The New Bloomfield, Pa. times. (New Bloomfield, Pa.) 1877-188?, 1881-09-27
do not know who this Miss Rosey

"Sho's death, sab. Nebber heered
bout her 'cep' dat onct, and do know
no more bout her dan de man in de
moon-ef dar is any man up dar," he
added, meditatively.
Passing over this astronomical point,
1 inquired the name of the artist who
had painted the picture.
"His name2 Well, done enemost
forgot 1t. He came roun' to my cabin
onct an made pictur' o. my pigs and
chickens. Say, Clo," he called, to his
wife" say, ole woman wot de name
o. dat gen 'leman come to my cabin onct
and took my pigs and chickens ?''
"Nebber heer o. no gen 'leman stealth,
yo' pigs an chickens" responded Chloe
with dignity.
"Oh, sho! You knows we'll nuff wot
1 means" returned the master of the
house impatiently.
EFF you meens de gentlemen wot
painted your stock" retorted Chloe
with strong emphasis, and an air of in
finite superiority " his name was Roos-
ter.''
Rooster ?" L repeated, vainly search
ing my memory for the name of some
artist resembling this euphonious appel
lation.
Suddenly light flashed upon me.
Z" Was it Royster ?'
Jes so, sar-jes sol OATS de berry
name l''--and Dorkey cast triumphant
glance at his mortified better-half. 'She
think she mighty smart woman, sar,"
he whispered, shut she don't know eb'ry-
Ting. He, he!"
Leaving them to settle this difference
of opinion as they might, and declining
the hospitable offer of watermelon,
while slipped something into Chole's
hand as soother of her wounded feel
ings, returned to my tavern-lodgings
1t was sunset and they were milking
the cows in the little meadow patch
through which my path lay, and L
caught sight of Miss Mandy leaning
penslvely on the rail-fence, with bunch
of flowers in her hand, which L felt
sure were intended for me. Fortunately
she had not perceived me, and evaded
the snare and slipped through the
orchard unobserved.
That night wrote to Mr.. Guy Roy
ster, artist, and in precisely ten days
therefrom received his answer.
My letter, he said, had followed him
about in his autumnal wanderings
among the Virginia mountains, which
accounted for the delay in answering
The picture regarding which / inquired
had been copied by himself, some four
or five years previous, from an original
portrait, belonging to Mr.. Davis, at
whose inn he was at that time staying.
Mr.. Davis had allowed him to keep the
original, which was the work of his old
friend and preceptor, distinguished
artist. 1t was portrait of a member of
the Tyrell family, of Marsden county.
This was in brief all that he could tell
me in regard to the picture in which L
took so much interest.
The Tyrells, of Marsden county,
The words seemed to present so direct
clue that, with sort of romantic en-
thusiasm, at which have since marvel
ed, resolved to follow it up. 1t was
but ride of forty miles to Marsden
county-a region famous for partridge
shooting and on this pretext / went
thither.
1t was easy to find the old family seat
of. the Tyrells-grand-looking still,
though the picture of neglect and decay.
A few of the old slaves still clung to the
place, and spoke with affectionate pride
and regret of their former owners, who
had all passed away.
Twenty years ago, they said, there had
been old massa and missis, and young
Marse Harry, and Miss Lilly and Miss
Lucia. Miss Lilly married and went
North, where she died of grief for the
loss of her husband. Next Miss Lucia
died in New Orleans of yellow fever,and
and old massa and missis soon followed.
Marse Harry had been wild-like, and
never lived on the plantation; and it
was now hardly month since they had
heard of his death and what was going
to happen next, or who the place was
now to belong to. they could not tell
" What became of Miss RoseyY" /
said, at venture.
" Miss Roseys Oh, you means Missis
Browns darter-Missis Brown as was
housekeeper to ole missus. Well, she
and her mother lived here till Marse