, liberal, and enthusiastic, his
name was a welcome" sound, not onlv to
-t ccfulrbulto the struggling ArtisU
The painter was out; but, iu a second room
seated before an easel, underneath the
softened light of the green blind, was
a young, man. working assiduously. Sir
Artnur iook niue nonce oi mm ixi ursi;
be supposed bim to be an humble assist
ant, or color-mixer of the great man's; but,
upon drawing nearer, he was struck with
the exceeding and rare beauty of the face
that was raised to look at him. ZBut for
the remarkable intellect of the high, broad
brow, and the flashing light of tbe lumi
nous eye, the face, in its sweet and delicate
symmetry, in its transparency of complex
ion, might have been taken for a woman's".
Sir Arthur, a passionate admirer of beau
ty, wherever he saw it, torgoi tne pictures,
of still life around him, and gazed at the
living one: gazed until he heard the pain
ter enter.
Who is that in tbe other room?" in-.
quired Sir Arthur, when their'grectings
were over.
"Ah, poor fellow, his is a sad history.
A very common one, though. When did
you return to England, Sir Arthur?"
"Butlastweek. Iiady Saxonbury is tired
of France and Germany, and her, health
seems to get no better. I must 'look at
your new works, Coram; I suppose you
you have many to show me, fiuiahed or
;..c:i.,i " '
UUUIHOUCU.
"Ay. It must be three years since you
were here, Sir Arthur."
"Nearly."
They proceeded round the rooms, when
Sir Arthur's eye once more fell on the
young man.
"He has genius, that young fellow, has
be not?" he whispered.
"Very great genius." ...
"I could have told it," returned Sir Ar
thur. "What a countenance it isl. Trans-'
erred to canvas, its beauty alone would
make the painter immortal. His face
seems strangely familiar to me. Where
can I have seen it?'
Mr. Coram had his eyes bent closely to
one of his paintings He eaw a speck on
it which bad no business there.- The bar
onet's remark remained unanswered.
"I presume he is an aspirant for fame,"
continued Sir Arthur. "Will heget on?"
"No," said Mr. Coram.
Sir Arthur Saxonbury looked surprised.
"It is the old tale," proceeded the paint
er. "Poverty, friendlessness, and over
whelming talent"
"Talent has struegled through moun
tains before now, Coram," significantly
observed the baronet
"Yes. But Raby'a enemy lies here,"
touching his own breast. "He is inclined
to consumption, and these ultra-refined
natures cannot battle against bodily weak
ness. His sensitiveness is something.mar
vellous. A rude blow to his feelings would
do for him."
Sir Arthur had looked up at the'eonnd
of the name "What did you call him?
Raby?"
"Raby Verner Raby is his name. The
eon of spendthrift Verner and Maria Raby
the heiress."
Raby Verner Raby! Middle-aged
though he waB, years though it was ago,
now, since his dream of love with Maria
Raby had come to an abrupt ending,
Sir Arthur Saxonbury, once Arthur Mair,
positively felt his cheeks blush through
Lis gray whiskers. He glanced eagerly
at Raby s face, and memory earned him
back to its spring-time, for those were
her' very eyes, with their sweet melan
chollv expression, and those were her
chiselled features.
"I saw Verner Raby's death in the pa
pers," 6aid Sir Arthur, rousing himself,
"two three years ago, it seems to me.
COUNTS, KY
What isj the 8onEnlStere?''
"RaBy Jeft -jiothing behind him but
debts.. The son sold off all and paid them,
leaving himself, T, believe, about half suf
ficient for the bare-necessaries of life. So
iiA i..nA.r a t. .. i-v 1 j i . .
j uucu iu nuiii uciuTcu uesi, painting
and'has; befn. working hard ever since,
He 'exnects to malce a. pood tiling nf it
I Jet iim cqme b,ere to copy, for he has
no convenience atyiis lodgings! Poor
fellow! jjeUerlfiatjhelhad been a painter
of -coach panels?"
.Why'doyou sa-rtbat, Coram?'
"A man' whose genius goes no higher
man. C9acn-painiing:can oear rubs and
crosses. We can t.-"And Raby ia so san
guinel Thinks h"e'lsjgoing to be a sec
ond Claude Lorraine, He is great in land
scapes." "i b
At that moment they were interrupted
l.n TT. J- .1 'f -
search of something wante'd in his work.
'.. ,1 L' : .i - rr . . . -
""VL"'r awht .Qqicjrujury eaw mat the
hpnfih' nr tliy fin- ilfc unl iihLb!!.! ! il
form. Not.more tbanddle heichu and
slender; his long arms and legslooked too
long for his body. He stooped in the
shoulders, he had a sensitive look ot
physical' weakness, and his nait-was un
certain and timid. Coram -laid his hand
on Ins shoulder.
"ihis is Sir ' ArthurJ Saxonburv. of
whom you have heard so, much," -be
said.
Raby was unacquainted with the em-
sode In his mother s early life, therefore
the flush, that rose to, and dyed his face.
was caused only by the greeting of a stran
ger; with these sensitive natures, it is
sure to do so, whether they be man or
woman. I he bright color Only served to
render him' more like Maria Rabv. and
Sir Arthur, in spile of the sore feel in r
1 , -i L.l II. n i--l.i.-i "
uc ircaiuieubiiuu jeu, ie ujsneariwarm
to her boo. A wish half crossed his mind
that that that son was-his his heir: he
had no eon, only daughters. Raby was
Sir Arthur clasped.and.Eeld hia hand: he
iHwuiauw tk bus naiuiui ui uis -rrueunir.
turned witn mm to inspect the painting
ne was engaged on., it was aseir-created
landscape, betraying great imaginative
power and genius; but 'genius: as yet, only
half cultivated. - 1
"You hare your work cut out for vou."
observed Sir Arthur, who was an excel
lent judge ot around, its indispensable
toil...
"L know it .Sir .Arthur. .1 onchV in
have begun the study earlier;: but during
my father' 8 lifetime "the opportunity was
not afforded, .me.r; It is all I have to de
pend on' now,, for with 'himdied my
wealth, and my prospects.1
-'He had ereat wealth once.. How
could he have been so reprehensible as
to dissipate it all, knowing there was one
to .come after him?' involuntarily snoke
Sir Arthur.
"These are thoughts that I avoid." re
plied Raby. "Ho was my.father."
"Do you remember much of vour
mother?1'
"I remember her vervwell indeed. She
.died when I, .was seventy ears old. All.
the good thafisin nie I. owe to her. I
have' never fortrotten her early lessons or
Mz.fmrr 9 'Ws ert faif e.
in my dreams,'
"it -was a face that tbe world does not.
see too often, said Sir Arthur, whose
thoughts were buried in the cast "Your
own is like it," he added, rousing himself.
".Uid you know my mother. Sir Ar
thur?"
"Once: when-she was Miss Raby," an
swered the baronet, in an indiflerent tone,
as be turned again' to the painting.
"Where do you live?" he suddenly asked.
I'l give my addaess here," answered
the young man. "Mr. Coram allows me
to do so: though indeed it is never asked
for. I havo only a room in an obscure
neighborhood. I cannot afford anything
better."
Sir Arthur Saxonbury smiled. "You
are, not like most people," he said: "they
generally strive to hide their fallen for
tunes; you makt. no" secret of yours."
Jttaby shook his head, and a strangely
painful Hush rose to his face. His pover
ty was a sore point with him. tlie sense of
disgrace it brought eating into1 Uis very
heartstrings. ,
"My fallen fortunes have been a world's
talk," he answered.'-''-UI! could 'not keep
them eecret.if I would." J
"Mave you retained , your former
friends?' aaked Sir Arthur. '
"Not one. Perhaps it is, in some de
gree, my own fault, for my entire time is
given to painting, rew wouio. care to
know or recognize raenow: Raby Verner
Raby. the son and heir of the rich and
luxurious Verner Raby, who made some
noise in mt ixjnuon wona, anu naoy, tne
poor art-student, are two people. None
have sousht me since the chaoce. Not
one has addressed me with the kindness
ahd sympathy that you have now, Sir Ar
thur.
'I shall see you acain." remarked Sir
Arthur, as he shook him by tbe hand, and
turned away to. the great artist and his
paintings.
In the evening, Raby turned to his
home if the garret he occupied could be
called such.- Coram had spokeu accurate
ly: not half sufficient for what would gen
erally be called tbe bare'necessarica of life,
remained from the wreck of his father's
property. But it was made to suffice for'
his wants. It would seem that surclv his
clothes must take it- all, and none could
conjecture how he contrived to oke it out
He was often cold, oftea hungry, always
weary; "yet his hopeful,Bpirit bouyed him
up, and pictured visions of future great
ness, lie never for one moment doubted
that he was destined to become a world's
fame; those who possess true genius are
invariably conscious oi it in their inmost
heart: and he would repeat over and over
again to himself the words he felt must
some time be applied to him "Thegreat
painter the painter Raby."
He sat down that evening to his dinners
supper of bread and cheYue. It tasted less
dry than usual, for his thoughts were ab
sorbed by the chief event of the day, the
meeting Sir Arthur Saxonbury. He at
tributed, in his unconsciousness, the inter
est which Sir Arthur had betrayed in him,
to admiration of his genius: he knew how
warm a supporter of rising artists Sir Ar
thur was. and he deemed the introduction
the very happiest circumstance that could
have befallen him. Could be but have
foreseen what that introduction was' to
bring forth!
Continued next week.
Women clients are unhealthy for San
Francisco lawyers. The last one shot was
named Cobb. Her name is Smyth.
HERALD.
JANUARY 6, 1875.
TUB KINO'S PICTURE.
The King from tho conneil chambor
Came weary and sore of heart;
Ho called for II iff, the painter,
And spake to him apart.
"I am sick of faces ignoble,
Hypooritei, cowards and knaves 1
I shall shrink to their shrunken measure,
Chief slave! in a realm of slaves 1
"Faint me a true man's picture,
Gracious, and wise and good;
Dowerod with the strength of heroes,
And tho beauty of womanhood.
It shall hang in my inmost chamber,
That thither, when I retire,
It may fill my soul with its grandeur,
And warm it with sacred fire,"
Co the artist painted. the picture,
, And hung it in the palaco hall, '
Never a thing so goodly
Had garnished tho stately wall.
2 -The King, with head -uncovered,
.Gsioi oD U with rapt delight,
Till it suddenly wore strange meaning,
' ' - Aot WHJ-Jim iaBesfiprj sight-
For the form was his sappiest courtier's,
Perfect in'every limb,
But' the bearing was that of the henchman
Who.filled the flagons for him;
The brow, was a priest's who pondered
His parchments early and late;
The eye was a wandering minstrel's
Who sang at the palace gate
- The lips, half lad and half mirthful.
With a flittingf tremulous grace,
Were tb'very lips of a woman
He ha&fUssed in the market-place;
" But the smile which the curves transfigured
As a rose with a shimmer of dew.
Was the smile of the wife who loved him,
Queen Kthelyn, good and truo.
Then,"Iicarn, 0 King," said the artist,
"This truth that the picture tells"
How, in every form of the human,
Some hint of the highest dwells;
How scanning each living temple,
The form 6r the God within
Wo may gather, by beautiful glimpses
Thro the place wbero the vail is thin,"
. Written for The Hartford Herali
HUS. BARTELMASSY'S STORY.
BY "QUITS.
Once upon a-time. and that time less
than a year ago, 1 was sitting at a dreary
railway junction for the L. train. Wait
ing is ataltimes'wearisome enough, but
uouuiy so vruen jtiuppiufr si a luiru-ruie
railroad hoteK .Under such circumstances
an obliging' landlady and1 two or three
:-. i i r" i 'u r. 3 i - t i -,
p.r&uuug cuiiureu arc a uusejiu. j. aaa
both, and to make my cup full and run-
nine over, Mrs.-liartelmassy thrown in.
Mrs. Sartelmassy was a pretty, nlumo
luitej wuiJian, wiiii juuitu uiuc eyes ana
brown wavy hair, hearing the forties, I
should guess; a traveler like myself. We
met as strangers do in railroad travel; met
and parted, and may never meet again,
but she helped me to while away the te
dium of a lonely hour at a lonely inn.
But, reader, I warn you, if you ase im
patient, or in a hurry, don t wait to read
Mrs. jjartelmapsy s' story. I shall give
it in.'her own ijorde" as nearly as possible;
bnt jhfiiliad' 3Tj, of interrupting -and
prolonging thcicontinuona trickle and flonr
of her conversatioabycatchingher breath.
and lingering lovingly over her "ands
and "buts." In fact," she would go off
into a sort of well, haze, I suppose.
would express what I mean, wherein I
imagined she would see visions and dream
dreams,- looking straight before her, un
conscious for the moment of who was
present or what sne hadbeen saying, then
beginning again with a catch of her
breath, which, kind reader, you may nev
er enjoy unless you could hear Mrs. Bar
telmaasy tell her'own story.
I. shall givejt in ( her own words, 'but
remember she is only a woman.
Mr. Will Firkin says, "Just let a lot of
women get together, apd they'll all get to
laughing and all talking at once, and no
two of them talking about tbe same thing,
and that night every one of them will have
to tell everything she said, and everything
all the rest said, over to her husband1."
Don t I feel like" getting behind Mr. Fir
kin and lifting him up by the ears, and
shaking him out of his boots' for such a
slander on tbe sex? Yes, I do! T, didn't
talk no I didn't only just to ask. Mrs.
Bartelmassy -what dog bit her, and how
it happened, and when. And I didn't tell
ray husband about it thafhight, either,
for he heard it all himself. I'm glad he
did, because he hurries me up sometimes
when I try to make myself entertaining by
repeating for his benefit something I've
heard, read, or seen. He says, "A wo
mau can't tell a thing straight along
through, and quit, to save her life; but
must tell all .about everything and every
body hex story brings up." I'd like to
shake him, too, if I dared! But let pa
tience have her perfect work; there's a
hereafter. I m glad he heard Mrs. liar
telmassy, though, if there is.
I was patting a flue setter of my hus
band's at ths door of that dreary hotel,
when Mrs. Bartelmassy came in. I have
weakness for docs, out ot doors, and
'old Minx" had taken many a trip with
us. .
"You must like dogs,' said Mrs. Bar
telmassy.
"xes, I have a weakness lor oogs, es
pecially this one, she is so near human,"
answered, Dowing courteously.
"Lord! I hate doirs! I reckon I always will
hate 'em. .Yes, always, I reckon. Do you
see that hand? Look at that scar! Right
in tbe palm clean through, too. Well, a
dog bit me once right through that hand.
And I've hated dogs ever since. Let me
Bee, that was two years after I was mar
ried. Mother didn't wan't me to marry.
She said I was too young, and she be
lieved I could do better than to marry
Billy Bartelmassy, anyhow, if 1 d wait
But, sakea a alive! you needn't talk to a
girl about waiting, when she once sets her
head to marry. You'd just as well sing
psalms to a dead donkey, as pa says.
"So, we married and went to house
keeping, in a real pleasant neighborhood
down on Sandy Run. Yes. it was real
pleasant. There was Sam White s lami-
y, mighty nice people they were, lived in
about half a mile of us. Susan, their
oldest daughter, was cross-eyed, but she
didn't mean a bit of harm by it And
Ben, their-ah second son, was the most
unaccountable liar, Mr. Bartelmassy used
to sav. he ever did hear talk: but he was
mighty polite to me, Ben was, ana oue oi
the best talkers I ever listened to; real
entertainin'. They were a real nice fam
ily. '
"And-ah Mr. Perkins' family lived just
about half a mile on the other side of us.
They were of good family, old Virginia
stock. They were from Culpepper coun
KO. 1.
ty. The old man was close well, real
tfingy, I reckon, from all the neighbora
ium me. tie u uuy sugar and coffee by
the dollar's worth, and-ah they'd get out
and seud and borrow from me. They'd
borrow anything, and everything-ah-a
cup of parched coffee, or a teacup of su
gar, or half a pound of butter, a spoonfnl
of soda, or a few slices of bam-ah. It
was something or other 'most every day.
They1 were mighty nice pebple, but, sakes
aliveUhey just borrowed my life out of
me! Sometimes they'd send back short
measure, "and-ah sometimes none at all."
Holding up her left, hand "But that
scar! I'll wear it tb my dyin' day!"
"Did you say a dog bit you? Was if
one-of your own?" I asked.
1,Was it our, .dog. that bit me? Xaws,
no! -Our dogs never thought of biting
anybody. Both of 'em was quiet and
peaceable dogs as ever was. 'Old Watcb'
would bark and ro'mTj around like he'd
take the .'place. wTiencanvbodv''d come.
or suame. mm,, and he d go off and lie
down quiet as a lamb. And 'Gin? there
never was a-better or smarter dog than
uin. just say, 'UhicKens, Uinr and
shed have the last one-out' of the earden
before she quit She wouldn't let a pig
come nign tne yarn. Ana-an sne a no
more pretend to make a traek on my porch
floor than you would. Bhe knoird iest
as well when it rained, or was muddy,
that she, mustn't .come, in, as a twelve'
year old child would a-know'd. She had
a litter of puppies, once, ajjd-ah I gave
them all away but one. That one she'd
bring in the kitchen' every time she'd get
tne cnance, ana-an lay it in a warm cor
ner by the cooking stove. 1 got-ah so
mad at her for it, one day, thai' I kicked
it clear out of the kitchen. 'Gin' looked
at me, the most grieved. reDroachful lookl
I never will foraet that look! then
walked out, and-ah took up her puppy in
her mouth xtnd carried it off un to sister
Matt s and left it She'd go up there ev
ery day and suckle it but she never would
bring it back home! .And-ah one day Mr.
Bartelmassy brought me home a new tea
board. After I'd looked at and admired
it, I leant it up against the table until I'd.
get up. 'Gin'soon spied if and-ah in it
she saw herself reflected. She bristled'tro
and commenced barking and ;f risking
around, trying to matte mends with the
dog'in the teaboariL Then she'd run be
hind the, teaboa'rd, 'then-ah comeTonnd in
front aaain, then, bristle, up. and crow
ikuu sua, mm suap,ui. .iue uog inline
teaboard until I thousht I. should'die a
1 1 1 ' . . T. -
.laughing! I never saw a. dog. cut such I
uiuuco iu uijr uc x laujucu BfcierjPiiiues
until l too&apain in my side,. lrom which
I had a real hard spell of sickness. ' I
come mighty near dying, I tell you! I lost'
my uaoy. lie nad nve since, and this
: ti.j i:..: " o . t. . i
to tun uiuj vuciiviug. upva&.w tuciauy,
Willie, and tell her your name like a man
when she asks you."
"I sha'n't do it' Give me an nonle.
ma!" was all -the.youne hopeful d'eizned.
and he walked off munching his apple.
I ventured to ask, while Mrs; Bartelmas
sy pinned npcheT"pock6t:
"jjid mn--Dite'ytoaii- r - - -v?
"Laws, no!- 'Gin' neverhit anvbodv!
It was 'Old Bulger." 'Squire Neely'a doe.
A great big, savage, yaller, brindle dog,
that-everybody .was afeard'oC I don t
know what in the world ever made them
keep such a dog! They lived jest about
two miles from our house, and-ah were
real nice, clever people, and-ah the best
kind of neighbors. I used to eo over
there right often; jest get on my horse and
ride right over any time when Mr. Bartel
massy was busy, for I'd get lonesome as a
eettjn' turkey; sometimes. Mrs. Neely
was mighty kind to me; a real mother.
If they killed hogs first she was sure to
send me a spare rib or two, and some of
ber sausage and souce. And when she
made her mincemeat, she always sent me
some. And-ah they never too it a cap of
honey without sending' me a plateful of
tbe nicest I reckon tbCre never was a
better neighbor in .the world than Mrs.
Neely." '
"How-did 'Squire NeelyJs doe happen
to bite you?"' I aaked.
".How did the .dog happen to bite me
Yes-ah, I must ,tell you. that. Well, you
see, I'd got Mr. Bartelmassy to saddle
Jerry for me before he went to his work.
tie was laying by bis.corn.,i,remember.
and was mighty, busy trying to. get it laid
by before oats harvest come. on. When-ah
1 started,. Mr. Bartelmassyveaya to mer
says he: 'Jenny, don't you let ihat dog bite
you. Hon t you get ott 'your horse till
vou hail some oi the lamtiyj and Know
lie's tied." 'When I got there, they we're
all sitting Out in the porch, and-ah they
had company, ,1 could .see. John and
Betty were down at one end of the porch,
with Dora Green and-ah Rilla .Ashley,
and Tom Smith. Mrs. Neely was settin
nearly at tbe other end of the porch, and
she was sewing. And-ah just about mid
dle ways of the porch, 'Squire Neely and
Mr. Peters was settin' at a table playin'
cards. The 'Squice was mighty fond of
cards and we always had to have a game
every time I went over. A nigger hoy
come out to hitch, my horse, and-ah I
asked him about 'Old Bulger'. He said
he believed he'd gone to the field with
Sam; he hadn't seen him for some time.'
I looked around, and-ah didn't see any
thing of him until I'd got about five steps
inside the gate, and there he was, comin'
right at me, with all his bristles up, grow
lin' aud snappin' his great big white teeth!
I tried to fight him off from me with my
parasol, but, laws-a-niercyl he just tore
tbat all to pieces. It was a beautiful par
asol, blue silk lined with white. I was
scared to death! Poor Mrs. Neely was,
too. The'Squire said afterwards he didn't
know which screamed the the loudest,
me, or Mrs. Neely,or the three girls.
And my riding habit was torn off me, al
most, before tbe 'Squire or John could
get to mi, and-ah"
"Train coming, did you say, sir? Why,
law me! Mrs. Q., is it your train? . Don t
forget your basket, and your shawl! Have
you got. your uraberella and your box of
flowers? Well,' good-bye, Mrs. Q , and a
safe journey to you."
"Good-bye, Mrs. Bartelmassy. I'm glad
that dog didn't bite yoa."
"Didn't bite me! Why, law-sakes! jest
look at tbat band! Why, he jest fastened
them great big white teeth of his'n right
through there and clinched 'em, before
'Squire Neely or John could get to me,
and it was two days before I could be ta
ken home. Mr. Bartelmassy was sure
I'd havehydrophoby. He swore he'd kjll
that dog. and took his gun and went up
there. Brother John went with him,
and-ah"
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J AO. P. UiCEKTT i Co.. Pulll'brr.
Hartford, Kt.
"Allaboard!" TootMooot! Thebrake
man's wheel clicked sharply under hU
sudden wrench, and away we went, hoping
that in some bettcr'world we may hear tho
conclusion of Mrs. Bartelmattsv's story.
Harttord, Kv., Dec. 22, 1874.
THE MODEL WIFE.
The Woman Who Is a Helpmeet
to Her Ilnsbaud iu Mtorm atist
Sunshine.
Detroit Tree Press.
She is a little bit of a woman, all pa
tience and sunahine.nnd I'd sooil the bar!
silk haj money could buy for the privilege
of lending her my umbrella ia a rain.
She's married, and she's got an old rhi
noceros of a hnsband. He makes it a
practice to come borne tizht at 11 o'clock
every othetf'ofght', and has for four years,
and he can't remember that she ever gave
him a cross word about it Whhbe(alla
into tha hall she is waiting t close the
door, and help lira- back to the sitting
room, where a eood fire awaits him. Fh
draws off his boots, unbuttons his collar,
helps him off with his coat, and at the
same time she is saying;
"Poor Harry I How sorry I am that yoa
hadjthis attack of vertigo! I am afraid
that you will be' found dead by the roadside-some
night"'
" Whazzer mean by verzhigof 1 "he growls,
but she helps him off with hit coat and
vest, and pleasantly continues:
"I'm so glad that you gothome all right
I hope the day will come when you can
pass more of your time at home. It is
dreadful how your business drives yoa."
"Whas bizshness whaz yer talking
'bout?"
"Poor one! how hot yourhead isl" the
continues, and presantly he breaks down
and weeps and exclaims: '
"Yez.'zur zia a 'orse wearinz relf
out fhas't'a can wisbzi was dead!",.
.Next morning she never refers to the
subject, but pleasantly inquires how he
slept, and if his-mind is clear. HisJooU
may be missing; and he yells out:
"wnarn thunder amy boots? '
" "Rieht here, mv dear' shefreDliea. and
shfe hands them out, all nicely blacked
rip.
If she wants a dress., or a Hat or a
cloak, and he. yells out, that household
expenses are eating him up, she never
"sasse&" him back; nor tells him that aha
could haver married a' Congressman, nor
declares that 'she will "Write to'her mother
and tell h'er jdst hovrit ii" -
uTi..'. ,1 -ir.l i
she says, and she gets up just as good &
dinner as if.ne had left her Jolty dollars.
He may comehome tight at sapper time,
but she is not shocked. She remarks that
it is. an unexpected pleasure-to have him
home so early, and she pretends not to no
tice his stupid look. He sees three chairs
where there is but one, and ia trying to
sit down he strikes' the floor like the tall
of a derrick.
"Whazzer jaw that chair 'way for?"
She reblies: "It'frthAiJiole in the car-
et I knew you wouMstnmBTetndahe
el pa him up and'hrlnEshlm aatron't'cnD
oftea.
They do not keep a servant, and when
cold weather came she never thought of
planting herself down in a chair opposite
him and saying:
"Now. then, you'll either eet up and
light the fires or there won't be any light
ed mark that, old baldhead."
No, she didn't resort to any such base
and tyrannical measures. When daylight
comes, she slips out of bed,makes two fires,
warms hia socks, and then, bending over,
him, she whispers:
"Arise, darling, and greet the festive
morn!
Hes sick sometimes, and I ve known
that woman to coax him for two straight
hours to take the doctor's-medicine, turn
over his pillow, twenty-two times, keep a
wet cloth on his head, pare his corn down,
and then wish-she had a quail to make
im some soup;
When he gets into a fight down towa.
and comes home with his ears bitten up,
and his .nose pointed to the northeast, she
inquires how the horse happened to run
away with him, and she says that she is
so thankful that he wasn't killed. She
has an excuse for everything, and. she -never
admits that any one but herself ia
to blame about anything. Lor bless her
I hope she will slip, into heaven, and
never be asked a question.
A remarkable story comes from Bom
bay, which suggests the propriety of em-
loying monkeys as poiiee detectives: A.
ladras man, makin" a journey, took with
bim some money and jewels, and a pet
monkey. He was waylaid, robbed, mur
dered, and buried by a party of assassins.
The monkey witnessed the whole affiir
from, a tree-top, and as soon as the villains
bad departed he went to the nearest police
officer's station, attracted his attention by
his sighs and groans, and finally Jed htm
to the grave of his master. He then en
abled the officer to recover the stolen prop
erty from the place where it had. been
concealed, and then went to the bazar and
picked out the murderers, one Dy one,
hnlr?inr tlipm Kir ihm lr until ftecnrsd. .
uw.u.up . j -1 .
They have "confessed the crime and are
held for trial.
"Do you make any redaction to a min
ister?" said a young woman at Boston, last
week, to a salesman with whom she was
talking about buying a sewipg machine.
"Always; are you a minister s wiier "U,
no: I'm not married,"&aid the lady, blush?-
ing. ".uaugnicr, tnenc "no. xae
salesman looked puzzled "I'm engaced
to a theological student," said she. The
reduction was made.
Mrs, Brown's pretty Irish waitress got
married the other day. "1 beajatyou
are going to Australia with yotirmisband,
Kitty." said her mistress.. "Are you not
afraid ol such a long dangerous voyage?"
"Well, ma'am, that is'his look out I be
long to him now, and if any thing happens
to me, sure it 11 be his loss, pot mine."
An iznorant housemaid, who had to call
a gentleman to dinner, found him engaged
in using a tooth-brush. "Well, is he com
ing?" said the lady of the house, when the
servant returned. "Yes, ma'am, directly,"
was the reply; "he's jist sharpening his
teeth.
An Illinoisan who jocularly applied his
tongue to an iron fence is wailing for the
spring thaw. ,2a
Dark. A nigger in a coal tniuS?