1899 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER’ 
859 
One Woman Who Proposed. 
HOW AUNT PATSEY SELECTED HER HUSBAND 
“I was never a strong advocate of the 
idea that women ought to propose,” 
said the man of experience. “It seems 
as though it were a reversal of the pro¬ 
per order of things. Still, I know one 
woman who took matters neglected by 
a bashful suitor into her own hands, 
and she wound up the business so neat¬ 
ly and in so novel a manner that she 
won plaudits from everybody who heard 
of the incident. This woman was known 
the country over as Aunt Patsey Mitch¬ 
ell. As I remember Aunt Patsey, she 
was decidedly a character. When I was 
a youngster she must have been 'in the 
neighborhood of 50. She was very tall 
and very homely—with one exception. 
She had the prettiest soft white hair I 
ever set eyes on. Harum-scarum school¬ 
boys seldom take much interest in old 
ladies’ hair, no matter how soft and 
white it may be, but that case was an 
exception, and there was nothing in the 
world that seemed quite so fine to me, 
at that time, as Aunt Patsey’s headf 
which for fluffy daintiness could out¬ 
rival any basket of wool fresh from the 
carder’s hands. 
“Partly because of her hair and part¬ 
ly because of her natural goodness of 
heart all we youngsters loved Aunt Pat¬ 
sey, yet in spite of our affection, the 
fiendish impulses latent in the hearts of 
all children would creep to the surface 
every little while, and we would torment 
her with all sorts of impudent questions. 
Our favorite query was: ‘Aunt Patsey, 
don’t you ever intend to get married?’ 
Instead of sending us about our busi¬ 
ness at those times as most women 
would have done under similar circum¬ 
stances, Aunt Patsey would let her most 
prominent peculiarity come to the front, 
and invariably she would make answer: 
‘Yes, when I get reaay.’ This answer 
would always stagger inquisitive vis¬ 
itors, but it never intimidated us into 
silence, and, ‘When are you going to get 
ready, Aunt Patsey?’ would come blun¬ 
dering along presently. To this second 
question Aunt Patsey also had a set re¬ 
ply. ‘I can’t just tell,’ she would say 
gravely. ‘But I’ve got my man picked 
out. He doesn’t know I’ve fixed my 
mind on him. Nobody knows it. But 
everybody’ll know who it is, by and by. 
If he don’t find out who I mean by the 
time I get ready, why I’ll have to study 
up some way to tell him.’ 
“These dialogues were of never-fail- 
'ing interest to youthful inquisitors, and 
they were rehearsed on an average of 
three times a week. Our conversations 
were always repeated verbatim, far and 
wide, and they kept the curiosity of the 
neighborhood keyed up to a high pitch. 
Every man known to Aunt Patsey, eli¬ 
gible or otherwise, was subjected to a 
critical examination in the hope of dis¬ 
covering who was the lucky one Aunt 
Patsey had ‘fixed her mind on,’ but as 
she never showed the slightest prefer¬ 
ence either in manner or word, for any 
particular man, the neighbors were at a 
loss to come to a decision, and it finally 
devolved upon Aunt Patsey to indicate 
the man of her choice. This she did in 
a characteristically peculiar way. 
“Aunt Patsey lived alone in a big, 
red-brick house situated on the New 
Richmond turnpike about half-way be¬ 
tween New Richmond and Batavia. 
This house was surrounded by an im¬ 
mense yard. The yard at one time was 
well shaded, but the trees had been 
felled one by one until nothing remain¬ 
ed standing but a few cedar trees and 
one monstrous oak. This oak stood in 
a corner not far from the front fence. 
It was the most perfect specimen of fine, 
symmetrical forest tree to be found in 
that part of the country and Aunt Pat¬ 
sey had always been very proud of it. 
‘It’s a grand type of endurance,’ she had 
often been heard to say. ‘Why, perfect 
as that tree is, it ought to be still stand¬ 
ing 500 years from now.’ Knowing 
those to be her sentiments the surprise 
of the neighbors was unbounded when 
it was learned that Aunt Patsey had 
sent for two wood-cutters, and ordered 
them to chop down the oak three feet 
from the ground. 
“This destruction of the great tree in 
its prime naturally caused much com¬ 
ment. A few days after it had been 
felled and dragged away I was walking 
past Aunt Patsey’s house in company 
with Walter Craig. Craig was a man 
who had managed our farm for several 
years. Taken in his entirety, Craig 
presented a very odd appearance, but 
his most striking single feature was his 
mouth. This organ was kept wide open 
day and night, sleeping or waking. 
Craig really had very good, sound 
sense, especially in all matters pertain¬ 
ing to the management of a farm, but 
his gaping mouth gave him an appear¬ 
ance of 'idiocy which greatly belied him 
in the opinion of the neighbors. But, 
however much he might be ridiculed by 
others, I had firm faith in his judgment, 
so when he proposed that day that we 
‘stop and see Aunt Patsey a minute,’ I 
assented quite willingly. As we neared 
the house we saw Aunt Patsey, herself, 
standing at 'the front gate. We went 
up and stopped on the other side. 
“ ‘Aunt Patsey,’ said Craig, ‘I don’t 
want to be pryin’, but I would like to 
know what you had that tree whacked 
over for?’ 
“For a moment Aunt Patsey seemed 
embarrassed. 
“ ‘I reckon,’ she said, ‘there’s a whole 
raft of people hereabouts that’d like to 
know that very same thing.’ 
“ ‘I reckon,’ said Craig, ‘there is.’ 
“ ‘Well,’ returned Aunt Patsey, T 
don’t wish any of ’em any harm, so I do 
hope they won’t hold their breath till 
they find out. Not but what they’re 
goin’ to know some day, for they are, 
but they’ll have to bide my time.’ 
“Craig nodded respectfully. ‘And 
what you goin’ to do with the stump, 
.Aunt Patsey?’ he asked. ‘You ought to 
have that drug up by the roots.’ 
“ ‘I oughtn’t do anything of the kind,’ 
retorted Aunt Patsey. ‘I’ve made all 
my cal’lations regardin’ that stump, an’ 
I certainly don’t cal’late to have it drug 
out.’ 
“ ‘Well, then,’ said Craig, ‘I’d train 
honeysuckles or something round it 
next Summer. It don’t look very well 
standing up there, rough and uneven, 
like that.’ 
“Aunt Patsey looked at Craig quiz¬ 
zically. ‘I’ve made my cal’lations,’ was 
all she said. 
“That was in the Fall. All Winter 
the oak stump stood in Aunt Patsey’s 
front yard, bleak and drear, but early 
in the Spring two men who were used to 
‘clearing off’ were called in for a con¬ 
sultation, and Aunt Patsey gave them 
instructions to burn out the heart of the 
stump. A week later the only thing re¬ 
maining of the prize oak was an outer 
shell about three inches thick. 
“ ‘I’m going to get some bees,’ said 
Aunt Patsey, when Craig and I stopped 
at her gate soon afterward and asked 
her about the skeleton. ‘I’ve always 
wanted a swarm, an’ I cal’late to turn 
this stump into a hive for ’em. I’ll have 
the top all roofed over. It seems to me 
it’ll be a real handy place for ’em.’ 
“The following day Aunt Patsey went 
into town. She was gone a week, and 
when she returned she was provided 
with a box full of chisels and other 
tools, of whose use even the village car¬ 
penter was ignorant. When the first 
warm Spring days came Aunt Patsey 
began her work on the unique beehive. 
For two weeks she labored diligently, 
cutting and chiseling the hard wood 
with rare skill and patience. By-and- 
by it became apparent that the side of 
the hive facing the turnpike was taking 
on the semblance of a human face. Aunt 
Patsey smiled grimly when Craig leaned 
MOTHERS.—Be sure to use“Mrs.Wins- 
low’s Soothing Syrup” for your children 
while Teething. It is the Best.— Ado. 
over the fence one night and asked her 
whose portrait she was carving. 
“ ‘It’s the face of the man I’m goin’ 
to marry,’ she said, succinctly. 
“This report spread rapidly, and 
thereafter Aunt Patsey’s open-air studio 
was thronged with people anxious to 
discover 'through the lineaments of the 
sculptured face some clew to the iden¬ 
tity of the intended husband. I don’t 
know anything about the work of pro¬ 
fessional sculptors, but I Will venture 
to say that there isn’t an artist in New 
York who could bring his work so near 
to completion that it would require but 
a few finishing touches to produce a 
most striking likeness, and yet keep 
people in the dark as to who the model 
was. But that was what Aunt Patsey 
did. One day when the twilight came 
Aunt Patsey laid aside her chisels, and 
the crowd went home as much at sea as 
ever as to whom she intended to marry. 
The next morning there were a few deft 
touches, and we saw before us, as if in 
life, the squinting eyes, the flaring ears, 
the high forehead and the gaping mouth 
of Craig. I had been sent down to the 
village store for some groceries, and 
was one of the first persons to make the 
wonderful discovery. My bare feet 
scarcely touched the turnpike as I ran 
home to tell the news. I found Craig 
out back of the orchard plowing. ‘Craig,’ 
I gasped, “it’s you. Aunt Patsey was 
carving your face. It’s you she’s going 
to marry.’ 
“Craig dropped the lines and his 
mouth flew wider open than ever. I 
laughed like a little fiend. ‘She’s left 
your mouth open just like that,’ I went 
on. ‘She says that’s where the bees are 
to go in at.’ 
“Craig said never a word even then. 
He left the horses standing in the fur¬ 
row and ran out to the pike and started 
toward Aunt Patsey’s on the lope. I 
fairly ached to follow, but for once I 
considered prudence a good guide and 
stayed and watched the horses. 
“It was past noon when Craig re¬ 
turned. ‘It’s all up with me,’ he said, 
solemnly. ‘It does look like me. It 
really was me she had fixed her mind 
on. If I’d only known—’ 
“ ‘What would you have done, Craig?’ 
I asked, filling in the pause. 
“ ‘I guess mebbe I’d asked her first,’ 
said Craig. ‘That was real cute of Aunt 
Patsey to come around it that way, 
wasn’t it? But somehow I don’t like it. 
It makes a fellow feel kind o’ queer to 
have such questions put to him before 
the whole town. I wouldn’t care so 
much for that, though, if it wasn’t for 
the bees flyin’ through my mouth.’ 
“I sympathized with Craig on that 
point then, and I sympathize with him 
to this day, but, taken all in all, Aunt 
Patsey’s proposal was so unique that I 
can’t help but throw her bouquets for 
her originality.”—New York Sun. 
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