The Russellville Democrat., 1880-05-13
WANTED.


 Martie Woodbridge-her name was Martha, but no one called her so-lived on the outskirts of a small village.
 Her father was farmer, but not a prosperous one. Nature, with her frosts and draughts, was always getting the upper hand of him, and the crops which he raised were sure to be those which brought the lowest price in the market. The canker worm stripped his apple tree, and late frost bl1ghted the corn and oats. He had the misfortune to buy COW which introduced the cattle dis ease into the farm-yard, and Creamer, Spotty and Whiteface-the three cows Chat always filled their pails the fullest end made the most golden butter-sick- sned and died.
 This was the question which Martie puzzeled over from day to day, coming at last to the conclusion that she must try her luck in the big world which she had seen so little of outside of her own small village. She would go to London, and, if possible, find there situation as governess, in which she could at least provide for her own support.
 Her mother let fall few quiet tears ever the plan, and smiling patiently through them said:
 Ask your father"
 Mir Woodbridge said 'sNo" at first; but having lain awake all night over his difficulties, he called Martie to him, kissed her solemnly, g,ve weary sigh, and with it his consent.
 So it came to pass that on cool. crisp October morning, when the woods were at their brightest autumn flush, and the frost had stiffened the grass into little silvery blades and spears, and made the few pale flowers that fingered by the roadside hang their heads, Martie put on her bravest smile, made hopeful, con- forting little speeches, kissed them all good bye at home-the dear old home, so full of joys and troubles-and started for London, to put into that great, hur- rying, driving, jostling market the modest wares she had to offer.
 Martie was eager and full of hope; but alasl how much eagerness and hopeful ness go down to death every day, in the frantic rush and scramble for the good things gong. Martie in the great city, looking for work to do, seemed like quIet little wren trying to pick up worm or crumb where hawks and vul- lures were snatching and clawing for plunder.
 Matte was met the moment she step ped from the train by an old friend of the family, who had kindly promised to receive her at her house, and do what she could to assist her. #f
 The next day, early in the morning, modest, unpretending little advertise ment was sent to one of the daily, news papers. What stupendous affair it seemed to Martie, and how her unsoph- isticated little heart beat at the thought of il Nothing could come of it that day, however; and while she goes out with Mrs. Allen to do little shopping, and stare at few of the city lions, let us take look at the quarters she has fallen into.
 Mrs. Allen kept small private lodg- ing-house, very select and very genteel. Its inmates were the learned Prof. Big wig and family, from whose presence certian literary aroma was supposed to pervade the atmosphere; the brilliant Col. Boreas, hero-ascording to his own account-of numberless battles; rising young lawyer, with his pretty, blush- ing girl-wife, all fresh and lovely in her new bridal toilet, rich widow and her still richer daughter, who, it is said, was soon to become the helpmate of the cleri- cal member of the household, the Rev. Paul Apollot; and last, though not least, the representative of the fine arts, Mir. Raymond, an artist, whose pictures had won golden praises from critics and con. noisseurs and gelden prices from pur- chasers.
 Mir. Raymond was Martie's left-hand neighbor at the table. With the first glance at his dark face, iron-gray hair and mustache and deep-set gray eyes, she felt rather inclined to be afraid of him. When he smiled she liked him better, and thought the gray eyes looked kind; and as she felt very shy and lone some among all these strange faces, she was glad to have him talk little to her, and take care that she was provided with all she wanted.
 Ca the second morning after her ar- rival in the city Martie's advertisement appeared. Mrs. Allen sent paper up to her room before she was out of bed, so that almost as soon as her eyes were open she had begun to hope, and to be afraid, and to wonder if, out of so many people who she supposed would come to tee her, any one of them would think well enough of her to want her ser vices.
 Martie was very painstaking with her toilet that morning. She wanted to look her best. She spent twice the usual time over her wavy, gold. brown hair, and she had put on her pretty gray dress--the gray dress for morning, and the black silk for afternoons-and fastened the dainty spotless collar and cuffs, she dallied fully five minutes over her little stock of ribbons, trying this one and that and went down at last to breakfast, looking, to Mr. Raymond's artist eyes, which took her in at glance, like wild rose just out of thicket, with the dewy morning brightness brimming in her brown eyes, the pink of rose petals in her cheeks, and soft, warm, shimmerng sunbeams woven into the ripple of her brown hair. How his artist fingers