MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND EAMILY JOURNAL. 
DO A GOOD TURN WHEN YOU CAN. 
BY CHARLES SWAIN. 
It needs not great wealth a kind heart to display; 
If the hand lx: but willing it soon finds a way; 
And the poorest one yet. in the humble abode, 
May help a poor brother a step on his road. 
Oh! whatever the fortune a man may have won, 
A kindness depends on the way it is done; 
And though poor be our purse, and though narrow our 
span, 
I,ct us all try to do a good turn when we can. 
The fair bloom of pleasure may charm for a while, 
Hut its beauty is frail, and inconstant its smile; 
Whilst the beauty of kindness, immortal in bloom, 
Sheds a sweetness o’er life, and a grace o’er our tomb. 
Then if we enjoy life, why the next thing to do 
Is to see that another enjoys his life too; 
And though poor be our purse, and though narrow our 
span, 
Let us AM. try to do a good turn when we can. 
EDWARD SHELDON : 
OR, THE WAYWARD WIFE. 
; BY ELIZA S. PRATT. 
I It has been my lot, during my past life, 
( to be frequently thrown into the society of 
) the newlv married, and to mark, with 
> much interest, the difference which they 
> exhibit in their style of living, habits of in- 
| dustry or ease, frugality or extravagance, 
> and the consequent effect upon the hap- 
> piness of the married couple; and, however 
S much the husl and be at fault, I can but 
5 admit, as far as my observation extends, 
> that the wife is more frequently the cause 
> of discontent and misery at the home, fire¬ 
side, and even of broken fortunes, than the 
husband himself, who, however much he 
may have striven to keep his bark afloat, is 
! nevertheles sobliged to bear upon his unof¬ 
fending head the whole weight of evils which 
their downfall produces. The want of that 
cheerful acquiescence in these habits of in- 
dustryand frugality which theearly career of 
every man obliged to make his own fortune 
demands from the wife, has discouraged 
and crushed many a man of good talents 
and bright prospects, and been the ultimate 
cause of a ruined fortune and disappointed 
hopes. 
Edward Sheldon was a young mechanic 
of persevering and ambitions turn of mind, 
industrious, intelligent and highly respected 
in his native village. Having traveled 
abroad, it was at the age of thirty he re¬ 
turned to the place of his birth, and there 
established himself in business. 
It was then that he cast his eyes about 
him for a companion, a wife to share his 
solitary hours and render his home inviting 
and happy; and fortune so willed it that a 
gay girl of seventeen should lead him cap¬ 
tive, and without reasoning upon the dis¬ 
parity of their ages, and the consequent in¬ 
congruity of their sentiments—lop love 
never reasons—he led her to the hymen¬ 
eal altar, and their destinies became insepara¬ 
ble forever. 
For a time things went on smoothly; Ed¬ 
ward labored hard to supply the folly and 
extravagance of his wife, who, in dress, 
strove to rival the wife or daughter of a 
millionaire. 
But it could not last long, and before a 
twelve-month had gone by, he found to his 
surprise, that his expenses had far exceeded 
his income, and to his perplexity the birth 
of a little daughter promised greatly to en¬ 
hance them. 
How to remedy the evil he knew not, 
for the most remote hint to his wife upon 
the subject was met with sullen discontent 
or open rebuke; he strove hard to keep on 
a firm footing, and would have racked his 
very sinews to save the annoyance and 
trouble which the gentlest refusal was sure 
to bring him; but as month after month 
went by, notwithstanding his efforts, he 
found himself daily sinking in debt, his 
property mortgaged, and ruin staring him 
in the face. 
One bright morning in January, after 
breakfast, Edward kindly kissed his little 
girl, a beautiful child of something more 
than a year old, whose sweet smile and in¬ 
nocent prattle were his chief source of com¬ 
fort, and taking his hat and cane prepared 
to go out to his usual task. There was a 
look of anxiety on his brow and a slight 
compression of his lips as he cast a hasty 
glance at his wife, who appeared to have 
arrayed herself for a promenade, and now 
stood before a glass smoothing her hair. 
“Wait a moment, Edward,” said she, 
and taking a purse from a drawer she ex¬ 
amined its contents. “I am going out 
shopping this morning, and have not half 
money enough to make my purchases. 
You must give me some, for I have quite 
a number of articles to buy.” 
Something like a look of defiance pass¬ 
ed across the brow of the husband us he 
listened to this sudden demand; but he 
smothered his feelings of rebellion, and in 
a subdued tone asked, 
“ What have you to buy ?” 
“ Oil! I am going to get me a new dress ?” 
said she in a careless tone, “you know that 
beautiful cashmere which Jane Roberts 
wears; I think I will get one like that, it is 
so pretty, and I may as well get the baby 
a frock while I am about it; and I must 
get some new ornament for my neck, too; 
1 am tired of this gold chain, and think a 
string of coral beads would be much more 
becoming— they are quite fashionable now. 
And there’s that silver comb you gave me 
a year ago; it is getting quite out of date 
and I must have a new shell one—they are 
more genteel. Let me see—with what I 
have got I think I can manage with fifteen 
dollars to day. 
During this rapid enunciation of intend¬ 
ed purchases, Edward stood with his eyes 
cast down, and his cheek blanched with 
emotion. He had hitherto never refused his 
wife in her demands upon his purse, how¬ 
ever unreasonable they might be; for, pos¬ 
sessed of a kind and affectionate heart, he 
shrunk from discord as from the deadliest 
ill of life. But suddenly a new spirit pos¬ 
sessed him, and raising his head he betray¬ 
ed a flushed cheek, as he hastily stepped to 
her side, and stood with her confronting the 
glass. 
“Ellen,” said he, in a clear decided tone 
of voice, “ which should dress the better, a 
man or his wife ?” 
“Neither, to be sure;” replied she regard¬ 
ing him with a look of unfeigned astonish- 
ment; “they should both appear alike in 
that respect.” 
“ And who is dressed the better now ?” 
said he glancing at his clothes, which were 
his best, and though of good materials, worn 
’and threadbare, then at her rich velvet 
shawl and satin dress—“ who is dressed the 
better now, pray ?” 
“And whose fault is it that you do not 
dress better?” said she in an ironical tone 
of voice, in whose chords not the !e ist blend¬ 
ing of kindness could be detected. “ If you 
do not choose to dress better, I’m sure I 
can’t help it. I did not marry you to dress 
you, but expected to be decently dressed 
myself without all this fuss. You owe me 
fifteen dollars now!” 
Sheldon turned his dark, penetrating eye 
upon the face of his wife, and gazed till her 
own sank beneath his look, and a blush of 
shame crimsoned her cheek. 
“ I owe you, do I?” said he at length, 
with a heavy sigh, as he threw himself into 
an arm chair, and resting his head against 
the back, seemed for a moment lost in 
thought. “Yes Ellen, I did stipulate to 
give you a hundred dollars a year for your 
personal expenses eighteen months ago, but 
then business was far better than it now is 
and our expenses were less. Then 1 was 
free from debt and comparatively happy; 
now let me toil as I may, I cannot meet 
our accumulated bills from week to week. 
Look at me—I have not spent ten dollars 
for clothing the last year, and prefer now to 
appear in this shabby suit rather than leave 
my creditors unpaid, while you insist on the 
payment of the whole sum I have promised. 
Our last three month’s board is unsettled, 
and ’tis but a few days since you warned 
me that our washerwoman’s bill had run up 
to fifteen dollars. You might, Ellen,” he 
continued, and his voice grew husky with 
emotion as he rapidly proceeded, “ you 
might aid me in this struggle. Our expen¬ 
ses might be immediately curtailed one- 
half, if you would consent to keep house 
and do our work; I could hire sufficient 
room for us to live comfortably at a mod¬ 
erate rate and by frugality and industry 
on our part, we might he prosperous and 
happy.” 
While speaking, Sheldon had drawn his 
chair towards his wife, and taking her deli¬ 
cate hand in his, with that kindness and 
gentleness of manner, which was his cus¬ 
tom when unreproached by coldness or se¬ 
verity. Now a tear filled his eye which he 
hastily brushed away as unmanly; but his 
lips quivered with emotion as he finished 
his appeal. 
I know not how woman’s heart could re¬ 
sist lantruafre like that, uttered as it was with 
that indescribable earnestness of manner 
which comes from an over-burdened heart. 
But Ellen’s heart and temper were, if not 
spoiled by self indulgence, soured and dis¬ 
torted. She drew hack coldly, and with an 
angry gesture, which repelled all the warm 
feelings that were ebbing from the heart of 
the husband, petulantly replied, 
“ I can’t help it, you know I can’t work, 
I don’t know how; besides, I am sure it is 
enough for one to take care of a baby, and 
as for dressing less, you can do as you 
please, but I don’t intend to appear more, 
meanly clad than at present. Come, I am 
in a hurry, will you give me the money ?” 
“ Yes, I will give it to you,” replied he, 
in a deep gutteral tone of voice, which al¬ 
most startled the insensible wife; and any 
one who had observed his countenance as 
lie opened his purse, might have seen that 
something unusual was at work at his heart. 
“ I will pay you what I owo you,” and 
he counted out the fifieen dollars and placed 
them in her hand. “ Is that all I owe you ?” 
and his voice grated strangely as he asked 
the question. 
“That’s it,” she replied carelessly, and 
donning her bonnet, she left him with the 
same cold unconcern that had always fal¬ 
len like ice upon the warm, impulsive feel¬ 
ings of the husband. 
She had no sooner left the apartment 
than he caught his child to his bosom, and 
pressing her soft downy cheek to his, burst 
into tears—a torrent of unchecked tears 
gushed from an agonized heart. He had 
hoped—hoped beyond reason to soften that 
heart of the being he called his wife, to 
awaken her to a sense of duty that theyjmight 
yet be happy. But now all hope was lost; 
his last and boldest effort was repulsed, she 
had turned away callous and unsoftened 
from an appeal that might have touched a 
savage heart He had done all in his power 
to do, and hope went out in his heart, a 
firm and settled resolution, anew born pur¬ 
pose rose up and precluded despair. 
“ She had no friends to support her,” 
said he, casting his eyes round the apart¬ 
ment which was richly furnished by her¬ 
self; “ a poor orphan 1 brought her here, and 
no more than such shall I leave her. Her 
uncle, who reared her in charity, is dead, 
and she will be obliged to earn her bread 
—a severe lesson, but a necessary one;she 
must yet learn to help herself, or she can 
never be what I hoped to find her.” So 
saying he left the child in the care of a lit¬ 
tle girl, and went out. 
It might have been two hours after the 
above mentioned occurrence took place, 
that a cab drove up before the door of the 
house in which Sheldon and his wife hoard¬ 
ed, and a moment after he stepped out, 
bringing a large traveling trunk, which, 
with the aid of the coachman, was placed 
on the top of ihe carriage. He then went 
back to his room, and immediately returned, 
bearing his little daughter in his arms, neat- 
ly dressed in a little hood and pelisse, and 
prattling in high glee at the prospect of a 
ride. A moment more the door closed, the 
carriage wheels rattled over the pavements, 
and Sheldon had left his wife and home, 
that which he had so eagerly sought and 
dreamed as the highest felicity of life— 
perhaps forever! But his child was in his 
arms, on his heart, and though the burning 
tears rushed to his eyes, he was still happy 
in the innocent caresses of his beautiful and 
idolized child. 
Five years had elapsed since the com¬ 
mencement of our story. Again it was 
January, cold and biting, and a stormy eve¬ 
ning was closing up a dull and lowery day. 
Alone in a humble and poorly furnished 
apartment, in an obscure part of the city, 
by the aid of a diminutive coal fire, sat the 
wife of Edvard Sheldon. She was busily 
engaged in sewing, and as she rapidly plied 
her task, would now and then pause, rest 
her head upon her hand, apparently engag¬ 
ed in deep thought. Once she dropped her 
work, buried her face in her hands, and 
while her face trembled with her emotion, 
tiie tears trickled through her fingers, and 
thick on her lap. But there was no sound, 
no murmurof complaint; it was evidently the 
grief of a contrite heart, and only till she 
had subdued her emotions, and taking from 
a fitted ebony box the miniature of her hus¬ 
band, did she give vent to her feelings in 
words. 
“0, that I could recall the past ?” said she 
at length, in trembling accents, as she gazed 
on the faithful resemblance of him who 
should have been more to her than life it¬ 
self. “0, that I could recall my past wed¬ 
ded life, and relive again those days which 
should have been the happiest, hut were, 
alas! the most wretched of my life! The 
proud, selfish heart of mine was wearing 
the very life blood from his generous heart 
—so kind, faithful and forgiving! I could 
have been happy myself, but alas! it is now 
too late; I have made him an exile from 
home and entailed upon myself a life of 
loneliness and misery!” and again she bu¬ 
ried her face in her hands, and. wept long 
and bitterly. 
And well might she weep, for she had 
merited her suffering, hut was now an al¬ 
tered woman; she had passed through the 
bitterest ordeal it is woman’s lot to bear— 
she was a deserted wife, and that very de¬ 
sertion had proved a blessing to her. 
Failing upon the departure of her hus¬ 
band to find any clue to his residence, far¬ 
ther than that he had left in the steamship 
for Europe: and believing, like every one 
else, that he left her forever, she immedi¬ 
ately set herself to work, and by the neces¬ 
sity of toil, soon learned the value of that 
money she had so foolishly squandered.— 
Nor was this all, the effect upon her mind 
and temper was observed by all who knew 
her. From the irritable and fault-finding 
woman, she had become mild and amiable 
in her temper, for grief had touched a cord 
of love which prosperity had never done.— 
Her child, too, her beautiful, but lost—how 
in her loneliness, did her heart yearn for 
that sweet one, on whom she could have 
lavished a deeper fountain of love than had 
ever swelled in her heart, when it lay in 
her bosom and cradled it in her arms. But 
the dear one was lost to her—lost perilaps 
forever—and she was alone in the grief of 
her heart. 
Why did the ringing of the door bell at 
that late hour of the night, so startle the 
lone one ? It was often rung at that hour, 
and she heeded it not, but now she started 
from her dreamy posture, and pressed her 
hands upon her heart which throbbed al¬ 
most to bursting. Again it was rung more 
violently than before, and again the color 
forsook the cheek of the wife and the breath 
seemed stayed on her parted lips, as with 
every nerve awake she stood in mute pos¬ 
ture of suspense. There was snmethingin 
the peculiar manner in which the cord was 
pulled that was associated with memory of 
days gone by, and as the last sound died on 
the air she drew her breath with a quick 
sigh and murmured, 
“ How like to his ring.” 
O # 
Again, there was a quick step on the 
stairs—a manly tread — and soft feet follow¬ 
ed mingling their echoes with the heavier 
ones. That step—0 ! how could a wife 
mistake the steps of one who had been the 
lord of her heart, although five weary years 
had rolled between her heart and his! It 
nears—nearer, and nearer—and now it is 
on the threshold, and as the door swings 
back on the hinges, with that same impul¬ 
sive turn it always took from his hand, the 
wife sank back in her chair without the pow¬ 
er of motion or utterance. But the kind 
familiar voice of the lost one, breathing ac¬ 
cents of love, and mingled with the clear 
sweet voice of her child around her, and 
with a heart full of penitence and gratitude 5 
she threw herself into his arms and wept 
tears of contrition and thankfulness. 
Need I add the sequel to my story, or, 
will any one doubt if the restored husband 
and wife were happy! Will any one ques¬ 
tion if she hesitated to conform to what ne¬ 
cessity and duty demanded ?—or repine if 
every wish was not gratified ? No, a lesson 
of forbearance and self-denial was graven 
on the heart, too deep to be erased by time, 
and with cheerful and earnest will she per¬ 
formed the various duties of life, and be¬ 
came from that hour a blessing to her hus¬ 
band and child— Olive Branch. 
JpPil utffi Ijiimor. 
GLIDDON’S MUMMY vs. BLITZ. 
The Philadelphia correspondent of the 
Trenton American says, that on the evening 
Gliddon’s Egyptian mummy was opened, 
previous to the ceremony, there was gath¬ 
ered round a collection of gentlemen, whose 
thoughts seemed to have little to do with 
things modern, and from their air of mys¬ 
tery, they appeared tobe lost in the gloom of 
ages. These gentlemen were inspecting 
the characters on the case of the dried 
specimen of antiquity, when suddenly they 
were startled by a voice from amid the folds 
Jf the linen which wrapped the mummy. 
“ Open the box, open the box!” said the 
voice. 
“ Who are you?” inquired one of the 
learned Thebans, whose curiosity had got' 
the better of his astonishment. 
“ 1 am a descendant of the Pharaohs,” 
answered the voice within. 
“ Are you the genuine mummy ?” 
“ Yes, genuine and no mistake; regularly 
manufactured in Egypt, by some of the 
first artists.” 
“ Do you come from Ham ?” 
“ Ham—no, I am a better specimen of 
dried beef.” 
“ What do you want here ?” 
“Ask yourself; your confounded prying 
YYinkee inquisitiveness has waked me up 
from a slumber of ages.” 
A thought struck the scientific questioner, 
and he determined to settle a long mooted 
buestion. 
“ Were the Egyptians black or red men ?” 
“ Red as the knave of hearts.” 
“ What caused the decline of the Egyp¬ 
tian nation ?” 
“It didn’t decline;like the modern Celt, 
the Egyptians emigrated to America.” 
“To Mexico?” inquired the doctor. 
“Y'es—open the box, open the box.” 
“ Then the pyramid at Cholulu is—” 
“Exactly; it is nothing else.” 
“ And you are—” 
“ Bobby.” 
“ Bobby who ?” said the astonished in¬ 
quirer. 
“Bobby Blitz!” and a little man with a 
peculiar head of hair glided out of the hall 
and disappeared into the lecture room of 
the museum. The doctors looked at each 
other, and the word “ sold” was audibly 
heard coming from the box, as if the dried 
descendant of Mizuaim was laughing in its 
sleeve at the credulity of science, which 
could not tell a living ventriloquist from the 
dried remains of burnt rags and a monkey’s 
skeleton. How this voice was made to 
proceed from a wooden case, will be ex¬ 
plained any evening at Blitz’s Lecture Room. 
That Blitz is a great fellow. 
Four story shirt collars are all the rage. 
Wc saw one the other day with a steeple 
to it. This increase in building has proved 
very profitable to the linen and starch trade. 
Short-necked people, in order to keep pace 
with the spirit of inprovement, should get 
their cars moved up a little higher. 
Why is a clock the most humble thin" 
# # t O 
in existence ? Because it always holds its 
hands before its face, and however good its 
works may be, it is always running itself 
down. 
Why is the “century plant” the best 
emblem of weakness ? Because it is a great 
while in comin" to blows! 
icmtli $ 
“ Attempt the end, and never stand to doubt; 
Nothing’s so hard, but search will find it out.” 
For the Rural New-Yorker. 
MISCELLANEOUS ENIGMA. 
I am composed of 28 letters. 
My 1, 7, 12, 21, 11, 5, 23, 27, 21 is an island stud¬ 
ded lake. 
MyJ2, 10, 22, 19, 18, 11 is a denizen of the air. 
My 14, 27, 16, 21, 11, 26 is a vegetaldo poison. 
My 7, 6, 14, 8, 8, 28 are a class of islands. 
My 21, 28, 6, 24, 16, 10, 5, 19, 28 are celestial 
bodies. 
My 12, 14, 16, 7, 8, 15, 24, 3, 9, 28 are the product 
of the labors of an insect. 
My 21, 8, 6, 7, 5 is a celebrated gold region. 
My 8, 20, 12, 17, 13, 25, 23 is a widely diffused ge¬ 
nus of plants. 
My 23, 27, 13, 28, 28, 5, 25, 23, is an amusing ope¬ 
ration. 
My 2, 10, 27, 15, 20 is the ideal of Oriental bliss. 
My 8, 14, 4, 24 is to man what my 8, 20, 23, 2, 6 
is to the earth. 
My whole was long the puzzle of ancient sages. 
West Dryden, N. Y. j. g. k. 
O’Answer in two weeks. 
For the Rural New-Yorker. 
CHARADE. 
My first is part you will confess, 
Of every pretty maiden’s dress. 
My last is made by man to be 
A proof of his dishonesty. 
My whole once wrought, I do aver, 
The death of a Philosopher ! 
Clarkson, N. Y. i G. B. L . 
Q3= Answer nextAveek. 
For the Rural New-Yorker. 
PUZZLE. 
Dear children I've a wond’rous frame 
And many limbs compose it; 
There’s just five letters in my name, 
No doubt you’ll soon disc'ose it. 
Through cities, villages and towns, 
My way I oft am finding; 
Or through the woodlands, plains and downs, 
Ne’er wind or weather minding. 
Take the first letter from my name, 
And then I grow more common; 
A place I’m always known to claim, 
With every man and woman. 
The pranks and oddities I show, 
Would make you burst with laughter; 
For where the gents and Indies g6, 
There I come dancing after. 
Another letter drop, ye fair, 
Then view my new proportion; 
A creature odd you’ll find appear 
Possessed of life and motion. 
But then a welcome guest I am 
At almost every table; 
So, my dear children tell my name, 
The author hopes you're able. Eliza. 
(Lx* Answer next week. 
ANSWERS TO ENIGMAS, &c„ IN NO. 64. 
Answer to Acrostical Enigma.—Ten bushels and 
three pecks. 
Answer to Miscellaneous Enigma.—A Church 
without a Bishop, and a State without a King. 
Answer to Charade.— Lauok-a-toky. 
CL. AUK «fc (HIAIAN. 
OPRING FASHIONS—VVe will introduce our Spring 
O style of Hats for (Jests on Saturday, Rlarcli 1st. Also, 
at the same time a style of Hat adapted to Youths who are 
about laying aside their caps. 
We will as usual exert ourselves to excel all oilers in 
style and quality. 
Those wishing Hats at the above ihitc, will leave their 
orders as soon as possible. 
All measures will lie taken with our French Confornaa- 
teur, the only process that insures a perfect and easy lit. 
[aiimd] CLARK & GILMAN, 2.J Stale-st. 
Fruit Trees of Select Varieties, 
FOR SALE AT TIIE NURSERY OF J. J. THOMAS, 
Macedon, Wayne Co., N. Y. 
C A VY/V/A APPLE, Pear, Peach, Cherry, Plum and 
tJ v/jV/Utz Apricot trees, neatly all o! large size, and 
all propagated from bearing or proved trees, including 
mainly the best standard sorts, with such new varieties as 
have proved decidedly excellent—all furnished at moderate 
prices, and carefully packed for canal or railway convey¬ 
ance. Communications, post paid, to I e directed to 
J J THOMAS, Macedon, Wayne co., N. V. 
The proprietor wishing to alter n part of his grounds 
tiow occupied witli a fine growth of several thousand apple 
trees, will furnish a good selection of best sorts, of full size, 
at prices varying with quality, size, &c., from ten to fif¬ 
teen dollars per hundred, witli only actual cost of pack¬ 
ing added. (i:l-3t 
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