DEC. as 
82S 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER 
Then lie clasped the necklace round the white 
graceful neck; Violet, fastened the brooch her¬ 
self, and he clasped the bracelet on her lovely 
arm. She would rather that he had not done so— 
Felix would not have liked It, she was sure; but 
then the temptation to see herself so decked Just 
for once was irresistible. She had never worn a 
diamond—and these were so gorgeous. 
Very soon he placed her before the great gilt 
mirror, and the crimson sunlight fell full upon 
her, ou the sheen of her golden hair, on the bril¬ 
liant gems, on the face more beautiful than any 
gem. Such a marvelous picture as she made In 
those glittering diamonds Sir Owen told himself 
had never boen seen. Mr. tlaye cried out In 
admiration. 
“She is like the Queen of Sheba," he said. 
“ She is Mirer than any queen,” laughed sir 
Owen. “ You ought to wear diamonds, Miss 
llaye. You were born to wear them. Knowing 
that, and feellug sure how well they would be¬ 
come you, 1 have ventured to buy these for you ; 
will you honor me by accepting them 7” 
But violet drew back from the mirror with a 
pale, seared lace, and a movement so sudden that 
the light In the diamonds was Uke gleams of lire 
scattered over nor. 
“ You bought them for me?” she said. 
“Yes; aud i hope you will honor me by ac¬ 
cepting tuera,” he replied with a low how. 
“ i cannot,' she said fjuletly; “ they are too 
valuable. 1 should never wear them.” 
“ You shall wear them at Court,” he told her— 
“ and no royal Duchess has liner.” 
“Felix Lonsdale would not he willing,” she 
said calmly; “1 eunnot take them*” 
An angry Hush burned his face, a lurid light 
leaped into tils eyes; but a sign from Mrs. llaye 
controlled him. 
“ My daughter Is quite right, Sir Owen. She 
caniiot take these diamonds from you while she 
Is the promised wife of Felix Lonsdale. 1 will 
help you, Violet,” 
The diamonds were taken oil and restored to 
their cases. Mrs, llaye had never acted more 
wisely. Violet would have resented It had they 
been pressed upon her; woman-llke, when they 
were so quietly taken back, she longed for them. 
There was no word spoken as Sir Owea replaced 
the case lu his pocket aud rose to take his leave. 
“I trust 1 have not offended you, Miss Haye,” 
he said, “ by offering you the best tribute 1 could 
think of to prove my admiration I” 
“ Why should I bo offended, Sir Owen? You 
were kind to think or me, but 1—you see, I can¬ 
not take them.” 
“ l will not offend again,” he replied, 
lie shook hands with Francis Haye and his 
wife; he parted from Violet with a how. 
When the door had closed behind him, Francis 
Haye looked at his daughter. 
“ You have refused quite twenty thousand 
pounds,” he said. 
Mrs llaye held up her hand with a warning 
gesture. 
“She has done quite right, Francis. It would 
be absurd for the wife of a poor struggling law¬ 
yer to wear twenty thousand pounds’ worth of 
■j evve ia_more than absurd. Who would make 
puddings aud mend socks clad In such diamonds 
as those ? Let violet be consistent. She prefers 
linsey-woolsey to satin, poverty to riches. It Is 
her own choice—we must not interfere.” 
Violet kissed her mother; but Mrs. Haye felt 
with keen delight that there was little rapture 
in the kiss ; and all the rest of the evening the 
fair face was clouded. 
Another thing happened which annoyed Violet, 
She was walking one day through Ordfleld Lane, 
when she met Lady Rolfe aud her daughter La- 
vlnia. With great cordiality her ladyship stop¬ 
ped to talk to her. 
« will you mind walking on with me. Miss 
Haye?” she sail. “ 1 have often thought that I 
should Uke to chat with you.” 
“1 shall be very pleased,” answered Violet, 
little dreaming of .the mortlhcatlon in store for 
her. 
“I wished to speuk to you when we were at 
Gaiwood,” said Lady Kolfe, “but I found no 
opportunity. 1 think it only my duty, Miss Haye, 
to utter a few words of warning to you about Sir 
OW6j.” 
violet looked up proudly. 
“1 do not think that there Is the least need for 
such words, Lady Loire,” she replied. 
*• 1 am very glad to hear you say so. Sir Owen 
Ohevenix is a wealthy man. 1 do not wish to say 
one unjust word against him, hut I am quite cor¬ 
rect. in slating that ho does not bear one of the 
best reputations; he drinks and—well, he has 
other faults which I must not name to you.” 
“1 do not see how this concerns me,” said 
Violet. 
•• But I do, Miss Haye. Pray listen to me. You 
have a pretty face, aud Sir Owen is always at¬ 
tracted by such. Yours Is not the first by any 
means he has admired.” 
“ i never supposed that It was,” said the gin 
proudly. 
“That 13 light. If you understand the charac¬ 
ter of me man, all is well; but, having a friendly 
Interest in you, 1 wits afraid that his flattery 
might mislead you." 
“if she only knew the truth!” thought violet. 
“ ir she could only guess that I have refused to he 
Lady Ohevenix!" 
“ I am not alone In my Ideas,” continued Lady 
Kolfe. “I heard many ladles at Garawood say 
what a pity It was that no one warned you. This 
Is what 1 want to say to you. Miss Haye—and, 
believe me, real kiudness dictates the words. 
You are engaged to marry a very honorable gen 
tleuian. Even though he be unfortunate, do not 
lose the substance for the shadow; do not give 
him up under the mistaken Impression that Sir 
owun will marry you. The difference in your 
rank and position is too great. He Is simply 
amusing himself with the prettiest face near 
him. Be warned in tune—he wUl flirt with you, 
hut he will never dream of marrying you.” 
“ That. Is your ladyship’s opinion,” said Violet. 
** And the opinion of every one else who knows 
Sir Owen and who knows you,” added Lady 
Rolfe. “I assure you that many ladles have 
spoken to me about It., and have expressed a 
great hope that you would not be misled by Sir 
Owen’s flattery and love ol flirtation.” 
“ If she knew all," thought Violet—” If she did 
but know ! ” And her beautiful face wore such a 
witching smile as she hade Lady Rolfe good 
morning that the keen, worldly woman felt 
alarmed. 
“ She would never look like that, Lavlnla,” she 
cried, “ unless in some way or other she had the 
best of the matter. Surely tt can never be that 
he has asked her to marry him." 
“ My dear mother, Sir Owen may marry just 
whom he pleases. The only fact which Interests 
me Is that he has not asked me to marry him. 
As lor Miss Haye, I am not interested In her, and 
do not care to talk about her.” 
Miss Rolfe dismissed the matter very quickly 
from her mind, but Lady Rolfe pondered It 
deeply. Surely sbe must be mistaken—the best 
match in the county, the most eligible man for 
many miles round, could never be so absurd as 
to throw himself away on a mere nobody like 
Violet Haye, even though she had the face of an 
angel aud the grace of a queen. 
CHAPTER XIX. 
So the decision as to her own future was left 
entirely In violet’s hands. Neither father nor 
mother spoke one word which could Influence 
her, and Felix was so engrossed lu his business 
that lie was but seldom able to see her. Sir 
Owen, on the contrary, always kept himself pres¬ 
ent to her mind. Every day brought hampers, 
parcels of books, everything that could be 
thought of, from the Hal). Every day brought a 
little note begging that she would accent flow¬ 
ers, fruit, or whatever accompanied It. He rode 
over very often himself; he seemed to bring an 
atmosphere of the fashionable world with him; 
he was always full of .spirits, with wonderful 
news to tell. 
violet had been very much annoyed by Lady 
RoKe’s warning—It had turned the balance the 
wrong way. 
“I understand,” she said to herself—”they 
think I am so far beneath Sir Owen that he will 
never deign to marry me. How mistaken they 
are, and now little they know or the real truth l 
How I could surprise them If 1 wished to do so! 
What a triumph and a victory 1 could win over 
them all! How they would wonder to see me 
Lady Chevenix! It ever 1 do become Lady Che- 
venlx, that woman Lady Rolfe shall come no 
more to Garswood.” 
That was the first time she had ever admitted 
to herself that there was an “If” In the matter— 
the first time she had thought of the possibility 
that sbe might eventually be Lady chevenix. 
The temptation was great and subtle; it was 
some time in forcing an entrance Into her heart— 
but, once admitted, it would not leave her. There 
were many excuses for her—there was much that 
pleaded for her—her youth, her love of luxury, 
her dread or poverty, her longing for the bright 
aide of me. The constant dropping of water 
wears away a stone. Such was violet’s case. 
The constant talk of poverty with which her 
mother piled her morning,;iioon and night—tne 
constant praise of Sir Owen, the blank, cool toler¬ 
ation of Felix—the wonder at the riches of the 
one, the pity for the poverty of the other, all in¬ 
fluenced her, until at length a day came when 
her heart opened to the worship or Mammon, 
when love dwindled Into Insignificance by the 
Bide of wealth. The day came when, wearied of 
everything, she went out Into the cool green 
depths of the summer woods and her life, as it, 
were. In her hands. 
She ti led to think of her case as though It were 
that of a stranger— ub though 6he herself had no 
vital concern lu It. On the one side she had to 
suppose that she would prove true to her promise, 
true to her word—that she would marry the man 
whom she really loved—Felix Lonsdale. “Let 
me look at that picture quite calmly first,," she 
said to herseir. She would have to wait ul least 
two or three years longer, and by then the bright¬ 
ness of her beauty would have waned—the spring 
of her youth would have left her. They would be 
years of sor.y discomfort too. Her mother and 
rather would lose all patience; they would be 
, years of constant unpleasantness; Felix too 
would doubtless be always In trouble—and Blie, 
like most of the young, gay, and beautiful, dread¬ 
ed trouble. Taking the marriage at Its best, It 
was a poor one. When she was first engaged to 
Felix Lonsdale, things were quite different. No 
cloud of disgrace hung over his family; he bid 
fair to become a rich man; he had every hope of 
making a beautiful home tor her. Even then it 
was not such a marriage as she with her queenly 
dower of beauty and grace had a right to expect. 
Were she to marry him with his present pros¬ 
pects, what a late would lie before her! Bu.h 
limited means—such genteel poverty ! She shud¬ 
dered as she saw the years stretch themselves out 
before her. She foresaw hard work—the work 
she alsllked most of all, domestic drudgery hard 
fare; no balls, no parties, but little dress, nothing 
but the care of a house—a bare, plain existence 
from which she shrank—no visiting. How people 
would laugh at her! It would be like going out 
of the world at once. But then—and her neart 
grew warm at the thought—she would have Fe¬ 
lix—Felix who loved her so dearly—Follx to 
whom the ground she trod on was sacred! 
She would he with him, and she would have the 
happy consciousness of having done what was 
right; she would have done her duty, aud she 
might be happy aft er all. 
Then came the other side of the picture—and 
.the girl's brain whirled as she tried to under¬ 
stand tt, tried to realize it. It she married Sir 
Owen, she would bo mistress of all his grandeur, 
of the suberb grounds, the gorgeous pictures, the 
wonders of sliver and gold; they would he hers 
to use when sue liked and how she liked. She 
would be Lady Chevenix, patroness of halls, 
queen of the county; she would be able to 
patronize Lady Rolfe In her turn, to punish those 
who had dared to think she required warning; 
she could have dresses such as she had not 
dreamed ol; she would be great,, wealthy and 
powerful. Butjthere would be no Felix with all 
this; she would have to give him up, and she 
would live the remainder of her life with a sense 
of having acted unfairly—of having betrayed 
siicli love and faith as were given to few women. 
These were the two paths that lay so clearly 
and so distinctly mapped out before her. In her 
heart she loved Felix—and she knew It; hut that 
same heart longed for wealth and luxuries such 
as Felix could never give her—that same heart 
recoiled rrorn the poverty, the struggles, the 
hard work, the economy, the dally cares that 
must attend her as the wife of Felix Lonsdale. 
She disliked all such; she remembered how- 
even when things looked brightest, she had stood 
In the house that had belonged to the Hender¬ 
sons, wonderlug wuat her life would be like 
there, and recalled the curious seusatlon that 
had come over her of there not belDg enough 
there to till her life. Then she laughed a little 
bitter laugh as she flung away the wlld-flo wers 
that she was holding. 
“ I have a desire to he rich,” she said, “ but 
none to he noble, i am not noble, I see the 
right and honorable path, but I have not the 
strength to follow It. 1 hate myself for being 
what I am, hut I cannot change.” 
She made no false excuses to herself; she gave 
no high-flown name to the sin she was about to 
commit. Mammon tempted her, and she fell; 
the spirit of the world, the pride of life, the love 
of riches had all entered her soul, and taken 
possession of It. She did not disguise from herself 
what she was doing when she deliberately re¬ 
solved to break her plighted word—to give up her 
lover and marry Sir Owen. 
Her tempt ations had been many and great— 
they had been continual, they had been hard to 
resist; but that was no excuse. She knew that 
she was committing a double sin; she was prov¬ 
ing false to the one man whom she really loved 
to marry one whom she did not love at aU. 
“ It Is a double sin," she said to herself, “ but I 
cannot help It—I could not go through a life of 
drudgery and poverty. Felix will hate me, hut In 
after years he will know that my decision was 
wise.” 
So she thought and mused, dreaming In the 
sweet shade or the summer woods of the gorgeous 
luture that would be hers if she married Sir 
Owen. Presently her mood changed and her eyes 
fllled with passionate tears as she thought of 
Felix. 
“1 love Felix,” she cried. ” Why can he not 
have Garswood ? Why must he he poor and ob¬ 
scure while Owen Ohevenix revels in wealth? It 
is not fair.” 
She had love and wealth both before her, yet 
she had deliberately given up love aud had chosen 
wealth. She made no effort to Justify herself In 
her own eyes. 
“Those diamonds were too muehforme," she 
said. “I cannot help It If 1 am not noble by 
nature.” 
Yet, when she had left the woods, and walked 
home through the meadows, something was gone 
from the sunlight, something from the song of 
the birds, which was never to be there again for 
her. She walked as one over whom a shadow 
lies. She had Joined hands with sin—and sin is 
never a cheerful companion. The flowers and 
the trees, the color of the grass, had lost their 
charms for her—there; was a dark shade over 
everything. 
“Will It always he like this?” she thought. 
“If It Is, 1 shall not And my future very bright.” 
Then the girl’s heart misgave her. As she 
looked round, everything reminded her of Felix. 
She had walked with him down those groves, she 
had lingered with him by that stile and under 
those trees; he had been so much part of her 
life that she could not picture life without him. 
“How shall I live without him?” she said, 
it how shall 1 spend the days, the years without 
him 7" Then she tried to harden her heart. 
*• People cannot live on love and poetry,” she 
told herself; “If they could, all would be well.” 
That same evening she sahl to Mrs. Haye— 
“Mamma, I have been thinking It will bebet- 
ter for Felix and myseLf to part. 1 am afraid he 
has enough on his shoulders.” 
•* i have thought so for some time, my dear,” 
was the quiet reply. ” Your engagement Is roily, 
your marriage would be madness.” 
Then violet went up to her mother, and put 
one arm round her neck. 
“Mamma.” she said, “you will save me all 
trouble 7” 
“Yes;” replied Mrs. Haye, "you may safely 
leave It all to me." 
Aud so wealth won a soul not noble enough to 
live for love.—To he continued. 
woven through an 1800 reed. The result was 
that the web thus produced appeared, In beauty 
and texture, very little Interior to those gossa- 
mer-llke fabrics which are woven lu such per¬ 
fection In Hlndostan. 
Christian Moderate Drinkers.— If Christians 
would be honest to the dictates or their own con¬ 
sciences, wo should not have so much contro, 
versy upon the prevailing evils of our own times* 
and Christians would be more willing to give up 
that which Is the cause of so much evil—viz., 
drink—for the sake of others, realizing that 
"With such sacrifices God is well pleased.— L. 
Herbert. 
IjtflDS Of tj)f SE«!i. 
A more abundant supply of Sea Island cotton 
has long been a great dtslderatum with the spin¬ 
ners of counts or yarn running irom 250’s to ooc’s. 
It is well known that the long silky flber which 
grows on the slopes of Georgia and Florida, and 
which Is so highly valued by English manufac¬ 
turers, has, lu fact, for years fallen short of the 
required quantity. It. appears, however, that 
sometime ago a parcel of the Sea Island seed was 
sent to FIJI, aud, after having been sown In a 
chosen district, the experiment has proved so 
successful that a material almost equal to the 
famed Georgian Is produced, which commands a 
ready sale In England. A London journal states, 
In this connection, that, uot long ago a Belfast 
manufacturer, largely engaged In the make of 
very One muslins, purchased In Manchester sev¬ 
eral lots of hlgh*cla8S yarns that had been spun 
from the FIJI cotton, and had a portion of the lot 
POLITIC At. 
Monday, Dec. 23d, 1878. 
Blaine’s Committee for Investigating alleged 
southern election outrages, t urns out to be hardly 
Blaine's after all. The custom Is to call tiie Com¬ 
mittee by t he namo of the man who asks for its 
appointment, who Is by usage placed at Its head 
as Chairman. Blaine, however, declined that 
position on the Committee he had demanded, 
Conkllng would nave nothing to do with It, and 
Indeed, It was no easy matter to get a prominent 
republican on It. Blaine, the newest of senators, 
or bis own motion, without consulting t he repub¬ 
lican fathers of the Senate or waiting Tor a cau¬ 
cus, had dared to sound what was heralded as 
the key nolo of the next campaign, and the older 
senators didn’t care to carry him and his bantling 
on their shoulders. It is generally conceded 
that, the democratic members of the Committee 
are a trifle too much for their republican col¬ 
leagues. They will alt with open doors, and are 
now bothering Blaine and Hayes for a statement 
of the causes which led the former to ask for the 
Committee and the latter to denounce the sup¬ 
posed outrages, in his message. 
MISCELLANEOUS. 
The most notable incident of the week has 
been the return of business to a specie basis, the 
first time In sixteen years. On Tuesday last It 
was found In the gold room here thatgreenbacks 
were at par with gold and they have remained so 
since. This vast appreciation of legal tenders, 
from the neighborhood of 3 to i to an equality 
with gold, has been hard on the debtor class, 
who contracted the debts when the purchasing 
power of greenbacks was much less than that 
of gold, and besides having paid heavy Interest 
meanwhile, will now substantially have to pay 
In gold what they borrowed In depreciated green¬ 
backs. But a single general benefit always Im¬ 
plies a thousand Individual hat dsUlps, and the 
return te specie payment amongst us Is no ex¬ 
ception to this rule. It will be very hard on the 
farmers, who as a class are more widely In debt 
than any other; but the country at large will 
immediately he the gainer, owing to the greater 
steadiness In business, and those, of the farmers 
who are not broken by the pressure will also be 
ultimately benefited, because owing to their pos¬ 
ition and tho nature of their products, there is 
no class so liable as they to be Injured by the 
fluctuations lu prices and speculative uncertainty 
promoted by the existence of two standards of 
value—greenbacks and gold. 
It will be within the memory of our readers 
that a number of mouths ago, there was a quar¬ 
rel between Judge llllton, the representative of 
A. T. Stewart’s estate and the Jews throughout 
the country. The former objected to admit some 
.Tews into hta hotel at Saratoga and the latter felt 
justly indignant at the lusult thus offered to 
their co-religionisti. Since then the Hebrews 
throughout the States have refused to do any 
business with Hilton, and the old firm of A. T. 
Stewart & Co., has lost heavily on this account. 
Lately Mrs. Stewart made donations to several 
charitable Institutions in this city and among 
others to three Jewish chanties, and these were 
advised that they could get the money by calling 
on Judge Hilton. They have all ret used to touch 
a dollar of It on account of that proviso, and aro 
supported by Jews everywhere. llllton seems to 
have exhaused his supply of tael In toadying to 
Stewart and his wife until a cool million was left 
him by the former, for which the latter trans¬ 
ferred to him nearly $ 20 , 01 ) 0,000 worth of property. 
Since then he has gained a wider unpopularity 
than any man ever won In the United States 
within bo short a time. 
FOREIGN. 
From across the Atlantic comes word that the 
Afghan war Is virtually ended. Russia has with¬ 
drawn her Embassy from Cabul—the presence of 
which there, was the chief cause of the war. 
The Ameer with his family and treasures Is fly¬ 
ing with the retiring Embassy to Balk; complete 
anarchy prevails In tho country, and no serious 
opposition to the movements of the British Is at 
present expected. The Princess Alice of llesse- 
Darmstadt has been burled, and her cousin, the 
Duko of Cumberland, son of the late King of 
nanovor, was married on Saturday morning lo 
the Princess Thyra of Denmark, sister or the 
Princess or Wales. Bayard Taylor, our Minister 
at Berlin, died suddenly In that city last Wednes¬ 
day aud the body was yesterday placed in tho 
receiving vault of Jerusalem Church, preparatory 
to Its transfer to tho dead author’s home at 
eedarcroft near Philadelphia. Despite tho large 
sums he made by literature, his generosity Is 
said to have been so great that bla family aro 
left unprovided for—his wife getting only the 
$10,000 for which his life was Insured. 
At no time within tho memory of tho present 
generation has the distress among the lower or¬ 
ders In England and Scotland been so grievous or 
so widespread as at present. Cotton and woolen 
