734 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. NOV. 40 
much interested In his stable and pack of hounds. 
The younger ladles wondered what he would bo 
like, and which among them would be the happy 
one chosen as queen ol Qarswood. 
He must marry; that was very certain—ho 
could not live alone at such a place as uarswood 
The matrons looked mysteriously at each other, 
and said that. It was to be hoped he would settle 
soon; It was so much better for a man to marry 
young. Sir Owen hlruHOlf mule inquiries about 
the talrcr portion of the population. 
”Have you any pretty girls In this part o f the 
world?" ho asked one day of Captain Hill, the 
sporting man pur excellence u( the neighborhood. 
« I believe so,” he replied— “ I have heard peo¬ 
ple say so. It Is not. In my line, yuu understand. ’ 
"ExicUy. Well, It Is In mine —and a very 
pleasant line I llud It. The only thing 1 dreaded 
In coming hither waa that I should find nothing 
but rustic beauty of the milkmaid sort. I have a 
docldod distaste for It; and the fact of the matter 
Is, I am looking out for a beaut.irul wife." 
"It is a very sensible thing to do," said Cap¬ 
tain Hill. 
*• it is all very well," continued Sir Owen, “ for 
philosophers to say there la nothing In beauty. 
That Is all a mistake; every woman ought to be 
beautiful. 1 will go so far as this—l would ratlur 
marry a woman with great beauty and a thou¬ 
sand rauits than a plain woman with the virtues 
of an angel. I like something ploa.sant to look 
at." 
And these lieis of the millionaire were soon 
known throughout the neighborhood. Beauty 
waBata premium; the plain faces gavo up the 
contest. 
8lr Owen Chevenlx very soon became tbe great 
man ot the county. He did not like Oldstone, but 
he did like Lllford; be had little patience with 
the gentry, but he liked the sporting Bqulres. He 
was so lavish In his orders, so extravagant In hlB 
expenditure, that the tradesmen or Lllford look¬ 
ed upon him as an especial gift of Providence, 
while bis coming Beernod to have given Tresh life 
to the. county. 
When the month of blossoms came round, Sir 
Owen was quite settled at Garawood. He had 
won golden opinions by not going up to town for 
the season. Now that he was a landed proprie¬ 
tor, ho declared his intention of remaining on 
his land. 
He had already attended one or two meetings 
of different kinds at Lllford, and he received an 
Invitation from Doctor Hunter, the vicar, to 
attend the annual festival of the sonool-chlldren, 
held al ways In the month of May. At first, he had 
laid It contemptuously aside. What had he, the 
sporting Baronet, as he liked to hear hlmseif 
called, to do with school-children? lie sent a 
check which caused the good Vicar to open his 
eyes. Then, some one having said that all the 
elite of the neighborhood attended the /etc, he 
went. 
In a field near the Vicarage the school-children 
played to their hearts’ content; while in the 
Vicarage grounds the Mia enjoyed themselves In 
quieter fashion. Tbe military band from Old- 
stone was there, pretty white tents were erected, 
there were croquet and lawn-tennis, quadrilles 
for those who liked dancing, and archery for 
those who enjoyed shootlug. Sir Owen Chevenlx, 
having heard that all the pretty girls In the 
neighborhood would he there, decided on going 
himself. No one but Doctor and Mrs. lluator 
know ot bis intention, and they had kept it a 
Becret, Intending to surprise their guest3. As a 
matter of course, b jautlful Violet llaye was to be 
there. Evelyn Loiter had been Invited, and the 
vicar had discussed with hla wife the advisability 
of sending an Invitation to B 'ellx Lonsdale. 
" There IB a black mark against the whole 
family," said the Vicar, who forgot at times that 
his Gospel wa3 the Gospel of Peace, and thought 
more of Justice than mercy. •* 1 do not say that 
Darcy Lonsdale was guilty of that which was 
laid t> his charge, but Micro Is a mark ftgftlnBt 
him." 
"Against, the father, David, but not the son,” 
corrected his wife. 
" You might ns well try to distinguish between 
husband and wife as between father and son,’’ 
rejoined the Vicar. 
"There 13another thing," said the diplomatic 
lady; "wo must ask violet llaye. Bhe Is, In 
truth, the greatest attraction we shall have to 
oiler, and, as they are lovers, 1 do not quite see 
how they can be parted on such an occasion." 
"I shall dolt against my will," remarked the 
vicar. 
•• well, that Is far better than not doing It. at 
all," replied Mrs. Hunter. " It will be a kind of 
test; If we see that people seem shy of Felix 
Lonsdale, we must not ask him again.” 
So Felix received an invitation. If he had 
known how and why it was given to him, he 
would have placed ll uuder his heel and have 
gone twenty miles In an opposite direction; as It 
was, lc gave him unbounded pleasure, lie was 
to meet Violet; he would spend a whole half-day 
with her; he would see her beauttlul and ati- 
mlred, yet with the proud consciousness that she 
was his—all his—his promised wife; and when ho 
reached that polut In his reflections he remem¬ 
bered how she had ratsod her face to his with tl%i 
laughing words, ”1 have not quite promised.” 
Still that meant nothing; there was no truth so 
sure as violet’s. 
The prospector that one day to be spent with 
her delighted him. lie sat up the greater part ot 
the night, so that by his unusual holiday business 
might not suffer. It seemed to btm tho time 
would never como wheu he would meet violet. 
Nor had the beautiful Violet Uaye been un¬ 
mindful ‘ t t he comlug/efe. Her father had look¬ 
ed grave over the tnUllner’3 bill when It was 
glveu to him ; but Violet, had determined to be 
queen of the/ete. Mrs. Brownson, Mrs. Uaulders 
and Miss Stanley would certainly be there, per¬ 
haps even Lady Batle, and site must be dressed 
suitably to meet these potentates. 
A beautiful costume of white muslin, rich lace 
and blue ribbons was provided, with a wonderful 
little hat that, seemed to be made of feathers; 
and violet decided that she had never looked so 
well before. HUe pictured to beiself nu easy sov¬ 
ereignty. Kvc Lester was the ouly one she fear¬ 
ed ; but then Eve waa never given to dress and 
flirtation. 
The month of May had never set In more beau¬ 
tifully. The world waa all thrilling with new 
life, the green leaves wore springing on t he trees, 
the hedges pink and white wi ll hawthorn, the 
vloKtB nestling In the fields, the primroses grow¬ 
ing In groat golden clusters at the foot of the 
trees; the air was fragrant with the odor ot a 
thousand sweet (lowers, all nature glad and 
bright. To be tn the midst ot all this beauty, 
and with Violet, was something for Felix to 
dream of. 
Lovely laughing May had given her fairest 
hours for the fete; every one was full of con¬ 
gratulations —tbe sunshine, the music, every¬ 
thing was so beautiful. Felix saw nothing but, 
the bright face ot bis love. They walked over 
the smooth green lawns together; and then vio¬ 
let, turning suddenly to her lover, Raid: 
“Have you heard all the wonderful stories 
about the now-comer, Sir Owen Chevenlx?" 
"1 find but little time for gossip.” he replied; 
"still I have heard that he la wealthy, and likes 
to spend bin money freely." 
Violet's face had quite a light upon It as she 
continued: 
" People say that, his plate la superb. Felix, I 
should like to eat my dinner off a golden plate.” 
"It, would be no better for that., Violet,” he re¬ 
plied. loDglng wtth all his heart to be able to 
make hersucli a present. "You know tbo say- 
iDg about tbe dish of herbs 7" 
“Yes, 1 know It, but 1 do not believe In It- 
How wonderful it must be, Felix, to live In such 
a grand bouse, to have so much money and so 
many luxuries I" 
" I know something that I would rather have 
than all Sir Owen’s luxuries,” said Felix. 
" What. 1 h It 7” she asked eagerly. 
" Your love, Violet." And she knew that he 
meant what he said.—[To be continued. 
- 4 ♦ ♦- 
MRS. PURDY'S PARQUISITES. 
One day, some time since, we were summoned 
to the parlor to see a visitor who had sent up 
neither card nor name. As we entered the room, 
an under-sized, wiry, active, elderly, qualnt- 
looklng woman rose to greet us. We were struck 
at slgnt with tlie brightness ol her dark, hand- 
Bome eyes, and the russet redness of her tliln, 
brown cheeks. Her dress was of calico, starched 
and ironed to a miracle, and she wore an In¬ 
describable air of independent out-of-faslilon- 
ness, which took our fancy at the start. 
She wub living on a ranch not a verv great dis¬ 
tance from Han Francisco. She was born In Eng¬ 
land, had come over to this country In her girl¬ 
hood, had spent some years In Connecticut, had 
married In Pennsylvania, had tried her fortunes 
In the Weet, and had finally drifted to California 
—allot which we learned In the course of after 
conversation, and noted that her speech bore 
evidence of her wanderings. 
She stood tor a moment confronting us, while 
she darted forth a keen look from under the groat 
round hat, which was tied down, Canada-fushlon, 
at the ears and projected Immensely foie and aft.. 
“ Be you the woman that writes In th c. Pacific V' 
“ I take charge of a column tn the Pacific , for 
the Woman's Board. Won’t, you sit down 7” The 
interview promised to be interesting. 
She dropped suddenly Into her chair, and re¬ 
vealed as sue did so, a good-sized covered basket 
which stood by her side. 
" Wall, now, 1 am mighty glad I have found 
you I My old man he takes tue Pacific, belD’ 
brought up a Congregational, and I read It for 
my Sunday readin’—leastways your part of it I 
partlkelar, and very ort.en permlskus, too. Ho I j 
fell, kind o’ ’qualated with you like, and thinks 1 
to myself the very fust time I go to fean Francls- 
ker I'll take a run over 10 Uoakland and see If I 
can make her out.” 
“ I am very glad to see you; very glad you like 
our column so wen; we want all our friends to 
like It.” 
“ Wall, when you first begun that, column all 
about the missionaries and slcU, It kind o’ took 
me, and I determined I would do all I could to 
raise a little money. I’ve knocked round this 
world consldcr’ble myself, though not doin’ It for 
the hoathen, which ain’t saytu’ 1 halu’t never 
round none, and that ain’t neither here nor there, 
but 1 know by my own reelln's what It. Is to be in 
a strange country and everything queer and 
bornestokUke, let alone tbe language, which must, 
be powerful discouragin’, specially If ft body’s 
hard to learn, which l don’t s’pose the mlsslo - 
arlcs Is, but some on ’em may be. We Uve on a 
ranch here-a-ways (with a Jerk of the head), and 
my old man he’s toler’ble close, and no wonder, 
bein’ we’ve twice been burnt out and halu’t no 
children to look after us blmeby and old age a- 
oomtu’, it wc live, and our sheep djln’ off the last, 
year or two "—and she made a sudden Ualt, look¬ 
ing at us Intently. 
Here was evidently a warm heart—one that 
had learned sympathy for others by li»own ex¬ 
perience; one that was too loyal, likewise, to 
cast reflections on any ene else in doing Its duty. 
"I dure say,” we replied, seeing that a reply 
was expected, and not knowing very well what 
else to say. 
“ Wall;" she resumed. In a tone of good-natured 
toleration, “ 1 know he had enough to see aider, 
and so i determined to raise wnao money I could 
myself and give hltu no trouble about It. And, of 
course, I makes my own butter; so arter that, 
when I churned, 1 puis away a little In a mission¬ 
ary Jar, which l called Mexico, and we neither on 
us never missed It, and arter a while Mexico was 
full of butter and we no wuss off; and blmeby I 
sold It and Y>ut away the money. Says I to my¬ 
self"—and a smile came Into her eyes—" That’s 
my parqutsltles. Everybody lias parqutsltles In 
these days, and why should not 1 ?" 
"It was all the same about eggs, for or course 
we lays our own eggs; and Bays I to myself, 
'Now sliHil r parqulslte two eggs out of every 
dozen or two lay tn’hens?' which t concluded to 
pre-empt t wo young layln’ hem, me namin’ ’em 
‘Japan’and 'Turkey;' and bein’ lonely-ilka out 
there on the raucb and no one to talk to, I con- 
varsed with them, as If they was folks; and 1 de¬ 
clare fort, 1 raly think they understood me, for 
arter I had told ’em two or three limes that they 
was parqulslte hens and must lay accordin’, and 
shouldn’t ha ve no excuse 'bout grain and gravel, 
’cause I would give ’em plenty or both, them two 
hens went to layln' to that degree that 1 couldn’t 
have done better myself, and they euucut-oa-da- 
cul-ed me out to them nests that much and that 
reg’lar that Itrcely seemed as It they had mission¬ 
ary on the brain, and they laid mo forty dozen of 
egg 3 , did Japan and Turkey laBt year, and 1 got 
two bus a dezeb for ’em all round, which was 
pretty good parq ilsltln' for two—hens, and the 
money put away with the fust, do you see?" and 
shecamo to tho usual sudden slop, and waited for 
us to speak. 
"Certainly. What wonderful hens you must 
have I" 
"Y'es, that was pretty good. And then there 
was my calf, which my huoband belu’ so keen for 
money ot course we do?sn t, eat our calves but 
sells ’em. And one of our c.ows she dropped a 
cair that was a poor, puny lit tlo creator, and the 
butcher he wouldn’t give nothin’ for It, and my 
husband lie said It. would cost more’n It would 
como to to r.»tse It, and he was for knockin’ It on 
the head and sailin’ tbe pelt, wbtcu I begged him 
agin It, and said I would raise It on skim milk, 
which wasn’t good for nothin* to nobody, If he 
would let mo have it, and be said I might. If I 
wanted to, and was a great fool for my pains. Ho 
I took U, and the ralna came on and I went mis¬ 
sionary In’out to the shed every mornln’ and every' 
evenin’, and hit milk to carry to It, which It a’ 
most sucked the end ot my finger off, lamin’ to 
feed, and wet my feet, and slipped down Into 
puddles, and got rained on tremendous, and had 
the rheumatlz dreadful, me foelln’ afraid all the 
time I shouldn’t make nothin’ of her, but deter¬ 
mined to try, and after some months of such 
work she took a start. 
"And th© way that calf grow’d when she set 
about It. beat, all you ever see, besides maklT me 
into a Woman's Rights woman, which I have be¬ 
lieved In ever sence, and shall as long as 1 am In 
this world and tho next, too, If the men have all 
the say there as they in here, which I don’t be¬ 
lieve; and my calf, I named her • Parqulslte,’and 
shortened her Into 4 Paikle,’ and she grow’d Into 
a handsome heifer and begun to knoh out on the 
forehead, and me a tellin’ her how good lookin’ 
Bhe was getttn’, and she a lookin’ at me kind o’ 
cur’us like as If she was a thlnkio’ on It. over, and 
a runnln’ arter m© whenever 1 came where she 
was, and a rubbln’ her nose on my Bboulder, and 
me a tellin’ her how much butter she would be 
glvln’ me blmeby, and what a stlddy htneomo Bhe 
would bo for the missionaries, and one day a man 
rode up to the door and Jumped down from ms 
horse. 
“Wall, my husband he took him all over the 
ranch, and ho looked at the wheat and the vine¬ 
yard and the fruit and the stock, and they looked 
at Parklo a long time and seemed to be talkin’ 
her over, and 1 waB awful proud (great fool!), 
'cause I thought they was admirin’ her. Then 
the man he staid outside and my husband he 
come In and went, through tue kitchen where I 
was, and says he, carelcss-lIke, ‘I'm tblnkln'of 
selling the young heifer.’ * What young heifer?’ 
says I, never thlnkln’ of nothin’, and says he, 
kind o' Bharp-llke, 'The calf;' and says I, jump¬ 
in' up, ‘ What, my calf 7’ and says he, mighty 
scornful, ‘Your call! It’s my calf I’d have you to 
knowl’ and then he went out to t he man agin. 
" I sot right down and burst out cryln’. My 
husband Is awful sot when he Is sot, and I knew 
It wasn’t no use to say nothin’, and 1 Just cried 
like a great baby, and with tears all runnln’ 
down l watched the man drive away rny Darkle, 
and she a bangin’ back and he a wblppln’ her, 
and sbe never was struck before )p her life; and 
Just then my husband came In, and tays he, ub if 
be was a makln’ up lor all, ‘Y'ou can have ten 
dollars of the money, II you want It,’ and that 
made me mad. I didn’t ssy nothin’, but I Just 
looked at him, and he didn’t have no call to stay 
In that kitchen ihe rest cl that day, I tell you; 
and I took on two or three days all by myself, 
and got mad every lime be spoke or came near 
And one day as 1 sot by the kitchen table, with 
ray woi k done up nud a clean apron on, he walked 
In and threw a ten-dollar piece into my lap, and 
says he, ‘There is the money I promlRPd you, 
which 1 caught and threw right back at him Just 
as hard as 1 could, and It hit him and fell oil the 
floor, and he laughed and went out rnilkln.’ 
“ By that time I had got to bo awful wicked, 
and sot. thlnkln’ to myself about Saint Paul, and 
now no r vya Sarah obeyed Abraham, calling him 
lord, and r liatn't. had no patience with s um Paul 
ever si nee. We get the other side ot that story 
in the Old Testament, which It. Is pretty easy 
seen how Abraham had to give up to Sarah and 
let her have her own way, and wbul would she 
have s ild If he hau gone and sold tier pet camel 1 
should like to know? 
“ Wall, the money laid on llifl floor three days 
and me a s weep]ri’ around It, and lb seemed as If 
I couldn't tech U, which at 1 ist l made mj self go 
and pick It up uud put It with the rest, ot my par¬ 
qulslte money, and me a blubberin’ while 1 did It; 
and ma; bo It won't do no good t o tho mission tries 
on account Of so behavin', which 1 did ask the 
Lord’s pardon for gullin' mad over It, aud hope to 
be forgiven. But all along ot that calf t shall al¬ 
ways believe In Woman's rights, leastways In 
Woman’s wrongs, ana all the old bachelors may 
preach till they are black and blue. And Saint 
Paul never was a married woman, and never had 
no Idea what they have to put up with, and 
never brought, up a calt neither, not as 1 ever 
heard of—did you?” and a smile spread over the 
worn, rugged face. 
"No. 1 cannot say that I ever did," I replied, 
6mtllng back. 
"And here 13 the money," she said, suddenly 
producing her purse; “and I hope you won’t re¬ 
fuse'cause I acted so. And If you have a mind 
to make me a life member with U there will be 
some to spare," and she placed In my hand thirty 
dollars in three shining gold pieces, the fruit of 
how much toll, self-denial and pain I “Aud," 
said she, sinking her votoe, and Bwlftly lifting up 
and uncovering her basket, “ I want, to know 
whether missionaries like hard-b’iled eggs? I 
have brought some down, and If you think them 
three lady miarlouarlos would like'em, t want 
you to send ’e a to 'em. They’ll keep, for 1 b'llPd 
'em myself fifteen minutes by the clock, and It. 
would please Jap and Turkey most partlkelar If 
they could urulerat,and, and I shall tell ’em, and 
they're all I’ve got now to talk to. butter not 
bein’ allve-llke, anil Parkta bulng took away. 
And If I should tell ’em that thoir owu eggs 
which they’ve cackled over is hard b’Ued and 
sent to the lady missionaries, it would encourage 
’em like in ybo, which, If you can’t, send ’em to 
heathen lands, p’riaps the Board would like ’em, 
leastways the yelks, as many does who won't eat 
the whites." 
As she spoke she rapidly emptied her basket on 
tho table noar, and hurried away, leaving me 
gazing lua half d tzad coudltlou at the pile of 
hard boiled eggs, while 1 held the sbinlDg eagles, 
her generous donation, clasped stupidly In my 
hand .—San Francisco Pacific. 
MAGAZINES. 
Scribner for Novkmbkr. — The most note¬ 
worthy feature In Scribner for November is the 
beginning of Haworth’s, the new novel by Mrs. 
Burnett, author of That Lass o' Lowrle’s, the 
serial publication to continue throughout the 
magazine year, which begins with this number. 
The opening scone of this story la an English 
foundry, and the raugo ot characters Introduced 
promlhoa to bo wide and varied. The story Is 
sufficiently picturesque to admit ot four Illustra¬ 
tions each month, two ot which are to bo by Mr. 
Bolles, and two by Mr. Dlelman. 
The publishers announce that during the com¬ 
ing year there will bo four frontispieces (a feature 
Introduced into "holiday numbers ” only). These 
will ho portraits of eminent American poets, to 
be drawn by Wyatt Eaton and engraved by T. 
Cole (from whose hands came tho Lincoln and 
Bryant portraits), and in pursuance of t hla plan, 
the first one -or Mr. Longfellow—Is given in the 
November number, accompanied by a lull critical 
and biographical sketch, by R. II. Stoddard, with 
Illustrations or the poet's study, drawing-room, 
"the old clock on the stairs,” the lawn, Charles 
River, etc., by Swain Gifford and Francis Latlirop. 
Another paper on a popular subject is A Night 
with Edison, by William U. Bishop. 
Johnny Reb at Play Is the first of several papers 
by an ex-Confederate soldier, Mr. A. Redwood, 
upon Interesting phases of life In the Southern 
army. Mr. Redwood Is his own artist, and draws 
for nia rollicking paper pictures of regiments 
nnow-balllng, the Klmbomtklu, .lining the Caval¬ 
ry, Wearing a Kuntedertt Watch, etc. The next 
paper will show the heroic and pathetic Bide of 
this life. 
The Sp.dltng-Beo at Angel’s, by Bret Uarte, Is 
reported by Truthful James In the style of tho 
author’s early metrical successes. 
There Is also a paper on the Picturesque Aspects 
of Farm Life In Now York, by John Burroughs, 
who can farm as well as write. 
A Wind-Storm In the Forests of the Yuba Is by 
John Muir, who took his notos from the top of a 
spruce-tree during the terrific gale. 
The illustrated material is completed by a paper 
on CUambly Fort, on the Richelieu River, by 
Henry 8 andham, the Canadian artist. 
The uulllustratod papers also cover a wide field. 
A Modem Playwright, by J. D. Osborne, la a 
sket-ch of the oddities and experiences of Eugene 
Scribe, anti re 11 cots muchot interest concerning 
the French stage and Its best playwrights and 
actors, Including anecdotes of the dramatic meth¬ 
ods of Rachel and Klatorl. 
Our Patent System and What wo Owo to It, by 
James Richardson, Is an effort to answer every 
objection yet urged to this system, which the 
author thinks will he put in Jeopardy during the 
coming session of Congress. Tho Idea that Inven¬ 
tions are Inimical to workingmen Is Incidentally 
discussed. 
Tue Apparition of Jo.Murch, by Noah Brooks, 
13 an original and laughable addition to tramp 
literature. 
Piraeus and Parsons, by Edward Eggleston, 1 b 
a collectlo.L of humorous anecdotes for readers 
lay and clerical. 
Mr. Boyesjii’s F dconberg reicbea a fourth in¬ 
stallment, 
Tn- poetry of iho number includes a sonnet on 
Beethoven by Celia Thaxter, tour songs by one of 
the two young Ooodalo Bisters (nor, however, ac¬ 
cepted on account of thn youth ot the writer), and 
The Poet’B Fame, by B. W. Gilder. 
In (lie Departments, Dr. Holland writes of tho 
progress of the Magazine (now entering upon Its 
ninth year), of Greenbacks and Groan People, and 
of Theodore Thomas. Homo and Society contains 
tim first, of several papere on Hints to Young 
Housekeepers, by Mrs. 8. W. oakoy, and Green 
Autumnal Foliage, by Samuel Parsons, and taken 
note ot Hlr Henry Cole’s suggestion ot a College 
of Domestic Economy. Tbe review of Mr. Adams's 
book on railroads Is a resume of Mutt timely anil 
Important volume. The World's Work contains 
a full review of Progress In Electric Lighting, 
with an announcement tbator ll? new Inventions 
described In that department, 5T are known to 
have gone Into active use. Brlc-a-Brac Is crowd- 
