MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTU RAL AND FAMILY JOURNAL. 
269 
TRIFLES. 
A cloud may intercept the sun, 
A web by insect-workers spun 
Preserve the life within the frame. 
Or vapors take away the same. 
A grain of sand upon the sight 
May rob a giant of iiis might! 
Or needle point let out his breath. 
And make a banquet-meal for Death. 
flow often, at a single word. 
The heart with agony is stirred. 
And tics that years could not have riven. 
Are scattered to the winds of heaven. 
A glance that looks what lips would speak, 
Will speed the pulse and blanch the cheek; 
And thoughts, nor looked, nor yet exprest, 
Create a chaos in the breast. 
A smile of hope from those we love 
May be an angel from above; 
A whispered welcome in our ears 
Re as the music of the spheres: “ 
) The pressure of a gentle hand 
Worth ail that glilters in the land; 
c, trifles are not what they are, 
) Rut fortune’s ruling voice and star. 
) OFFERINGS TO DEAD MEN IN CHINA, 
) A letter in the Richmond Christian Ad¬ 
vocate dated, Shanghae, gives the follow- 
j ing interesting account of past funeral hon- 
ors to the dead: 
l We are in the midst of the annual sea- 
> son for making offerings to ancestors. For 
) several days pieces of thin yellow paper, 
] cut so as to resemble the form of the com- 
> mon coin of China—copper cash —but join- 
> ed at the edges, have been fluttering in the 
s wind from the tops of the thousands of 
] grave-stones and graves in every direction, 
) far and near. A path three feet wide sep- 
) arates our premises from a more thickly 
tenanted grave-field than you ever saw in 
’ America, and more than you ever can see 
> in any other country but China. Roughly 
) hewn pieces of light colored granite, ten 
■ inches wide, two feet high above the ground, 
; and rudely carved with characters signify¬ 
ing the name, age, and native province of 
the deceased, together with the name, of 
: the Emperor reigning at the time of the 
> demise—stones of this description stand at 
the head of nearly every grave. The field 
; of death in the midst of which we live, be- 
’ longs to a tribe or clan from a province far 
) southward fiom this place, called Foh-kien. 
) They are a more active, intelligent, ener- 
; getic race of men than the people of the 
northern provinces, and withal more fierce 
and warlike—just the reverse, you will per- 
\ ceive, from the nations of Europe. Most 
; of the native commerce of Shanghae is 
carried on by the Foh-kien merchants, 
whom you cannot distinguish by anything 
in their costume from other Chinese in af¬ 
fluent or easy circumstances all over the 
; empire. But the Foh-kien sailors wear an 
unmistakable badge of distinction. It is a 
J heavy turban of black cotton cloth. Here 
1 comes one now, with quite a large basket 
> in his hand, followed by a companion with 
a straw basket made something like a straw 
I bee-hive, in shape and size. It is filled with 
i gilt paper. He puts it down near the head 
; of a grave, and sets the whole on fire, with 
the belief that when it is consumed, his 
friend in the spirit would immediately re¬ 
ceive it, transformed into an earthen jar of 
corresponding dimensions, and filled with 
money. Now he takes the cover from the 
basket on his arm, which contain a half 
dozen or more tea cups and plates—the for¬ 
mer he fills with wine and sets them in a 
row before the head-stone; then he places 
the plates in a second row behind them.— 
The latter contain boiled rice, pork, fish, 
vegetables, <fcc., differing in quality and va¬ 
riety according to the ability of the indi¬ 
vidual providing them. When his offering 
is thus arranged, he stands a step or two 
back, and bows lowly and reverently to¬ 
wards the stone, praying the departed friend 
or relative to give him a prosperous voyage- 
back to his native province. After allow¬ 
ing his dishes to remain a few minutes he 
re-places them in his basket, and carries 
them away to regale himself with the sub¬ 
stance of the food - the spirit of the dead 
having feasted to satiety on the fumes. Per¬ 
haps the poor fellow was not able to pur¬ 
chase the viands used on the occasion, and 
has borrowed them for the purpose at a 
premium of a few cash. If this be the case, 
) he returns them to the rightful owner—the 
proprietor of an eating-house,—when he has 
; finished his devotions. 
The smoke of these idolatrous offerings 
; is seen rising from the numberless mounds 
; and groves all over the face of this lovely 
country, as far as the eye can reach. The 
sounds of L,mentation, too, fall upon vour 
ear wherever you go. See, there is a wo- 
i man with two or three little children just 
come out of that mound to have her cus- 
: tomary annual wailing. She has burnt her 
straw jar of paper money, and now stands 
near and begins her mourning. She has 
; brought her female companion along with 
; her to hold her from falling while she in¬ 
dulges in excessive grief. Her cries are 
piercing enough to reach the heart of the 
■1 m ost unfeeling of you, did you not know 
that they were got up expresslv for the oc¬ 
casion. 
> ^ u t it is about the dryest crying you 
ever saw. She wipes her eyes and face, 
but there are no tears. She struggles and 
tries to fall because she knows she cannot, 
while her friend holds her by the arm.— 
Should her attendant let her go and allow 
her to fall, you would see an animated ex¬ 
hibition of a passion somewhat different 
from grief. But her lament has ceased, and 
they all walk coolly away, talking and laugh¬ 
ing as merrily as you can well imagine. 
Ancestral worship has a stronger hold 
upon the minds and hearts of this singular 
people than the worship of idols, and we 
shall doubtless find it one of the last strong¬ 
holds of Satan to he given up. Divided 
into three numerous sects, (Buddhists, 
Taomists, and Confucianists,) they aie all 
united in this one practice of paying divine 
honors to their deceased ancestors. I have 
made it the subject of my public teaching 
for some days; but while nearly all admit 
the force of my reasoning, they will cleave 
as tenaciously as ever to their delusion. 
OUR LIFE TIME. 
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN. 
When the world was created, and all the 
creatures assembled to have their life-time 
appointed, the ass first advanced and asked 
how long he would have to live. 
“Thirty years,” replied Nature; “will 
that be agreeahle unto thee ?” 
“ Alas!” answered the ass, “ it is a long 
while! Remember what a wearisome ex¬ 
istence mine will be; from morning until 
night I shall have to bear heavy burdens, 
dragging corn sacks to the mill, that others 
may eat bread, while I shall have no encour¬ 
agement nor be refreshed with any thing 
but blows and kicks. Give me hut a por¬ 
tion of that time, 1 pray!” 
Nature was moved with compassion, and 
presented him but eighteen years. The ass 
went away comforted, and the dog was the 
next to come forward. 
“ How long dost thou require to live ?” 
asked Nature; “ thirty years were too many 
for the ass, but wilt thou be content with 
them ?” 
“ Is it thy will that I should ?” replied 
the dog. “Think now much I shall have 
to run about; my feet will not last for so 
long a time; and, when I shall have lost my 
voice for barking, and my teeth for biting, 
what else shall I be fit for but to lay in the 
corner and growl ?” 
Nature thought he was right, and gave 
him twelve years. The ape then approach¬ 
ed. 
“Thou wilt, doubtless, willingly live the 
thirty years,” said Nature; “ thou wilt not 
have to labor as the ass and the dog. Life 
will be pleasant to thee.” 
“Ah, no!” cried he; so it may seem to 
others, but it will not be! Should puddings 
ever rain down, I shall have no spoon! I 
shall play merry tricks, and excite laughter 
by my grimaces and then be rewarded with 
a sour apple. How often sorrow lies con¬ 
cealed behind a jest! I shall not be able 
to endure thirty years.” 
Nature was gracious, and he received but 
ten. At last came man, healthy and strong, 
and asked the measure of his days. 
“ Will thirty years content thee ?” 
“How short a time!” exclaimed man; 
“ When I shall have built my house, and 
kindled a fire on my own hearth—when 
the trees I shall have planted are about to 
bloom and bear fruit—and when life shall 
seem to me most desirable, I shall die! — 
Oh! Nature, grant me a longer period!” 
“ Thou shalt have the eighteen years of 
the ass besides.” 
“That is not enough,” replied man. 
“ Take likewise the twelve years of the 
dog.” 
“ It is not yet enough,” reiterated the 
man, “ give me more!” 
“ I give thee, then, the ten years of the 
ape; in vain wilt thou crave more!” 
Man departed unsatisfied. 
Thus man lives seventy years. The first 
thirty are his human years, and pass swiftly 
by. lie is then healthy and happy — he 
labors cheerfully, and rejoices in his exist¬ 
ence. The eighteen years of the ass come 
next, and burden upon burden is heaped 
upon him; he carries the corn that is to 
feed others; blows and kicks are the wages 
of his faithful service. The twelve years of 
tke dog follow, and he Joses his teeth and 
lies in a corner and growls. When these 
are gone, the ape’s ten years form the con¬ 
clusion. Then man, weak and silly, be¬ 
comes the sport of children. 
Right to the Point. —Almost any one 
can be courteous and patient in a neighbor’s 
house. If anything goes wrong, or is out 
of time or is disagreeable, there it is made 
the best of, not the worst; even efforts are 
made to excuse it, and to show it is not felt; 
or, if felt, it is attributed to accident, not to 
design; and this is not only easy, but natur¬ 
al, in the house of a friend. I will not, 
therefore, believe that what is so natural 
in the house of another, is impossible at 
home, but maintain, without fear, that all 
the courtesies of social life may be upheld 
in domestic societies. 
Mirth should be the embroidery of the 
conversation, not the web; and wit the or¬ 
nament of the mind, not the furniture. 
A MISER IN LOVE. 
THE QUEEN. 
The New Oilcans Delta states that in 
the private library of the late eccentric 
New Orleans millionaire, McDonough, was 
found a copy of Dryden’s translation of 
Ovid’s Art of Love, which bore evidences 
of having been constantly and quite recent¬ 
ly read, with lead marks indicating ideas 
and sentiments which were particularly 
happy and striking. One of these ideas is 
a severe and sneering allusion: to the fully 
of the miser, who devotes himself to the 
dry, dull and unsatisfactory pleasure of ac¬ 
cumulating wealth, whilst the whole ani¬ 
mal world is engaged in the more delight¬ 
ful and exhilarating occupation of love.— 
The humorous poet proceeds to recommend 
that all such persons should be served as 
Midas was, whose avarice was punished by 
turning every thing he touched into gold. 
The Delta proceeds to tell us that Mr. 
McDonough was, singularly enough, in love, 
and that the remembrance of his disap¬ 
pointment no doubt prompted his frequent 
residing of Ovid. Many years ago, when 
McDonough had reached a mature age, 
and had accumulated large landed posses¬ 
sions, with a project in view of surrounding 
the city with his property, he found that 
some lands intervened, which belonged to 
a very wealthy and gay widow lady. Mr. 
McDonough endeavored to purchase these 
lots. He sent a great many persons, who 
offered the widow a very large price for 
her property, but she would not sell, he'in 
the meantime remaining secret, not allow¬ 
ing it to be known that he was the person 
in pursuit of this property. All his efforts 
proved abortive. At last he undertook a 
different plan. He paid court to the lady, 
proposed marriage, and was rejected in 
such a manner as to cause his indignation, 
and excite avow of revenge, which he lived 
to execute. 
Years afterwards this same widow, hav¬ 
ing been offered a large price for a piece of 
city property, found that two lots at the 
corner of the square, which were chiefly 
owned by her, were the property of Mr. 
John McDonough. It was necessary that 
she should have these lots to complete her 
sale. They had cost Mr. McDonough hut 
a few hundred dollars. What was her sur¬ 
prise, on sending a broker to him, to be in¬ 
formed that he might take $500,000, hut 
nothing less. The widow determined to 
try the virtue of a little personal persuasion; 
perhaps she could kindle the old flame, and 
thus induce him to relax. Accordingly she 
paid him a visit. She found him in his 
dreary old house at McDonoughville. He 
was buried in musty papers, surrounded by 
his negro clerks copying records. A single 
empty chair sat in the room. The widow 
took this, and immediately commenced the 
object of her mission. Great was her sur¬ 
prise to be informed by Mr. McDonough 
that it was impossible to sell the lots in 
question. He owned no property himself. 
It was all God Almighty’,8 whose agent he 
was, without the power to sell. 
At last, having exhausted all other arts, 
the lady thought she would try the effect of 
old reminisenees and associations; so she 
blushingly and softly inquired of the stern 
old millionaire how it was that he should 
have once offered her his hand and heart, 
and was now unwilling to grant her that 
small privilege. “That,” responded the 
hard-hearted votary of Mammon, “ was 
many, many years ago; and then I was 
thoughtless and giddy, and you, madam, 
were young and handsome.” 
HOW TO BE MISERABLE. 
Sit at the window, and look over the 
way at your neighbor’s excellent mansion, 
which he has recently bought and paid for, 
and sigh out: 
“Oh, that I were a rich man.” 
Get angry with your neighbor, and think 
that you have not a friend in the world.— 
Shed a tear or two; take a walk in the 
burial ground, continually saying to your¬ 
self:— 
“ When shall I be buried here ?” 
Sign a note for a friend, and never for¬ 
get your kindness, and every hour in the 
day whisper to yourself— 
“ I wonder if he will pay the note ?” 
Think everybody means to cheat you. 
Closely examine every hill you take; 
doubt its being genuine till you put the 
owner to a great deal of trouble. 
Believe every dime passed to you is but 
a six-pence crossed, and express your doubts 
about getting rid of it if you take it. 
Never accommodate, if you can possibly 
help it. 
Never visit the sick and afflicted, and 
never give a farthing to the poor. 
Grind the faces and hearts of the poor 
and unfortunate. 
hollow these directions and you will not 
fail of being as miserably as any human 
can desire. 
Witty sayings are as easily lost as the 
pearls slipping off a broken string; but a 
word of kindness is seldom spoken in vain. 
It is a seed which even when dropped by 
chance, springs up a flower. 
Dr. Johnson used to say, “He who 
waits to do a great deal of good at once, 
will never do any.” 
EARLY MARRIAGES. 
[Suggested !»y article on Matrimony in No. 60of Rural.] 
Though the wife of an affectionate hus¬ 
band, and mother of three lovely daughters, 
(in my estimation, at least) —upon whom I 
bestow all those deep and pure streams of 
love, which flow from the heart of a fond 
mother for her offspring—yet, I cannot 
agree with Florence Hay in thinking that 
“ single years are wasted.” In my humble 
opinion much early life, at least, is misspent 
in trying to perform duties connected with 
the marriage relation, for which girls are 
so ill qualified—time which ought to have 
been spent in the cultivation and improve¬ 
ment of those intellectual powers which are 
to endure when all earthly things have pass¬ 
ed hence, in acquiring a knowledge of the 
domestic arts, and sciences, under the in¬ 
struction of a mother, or some kind friend, 
while yet unencumbered by the cares of a 
wife and parent. 
Perhaps some young lady who has been 
nursed in the lap of affluence, having every 
want supplied by other hands, may think it 
useless to spend time in learning that which 
she has no occasion to practice, even if she 
does not feel that her dignity would be 
lowered by such employments—but she 
knows not what changes fortune’s wheel in 
its revolutions may bring about, or how soon 
she may be called to participate in those 
offices. If a irl has no parental home, 
as is often the case, rather than assume the 
responsibilities of the matrimonial connec¬ 
tion in her youthful days, (those hours, so 
precious, yet so little appreciated,) even 
for the sake of a home, she might better do 
what a young lady once remarked to me. 
Said she—“ I would work my finger nails 
off, rather than do it;” and she added—“I 
disdain the idea of marrying, at any age, 
with no higher motive than for a home.” — 
And she well knew by experience what it 
was to depend upon her own exertions for 
all she had or was—yet loving and beloved 
by all who know her. Methinks if girls 
were rightly educated while in their teens* 
they would bestow no more than a passing 
thought on conjugal felicity. 
Neither can I concur with Ava Grey, 
that “girlsin general while unmarried wish 
for their own little ones to love and caress.” 
There may be exceptions, it is true. We 
consider old maids, as they are called, in¬ 
dispensable in many a household, and often 
a great blessing to community—performing 
offices of love and mercy, which are often 
out of the power of a married women to do. 
Now I would not wish to be considered 
a non-advocate of matrimony — far from it. 
While I believe it to be an institution of 
divine appointment, instituted for the good 
of mankind, I at the same time disbelieve 
it to be the duty of every one who can to 
enter into that death-dissoluble connection. 
Far better would it be for many husbands, 
as well as wives, if to them the matrimonial 
vows had never been administered. 
f 
Women, I may here add, are no more 
destined to be mothers than it is the irre¬ 
trievable destiny of man “ to eat his bread 
by the sweat of his brow.” Now I am 
well aware that this is approaching a deli¬ 
cate subject, but am equally as conscious 
that such truths have too long been handled 
with gloved fingers for the good of our sex, 
— lest some over modest (above what is 
written,) eyes or ears should be offended or 
disgusted. But I will leave the subjects j 
merely hinted at by these brief remarks, 
hoping some abler pen may assume their 
advocacy. 
The above is written not by the way of 
controversy, but as the candid opinion of 
one who well knows by experience some of 
the disadvantages of being married when 
young. A Reader of the Rural. 
Woman is a very nice and a very com¬ 
plicated machine. Her springs are infi¬ 
nitely delicate, and differ from those of a 
man as the work of a repeating-watch does 
from that of a town-clock. Look at her 
body —how delicately formed! Observe 
her understanding, how subtle and acute! 
But look into her heart—there is the watch- 
work, composed of parts so minute in them¬ 
selves, and so wonderfully combined, that 
they must be seen by a microsopic eve to 
be clearly comprehended. The percep¬ 
tion of woman is as quick as lightning.— 
Her penetration is intuition — I had almost 
said instinct. Spirit in conversation de¬ 
pends upon fancy, and women all over the 
world talk better than men.— Sherlock. 
I he following description of “Her Ma¬ 
jesty” of England is given by Mr. Wilkes 
of the New York Police Gazette: 
I saw her first in coach, in procession to 
St. James’ Palace for a levee, and have seen 
her three times since at more advantage, 
hut the first impression remained unsoften¬ 
ed. There is no chance for a mistake in 
her facial angle, and a glance is followed by 
a conclusion. On the occasion in St. James’ 
Park, there were two parties of American 
gentlemen from different hotels, who stood 
in a group at the point of view I occupied. 
When the Queen passed each turned and 
looked the other in the face, and the smile 
which came Irom all, said, almost in plain 
words, “Lord! how much we have been 
humbugged by the pictures.” By-and-by 
this smile broke into a laugh, and everyone 
enjoyed it, as men will who detect a trick 
that has deceived them, but which has not 
affected their credit for intelligence. “She 
does not bear the most remote resemblance 
to any of her pictures,” said one. “I sup¬ 
pose it would be as much as a man’s life is 
worth to attempt to do it,” said another.— 
“No man who wants to keep in with her 
friends will ever draw her side face,” said 
a third. “ I’ll tell you what I think about 
her, gentlemen,” said a fourth; “if such a 
looking person were introduced in a ball¬ 
room in IN e w \ ork, as a partner for a dance, 
the gentleman who, out of politeness, went 
through the cotillon with her, would feel he 
had a right afterward to inquire what ob¬ 
ject the person who had scared her up had 
in giving him sucli a partner.” “ But she 
has a fine complexion,” said I. “ So she 
has, said the last speaker, “ but of what 
avail is complexion to such a line of fea¬ 
tures ? Her face protrudes in the centre, 
and retreats at the forehead and chin. She 
is, in short, what is known as a pig-faced 
lady, and the complexion of Ninon de L’En- 
clos would not redeem her.” 
My friend was right. The Queen of 
Britain is a most insignificant looking per¬ 
son, and no peanut stand in the realm could 
adopt her for its overseer without risking a 
loss of standing in the presence of its keep¬ 
er. She is insipid in every feature, and the 
unfortunate protrusion of the centre of the 
face, and retreat of the forehead and chin, 
indicates that lack ot mental force which is 
nature’s charter for the enforcement of re¬ 
spect. Add to this a shortness of the up¬ 
per lip, that almost discloses the teeth even 
when in a state of repose, and seems to 
promise nothing but petulent lisp, and you 
have before you a tolerable notion of the 
blue-eyed, fair-skinned Queen of England. 
In stature she is short and dumpy, being 
squared according to the German fashion, 
and she has a foot as flat as a brick. No 
dignity redeems this contour. She has no 
more natural majesty than a baby-jumper, 
or style than a brown jar. In short, she is 
a great nonentity, a tractable idol, which 
this mighty people set at their head as a 
sort of symbol of a power that once existed 
in the State, the shade and show of which 
it is convenient to retain. So much a year 
is allowed out of the treasury to feed \and 
to amuse her; a stout, well-behaved fellow 
is provided as her husband; and as a return 
for this style of living, she is only required 
to sign a few papers a day, and be present 
at the opening of Parliament once a year. 
She is also expected to go to the play and 
the races as often as possible, to keep her¬ 
self cheerful and gracious with the people; 
and by way of gaining their hearts, in or¬ 
der that the machinery of the oligarchy may 
work in quiet, she is furnished large sums 
of money to contribute to popular charita¬ 
ble funds of various kinds. 
Women of Savoy. —I think I saw quite 
as many women as men at work in the 
fields throughout Savoy. A girl of fourteen 
driving a yoke of oxen attached to a cart, 
walking barefoot beside the team and ply¬ 
ing the goadstick, while a boy of her own 
age lay at length in the cart, is one of my 
liveliest recollections of Savoyard ways.— 
Nut-brown, unbonnetted women, hoeing 
corn, with an implement between an adze 
and a pick-axe, (and not a bad implement, 
either, for so rugged and unplowed soil,)wo- 
men, driving hogs, cows, <kc., to or from 
market, we encountered at every town.— 
So much hard, rough work and exposure is 
fatal to every trace of beauty, and I do not 
remember to have seen a woman in Savoy 
even moderately good-looking, while many 
were absolutely revolting. That this is not 
Nature’s faultisproved by the general aspect 
of the children, who though swarthy, have 
often good forms and features.— Greeley. 
Female Coquetry. —To women there is 
an inexpressible fascination in this dalliance 
with danger—this compromise between love 
and coquetry. It is their one excitment, 
and it is worth to them all the thousand 
others that serve to relieve, or more often 
to distract, the dullness of their lords and 
masters. They are content to be whirled 
out of their own thoughts in that pleasing 
vortex. Its edifying rapidity is so delight¬ 
ful—its attraction so gently powerful—its 
surface, up to the very edge, so smooth and 
glassy; all is charming until the last fatal 
plunge itself, when the abyss is opened to 
its victim and then closes upon her forever. 
