tle model of his
statue, done in plaster, and offering in miniature the idea of what his
work was to be. "What do you think of the likeness?" he inquired of the
widow.

"It seems to me a little flattered; my husband was all very well, no
doubt; but you are making him an Apollo!"

"Really? well, then, I can correct my work by the portrait."

"Don't take the trouble--a little more, or a little less like, what does
it matter?"

"Excuse me, but I am particular about likenesses."

"If you absolutely must--"

"It is in the drawing-room, yonder, is it not? I'll go in there."

"It is not there any longer," replied the widow, ringing the bell.

"Baptiste," said she to the servant who came in, "bring down the
portrait of your master."

"The portrait that you sent up to the garret last week, madam?"

"Yes."

At this moment the door opened, and a young man of distinguished air
entered; his manners were easy and familiar; he kissed the fair widow's
hand, and tenderly inquired after her health. "Who in the world is this
good man in plaster?" asked he, pointing with his finger to the
statuette, which the artist had placed upon the mantel-piece.

"It is the model of a statue for my husband's tomb."

"You are having a statue of him made? The devil! It's very majestic!"

"Do you think so?"

"It is only great men who are thus cut out of marble, and at full
length; it seems to me, too, that the deceased was a very ordinary
personage."

"In fact, his bust would be sufficient."

"Just as you please, madam," said the sculptor.

"Well, let it be a bust, then; that's determined!"

Two months later, the artist, carrying home the bust, encountered on the
stairs a merry party. The widow, giving her hand to the elegant dandy
who had caused the statue of the deceased to be cut down, was on her way
to the mayor's office, where she was about to take a second oath of
conjugal fidelity. If the bust had not been completed, it would
willingly have been dispensed with. When, some time later, the artist
called for his money, there was an outcry about the price; and it
required very little less than a threat of legal proceedings, before the
widow, consoled and remarried, concluded by resigning herself to pay for
this funeral homage, reduced as it was, to the memory of her departed
husband.

A NEW SERIES OF TALES BY MISS MARTINEAU.

There is scarcely in English literature a collection of tales by a
simple writer that are be