MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY JOURNAL. 
A ETJEAL STUDY. 
BT J. K. HOLMES. 
I HEAR the wind’s expiring sighs 
Along the mead and wood around, 
And manifold strange clouds arise 
To shed what is in shadow found! 
Now breaks a soft light o’er the brook, 
Again from them that light is borne, 
To play a moment in yon nook 
Where grows a low and lonely thorn. 
Where are the birds of yesterday ? 
No notes from them fall on my ear; 
CsUm Nature seems to keep at bay 
All that she brings, at times to cheer. 
Yet dotJi her solemn mood befit 
Those minds that fondly learn to trace 
The marks of deathless wisdom writ 
By Him whose throne is boundless space. 
How vain the mortal artist’s skill 
When weighed against the wonders here! 
How vain the poet^ falt’ring will— 
The pomp that crumbles in a year! 
How feeble still this earthly eye 
That sees but one fair object stand. 
To pass ten million beauties by 
That cluster round on every hand. 
No hill—no tree—no shade alike 
In outward line to others near— 
No ray resembling rays that strike 
The lofty pine and neighboring fere! 
Thus vast varieties defy 
The struggling skill and puny hand 
Of all who long to paint the sky, 
The glories of a matchless land! 
3Citerarq Qn^l HisfEllnniiius. 
HOMES AND HUSBANDS 
A TALE FOR YOUNG WIVES. 
The sultry summer day was past, and 
tbe cool air of evening was murmuring a- 
mong the green leaves, and bending the 
slender stalks of the flowers, as it swept on- 
wai'd to fan the heated brow of the hus¬ 
bandman, who had toiled throughout the 
long day beneath the glowing sky. 
But to none among the band of home¬ 
ward-bound laborers did the evening breeze 
seem more refreshing than to three, whose 
baskets of tools borne over their shoulders 
denoted them carpenters. They had, in 
truth, passed the whole of the day on the 
top of a lofty house, preparing it for slates, 
and had suffered not a little from the in¬ 
tense heat; and now with wearied frames 
they were pursuing their way home. At 
the entrance of the village where they liv¬ 
ed, Draper, Gale, and Burt separated, each 
to seek his own dwelling. 
There was not a neater or cleaner abode 
in die village than that awaiting the recep¬ 
tion of Draper. Not a speck of dust dim¬ 
med the brilliance of the windows, around 
which fluttered curtains as w hite as snow; 
every article of furniture was polished till it 
shone like a mirror, fresh flowers breathed 
forth their fragrance from the chimney- 
piece, a spotless cloth covered the little sup¬ 
per table, and Mrs. Draper and her children 
were as neat as it was possible to be. 
Far different the scene which awaited 
Gale; Ins house was in disorder, his child¬ 
ren untidy, and his wife absent The last- 
named evil, however, was soon remedied, 
for one of the children, despatched in quest 
of his mother, soon returned wdth her. 
“ You here already, Tom ? ” she exclaim¬ 
ed, rushing in breathlessly, in a gown that 
bad certainly seen quite a week’s hard ser¬ 
vice since it had last been taken into wear. 
“ I had no thought it W’as so late. But sup¬ 
per will soon be ready. Light the fire, 
there’s a good fellow, while I cut a rasher 
and wash the lettuce; and W'e’ll soon have 
supper.” 
“ I am so tired, Mary, that I would rath¬ 
er do without supper than light the fire,” 
said Gale, throwing himself upon a seat 
“ Are you? Well, then, don’t; I’ll soon 
get it ready myself,” said the wife, begin¬ 
ning to bustle about; in the course of which 
she broke more than one article of crock¬ 
ery, put for the time in some unsuitable 
place. 
“Where were you, Mary?” inquired 
Gale, after a pause. 
“ I had just stepped out to see how Mrs. 
Blain’s baby was, poor little dear.” 
“ Idother has been gone ever since tea,” 
said the eldest child, a boy of some six 
years old. 
“ You abominable little story-teller, how 
can you say so?—I was gone no time at 
all! ” exclaimed the mother, irritated into 
boxing the speaker’s ears for his interfe¬ 
rence. 
The child ran away crying, and Mrs. 
Gale went on preparing her husband’s sup¬ 
per, more industriously than rapidly, since 
she had to clean most of the articles she 
required, ere she could use them. Then, 
I by that time, the children became cross and 
i peevish, because they were sleepy; and 
when the supper was at length ready, she 
had to go up stairs and put them to bed; 
then returning, swallowed lier own meal 
hastily, and, putting aside the dirty plates, 
declared she must now go and wash. 
“Wash! ” exclaimed her husband, in as¬ 
tonishment “ I thought you w'ere to have 
washed the day before yesterday ? ” 
“ Well, so I meant; but I was interrupt- 
^ ” she replied. “ Mrs, Blain came in that 
and Mrs. Strong yesterday; and to- 
clean thing to put on; and, for that matter, 
neither have 1.” 
“ So it would appear,” said Gale, glan¬ 
cing at the dark tint of her naturally light 
gown. 
“ So it would appear, indeed I ” she cried, 
angrily. “ I suppose you expect to see me 
as clean and neat, and ever^hing as well 
done, as if I were a lady, and kept a couple 
of servants,” 
“ No, Mary,” said her husband gravely, 
“ I form no such e travagant expectations; 
all I ask is, that the hours I am working 
hard to earn our daily bread might be spent 
by you in some occupation more profitable 
than gossiping, and so let me find a quiet 
and orderly house on my return, and such 
a wife as you used to be in the earlier days 
of our wedded life.” 
But the affectionate tone of the last 
woijls exercised no softening influence on 
the roused spirit of the indignant wife; and 
a quarrel ensued, which ended, as it had 
often done before, in Gale’s taking his hat, 
and finding at the public house the comfort 
he could not find in his owm. 
Meanwhile, Draper passed through his 
trim, httle front garden, entered his pretty 
cottage home, and setting down his basket 
seated himself wearily by the window. 
“ 0, Draper, I am sure you never wiped 
your shoes when you came in 1 ” was his 
wife’s salutation, as she entered the room, 
“ Well, my dear, and if I did not, there 
could be no mud on them this weather,” he 
replied. 
“ No, but I’ll be bound there was plenty 
of dust on them,” she retorted crossly; 
“ and you know how I hate dust. And 
here—I declare if here is not your dirty 
basket set down on the clean wax-cloth.— 
Let me slave ever so much, I can’t keep 
the house clean while you are so careless; 
and you know it is the pride of my life to 
have a clean house.” 
“ I was very tired, Susan, or I would not 
have done it,” said her husband, apologet¬ 
ically. 
“ And do you think I am never tired,” 
she demanded; “ working about all day as 
I do, and then sitting down to make and 
little cottage like those of his fellow-work¬ 
men. As he stood for a moment in the 
ed,’ 
k*- 
day I had not time. And now I must wash, 
for neither the children nor you, have a 
mend for the children ? — for I take a pride 
in seeing my children neat and clean.” 
“You are, indeed, a most industrious 
wife, Susan,” said her husband in all sincer¬ 
ity ; yet he sighed, for his home, though it 
was so pleasant to look at, was very uncom¬ 
fortable. 
“ I am glad you admit that,” she said 
shortly. “ But come, now, supper is ready.” 
And they accordingly sat down to the 
neatly arranged meal that was waiting for 
them.- But all its comfort was marred by 
the conslUnt faults Mrs. Draper found with 
all that her husband and children did.— 
They were, at almost every movement, of¬ 
fending against her law of order; for Mrs. 
Draper’s love of cleanliness and neatness 
was not satisfied by daily and almost hour¬ 
ly cleanings; the slightest infringement of 
the order that was so dear to her, irritated 
her beyond measure; and, as it may be 
supposed, those infringements with a hus¬ 
band and children were neither few nor 
far between, anger was rarely long absent 
from their dwelling. 
Mrs. Draper was a conscientious and an 
industrious woman, and she esteemed it her 
duty to work hard for her husband and 
children. That duty she performed to the 
uttermost; and if need were, she would 
have begged for them or starved for them. 
But she perceived not how her spirit of 
house-worship interfered with her duties as 
a wife and mother. The latter demanded 
her house should be a home, the former 
that it should be an idol; and she bowed 
unresistingly down before tbe image she 
had herself set up, without once suspecting 
that the magic word “ Home,” was, in her 
keeping, but an empty sound. Her chil¬ 
dren were dull and sullen, because they 
were always in disgrace, for the playfulness 
natural to their age was commonly treated 
as a fault, from its leading them to trans¬ 
gress the strict rules set up for their con¬ 
duct, and forget the respect due to chairs 
and stools w’bich were never to be touched 
or moved, and floors and windows which 
must not be trod or breathed upon. And 
her husband, when his many hours of labor 
were over, and he felt he had fairly eanied 
a happy and peaceful evening—was con¬ 
tinually offending against the same laws; 
therefore, the matter frequently ended by 
his betaking himself to the public house, 
where he was an object of consideration, 
which he never was at home. 
And thus, though Mrs. Draper was in 
general estimation (and especially in her 
own) and incomparably better wife than 
Mrs. Gale, they both, by very different 
means, accomplished the same end of dri¬ 
ving from their houses domesticated hus¬ 
bands, and inducing them to seek a substi¬ 
tute within the pernicious precincts of a 
public house, where they spent money, the 
loss of which was seriously felt in their own 
families; and, what their wives more bit¬ 
terly regret in time to come, lost their hab¬ 
its of sobriety and steadiness, and listened 
to opinions and principles calculated to ren¬ 
der them less respectable members of so¬ 
ciety, and to undermine the little influence 
their wives had left themselves. 
Burt, too, had gained his home—a neat 
narrow garden, admiring the simple flow¬ 
ers that bloomed in little beds—as brightly 
aye, and as sweetly, too, as prouder blos¬ 
soms around palace-homes—the door burst 
open, and two neatly clad children rushed 
joyously out to meet him. He raised the 
youngest in his arms, and rendered the oth¬ 
er proud and happy, by allowing him to 
drag in the basket of tools. Within, all 
was neat and clean, and as orderly as the 
gambols of the children would permit; and 
the wife, who advanced to meet him, was 
as neat and house-wife-like a person as the 
eye could wish to rest upon. 
“ Well, Fanny,” cried Burt, gaily, as he 
entered, “ here I am, tired and hungry, and 
wanting my supper; do you mean to give 
me any ?” 
“ Why, if you behave yourself, I think I 
will, for this once,” she replied, in the same 
tone; “ and, as it is all ready, you may as 
well^have it now; I should think you need¬ 
ed it after so hot a day.” 
“0, that was nothing to make a fuss 
about?” he rephed, lightly, though he had 
felt it a good deal, and was now excessive¬ 
ly tired. But he knew Fanny too well ap¬ 
preciated the exertions he made to sur¬ 
round her with the little home-comforts 
she possessed, to render it needful to ex¬ 
cite her sympathy by enlarging on any ex¬ 
tra disagreeables that might at'times oc¬ 
cur. 
At length, the comfortable though fru¬ 
gal meal was ended, and the children put 
to bed; and then the little wife came gaily 
down stairs. Burt was weaiy and had 
placed his feet on a chair, but no frown 
darkened Fanny’s brow at the sight; on the 
contrary, she advanced good humoredly to 
his side, and inquired whether she should 
go on with the book she had been reading 
the previous evening, or if he would rather 
chat while she worked. But the pleasure 
of listening to an interesting book was far 
greater to the weary man than that of hear¬ 
ing the village gossip; and Fanny read on 
uninten-uptedly till bed-time. 
Time passed on; and with it Mrs. Gale 
grew more slatterly and fond of gossip; 
Mrs. Draper, a more devoted house-slave, 
and .their husbands, ixs a necessary conse¬ 
quence, grew more attached to beer and 
ale house company; while Fanny Burt pur¬ 
sued the even tenor of her way, coijtented, 
neat, cheerful and good-tempered, her house 
a heaven of peace and happiness, to which 
her husband ever turned with pleasure, 
and herself most happy in making him so. 
One day Fanny was busily engaged in 
weeding her little garden, and tying up the 
! flowers, when Mrs. Gale passed by; and on 
seeing her, paused to “ chat a bit.” 
“ You have not seen the new clock Burt 
bought me on my birth-day,” said Fanny, 
after some conversation during which she 
had finished her gardening, and Mrs. Gale 
had leaned over the little paling. 
No, I’ve not; but as I have a minute to 
spare. I’ll come in now,” and. Mrs. Gale ac¬ 
cordingly came in, leaving the gate open 
for the free ingress of the pigs and fowls. 
Fanny quietly closed it ere she followed her 
visitor into the cottage. 
“ Upon my word it is a very pretty clock 
—I wish I could afford such a one!” said 
Mrs. Gale. And how nice you have every¬ 
thing about you,” she continued, looking 
around on the neatly-furnished room; “ I 
wish I could have everything as comforta¬ 
ble.” 
“ I am sure I do not see why you should 
not,” said Fanny; “ your husband has the 
same wages as mine, and your family are 
of the same size.” 
Ah! but your husband does not spend 
so much money at the public-house as mine 
does,” replied Mrs. Gale. 
“ No, he never enters it.” 
“ And yet, when we were both married,” 
resumed Mrs. Gale, “ people said I made 
the best match of the two, because Gale 
was a steadier young man than Burt. I 
can’t think how you managed to keep him 
at home.” 
“ By making it neat, and clean, and com¬ 
fortable,” said Fanny, who was quite aware 
of the style of her companion’s housekeep 
ing; “ by letting him find his supper wait 
for him, and his wife and children ready to 
welcome him and keep him company. 
Mrs. Gale stood for a moment, silent and 
self-convicted. She felt that she could not 
say the same; that none of these home-lux¬ 
uries awaited her husband. She knew that 
he usually found a disordered house and 
children, an unready supper, and often 
times an absent wife. Latterly, her hus¬ 
band’s conduct had caused her much anx¬ 
iety, and the newly-wakened thought cost 
her a bitter pang. She said little to Mrs. 
Burt; but, bidding her soon “good day,' 
sped home, resolving as she went that if 
her husband’s reformation depended on 
her’s, it would be set about without delay. 
That evening at the usual hour, the three 
carpenters returned to their homes; Burt 
jesting on his way, for hb heart was light 
as he thought of the glad faces awaiting 
him—the others dull and weary, for they 
were exhausted by their day’s work, and 
had no bright home-thoughts to cheer 
them. 
At length Gale parted with his compan¬ 
ions and sauntered slowly homeward, know¬ 
ing that however late he might be, he usu¬ 
ally arrived too soon. At last he reached 
his home, but stood still in astonishment at 
the scene before him, almost doubting 
whether he had not entered the wrong 
door. The room was swept and dusted, 
and everything put in its place; the supper 
was ready and the children neat. But the 
next moment his wife entered, and then he 
knew his home again; for her own dress 
was a matter that amid all her reformations, 
Mrs. Gale had quite overlooked. But those 
she had effected sufficed for the time; for, 
pleased with the unwonted comfort, her 
husband remained contented at home. 
A proud and happy woman that night 
was Mrs. Gale: she looked upon the victo¬ 
ry over her husband’s eccentric habits as 
already gained, and that it needed but her 
own pursuance of her new course to secure 
its continuance. Great, then, was her dis¬ 
appointment when the following evening 
saw Gale desert his altered home for the 
public-house. She had never calculated on 
the influence of habit; and in the bitter¬ 
ness of her heart, Jooked on the scheme 
in the hope of whose success she had work¬ 
ed all day so cheerfully—as an utter fail 
ure. 
The next morning, as soon as her chil¬ 
dren w^ere dispatched to school, Mrs. Gale 
took her way to Mrs. Burt’s cottage, to 
communicate to her the hopes and fears of 
the last two days. 
But the ever-hopeful Fanny bade her 
again take heart, and continue on the right¬ 
ful course she had entered, without fear but 
that in the end her object would be achiev 
ed. 
“You must not be downhearted,” she 
said, “ because your husband goes to the 
public-house once—no, nor twenty times. 
We all know and feel how difficult it is to 
renounce any habit, and all you must hope 
for is to break him of it gradually. Only 
go on in the way you have begun,” contin¬ 
ued Fanny cheerfully, “ and I do not doubt 
that, before long, your husband will sit at 
home of an evening as happy and content¬ 
ed as mine does,” 
“Do you really think so?” said her visi¬ 
tor, wiping away her tears. 
“To be sure I do,” said Fanny gaily.” 
“And now, in meantime. I’ll tell you what 
I’ll do. I know you are a good reader; I’ll 
lend you a book that has interested Burt 
and me greatly; read a little of it^to Mr. 
Gale of an evening, and trust me, if, before 
the book is ended, you do not see the good 
effects of it; and when it is ended you shall 
have another.” 
It needs not to detail the thanks of Mrs. 
Gale for her neighbor’s encouraging words, 
nor the length to which her gossiping pro¬ 
pensities would have extended them, had 
not Fanny gently hinted that, if either of 
.them intended to maintain the character of 
good housewives, it would not do for them 
to spend the morning thus. Her good re¬ 
solves thus brought to mind, Mrs. Gale has¬ 
tily departed. Fanny looked after her for 
a moment, and the sight recalled something 
of importance she had omitted to mention. 
She called after her instantly, and then ran 
down the street 
“ Whatever you do, Mrs. Gale do not for¬ 
get to put on a clean gown and cap before 
evening. 
Then, speeding back, she went to work 
with redoubled diligence, to repair the loss 
of time her visitor had occasioned, 
Mrs. Gale took both pieces of Fanny’s ad¬ 
vice—she put on the clean gown, and she 
read the book, and they both answered ex¬ 
cellently ; though it may be doubted, inter¬ 
esting to Gale as was the latter, whether it 
would have been so efiicacious without the 
former; for personal neatness has a far ^eat¬ 
er influence than people not practising it 
can well imagine. 
Fanny Burt proved a true prophet; for 
the first few months. Gale went sometimes 
to the public house, and his wife had fre¬ 
quent lapses into her old gossiping and slov¬ 
enly habits, yet, at the end of a year or two, 
both seemed thoroughly reformed; and they 
were as happy and peaceful in their little 
cottage-home as any wedded couple in 
Stunbury. 
Meanwhile, months came and went, and 
brought no spell upon their wings for Dra¬ 
per’s happiness; the spirit of cleanliness, per¬ 
verted into a demon, still reigned paramount 
over his dwelling; still did he go abroad as 
much as might be to escape its iron rule; 
and still did the demon’s prime minister 
look upon herself as a meritorious and ill 
used woman; and, in the irritation of mind 
caused by her husband’s absence, and the 
loss of money it entailed, bear more hardly 
than ever on her children’s little faults 
against neatne^ and order. 
One evening there had been a usual dis¬ 
play of great anger for little sins, that be¬ 
neath most roofs had been deemed none at 
all, when Draper weary of the share that 
fell upon himself, pushed back his chair, 
and rising, turned to leave the house. 
“And now,” observed Mrs. Draper, drily, 
“ I suppose because you are not allowed to 
make everything in a mess without my ma¬ 
king any observations on the subject, you 
are going to the public-housd, to spend there 
the money I worked so hard to save ?” 
“ No,” replied he, quietly, “ I am only go¬ 
ing down to Gale’a” And, in truth, his 
steps had often turned thither of late, as 
Gale’s stay-at-home habits were growmg 
stronger; for Draper missed his old com¬ 
panion in their former haunts; and besides, 
was not sorry to pass a comfortable evening 
elsewhere than in a public house. 
“To Gale’s!” repeated his wife,contempt¬ 
uously. “ Truly, you have a good taste, to 
choose a dirty house like that; I am no lon¬ 
ger surprised that my particularity is disa¬ 
greeable to-you.” 
“ Mrs. Gale does not keep a di4y house 
now; it is as neat and clean as any one 
need wish to see,” replied Draper; “ and, 
what is more, tliough it is so, she does not 
make a god of it, and sacrifice her husband 
and children to it, but lets them live in it 
in peace, and quietness, and good temper.” 
Peace, and quietness, and good temper— 
how these words echoed in Mrs. Draper’s 
ears long aftOr her husband had left tbe 
house! They would not leave her, but re¬ 
curred again and again to her thoughts.— 
vVe have before said that Mrs. Draper was 
a conscious woman, and unfeignedly anxious 
to do her duty by her husband and children, 
and the thought of her husband’s last words 
suggested to her, that to her overstrained 
love of order she had sacrificed their com¬ 
fort, and by her want of peace, quietness, 
and good temper, had driven her husband 
from his home, was a serious shock to all the 
feelings of self-approbation in which she 
had, though in vain, endeavored to find 
happiness. Her faults were different from 
those of Gale’s once untidy wife. Mrs. 
Gale’s were so prominent that they were 
easily rendered obvious, even to her own 
eyes, and coukl bear no other aspect than 
their own repulsive form; but Mrs. Draper 
had long believed her faults to be virtues; 
she had regarded herself as a pattern wife, 
and so arduously fulfilled lier duties, as far 
as she discerned them, that it was indeed 
difficult to believe she could have made so 
serious a mistake. 
But peace, quietness, and good temper, 
conscience whispered to her, were not to be 
found in her dwelling. There was an error 
somewhere—she had been always used to 
ascribe it wholly to her husband, but could 
it be possible that it existed as much, per¬ 
haps more, in herself ? 
Mrs. Draper took council with none save 
her own heart and her own conscience; but 
in the end, they guided her aright; though 
painful indeed, was the eftbrt required to 
follow their dictates, and much it cost her 
to sacrifice, even in part, the habits of over 
particularity which had grown upon her un¬ 
til they almost seemed a poilion of herself. 
But hard though it was to pass over in si¬ 
lence many things which fretted and griev¬ 
ed the spirit of ^ouse-worship she had so 
long obeyed, she was well repaid when her 
husband drew his chair to the fire of an eve¬ 
ning, instead of seeking comfort and society 
elsewhere. It was true that he sometimes 
put his foot on the brightly polished fender, 
and at first it required effort to restrain the 
complaint which sprang to her lips. But she 
found that the morning’s rubbing made it 
just as bright as though no foot had rested 
on it, and she felt her heart all the lighter 
for the knowledge. 
Yet, sincere as was Mrs. Draper’s desire 
of making her house comfortable, it was a 
thing of time to gain the needful conquest 
over herself; nor was Draper to be won at 
once to a change of habits. But time and 
good intention on both sides brought back 
the peace and happiness which seemed to 
have deserted their dwelling; at length the 
faces within it grew as bright as the tables 
which were ready to mirror them, for the 
neatest cottage in the village became one of 
ITS MOST CHEERFUL AND BEST LOVED HOMES. 
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