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One square, one intcrt.on.........$ One square, each additional insertion. One iqaarc. one jcar...... ...... 10 09 One-fourth column per year........ ...... 30 00 One-third column, per year 40 00 One-half column, per jear......... 60 00 One column, one yrar ....... 100 00 Pot shorter time, at proportionate, raids. One inch 6f pace constitutes a sqnaro. The matter'of yearly advertisehic'nts cVanged quarterly free of charge. For farther particu lar, aaarcs ss Jno. T. Bieeitt Sc Co., PublisH-i. HartfordTKy. Tor The JJartford' Herald. 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" SUBSCRIPTION' RATES. One copy, one year 2 1 0. Ten copies, one year............ 17 00 Twenty copies, one year... JO 00 An additional copy, free of oaarjo, to the getter-up of a club of len or twenty. As we are couyellod by law to p-iy postage in advance on pap rs tent nut-ile of Ohio county, we aro furred to require poyment on sulxeriplions ia adraacr. All papers will he promptly stopped at the expiration of the t'roe auln-rribed t r. All letter. on business must bo addressed to 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?