The artist brought with him a little 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 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, that's--determined!" Two months later, the artist, carrying 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 his 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. RAMBLING RECORDS. THE GENTLE ARLESIANS. **With one exception, however, I gleaned nothing of information that is not already chronicled in the guide-books; and that one piece of information I only set down, because I think it contains a hint that may be made practically useful in certain enterprising circles of New York.