MOORE’S RURAL NfiW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
Written for the Rural New-Yorker. 
AUTillN. 
There’s ah Autumn for the flowers, 
And an Autumn for the heart: 
O, the winged and rosy hours ! 
How they hasten to depart! 
Gaze on Autumn’s pictured pages, 
Wander o'er the withered lea; 
Such hath $»een the vanished ages, 
Such the future years shall be. 
In the valley, on the mountain. 
Where they lately bloomed around. 
And beside the sparkling fountain, 
Faded flowers strew the ground. 
Ah! the Summer hath departed; 
Gathered is the golden grain, 
And the southern beams are darted 
O'er the dry leaves on the plain. 
And a mournful thrill of sadness 
Seems to sigh across the heart—• 
“ Mortal, all thy joy and gladness, 
Like the Summer, shall depart.” 
Thou art but a fleeting creature : 
When thy youth has passed away 
Thou hast lost thy brightest feature, 
And the rest shall soon decay. 
Dreamer in a land of strangers, 
Delve* in a darkened mine, 
Sailor on a sea of dangers, 
Dost thou mourn this lot of thine ? 
When the ripened grain is gathered 
In the harvest of thy youth, 
And the useless stalk has withered 
Like a maiden’s dream of Truth— 
When the sun of Hope is waning 
In thy heart’s Hesperian sky, 
And the few' dim dreams remaining 
Tremble as they wander by, 
When the current, once so leaping 
Through thy fresh and buoyant veins, 
Like a Sluggish stream is creeping 
As upon tlie level plains— 
Thou wilt feel the thrill of sadness 
As it sighs across tlie heart, 
“Mortal, all thy joy and gladness, 
Like the Summer, shall depart 1” 
Mum ford, N. Y., 1852. Lora Lee. 
C'ljt Unral |ketr!i S6ook. 
THE TWO BROTHERS. 
A CONTRAST OF COUNTRY LIFE. 
11Y MRS. M. A. DENNISON. 
“ I have two friends who are brothers, ’ 
said an eminent judge ; “ they are much at¬ 
tached to each other, though very dissimi¬ 
lar in tastes and intellect. Both commenc¬ 
ed business quite early in life, and under 
circumstances the most favorable to success. 
At this present time they are equally rich, 
both enjoying a fortune of over one hun¬ 
dred thousand dollars. 
Some two years ago, they selected build¬ 
ing-lots on the banks of the Susquehannah, 
and agreed to erect houses exactly al Ice, 
and surrounded with all the appliances of 
modern comfort and improvement. 
Bast week I visited the romantic spot, 
and so impressed was 1 with its beauty, that 
1 have resolved to make it my permanent 
place of abode. But about the brothers.— 
I went first to Edward's home; he carried 
on, before retirement, the great woolen fac¬ 
tory at A-. lie has a pretty wife, 
handsome children, splendid furniture; his 
grounds are laid out with much taste, su¬ 
perintended, of course, by his gardener; his 
orchards are in excellent order; in fact, 
nothing seems wanting, to make him hap¬ 
py. At dinner time, I observed his wife 
said little, and looked somewhat careworn, 
and as if she were accustomed to weariness. 
Ilis only daughter was dressed with nearly 
as much elaboration as a ball-room would 
require, yet her face, though of a high or¬ 
der of beauty, looked vapid and simpering. 
His sons could talk of little but sporting, 
and their grammar was bad, so much so that 
I was shocked when I understood they wore 
both nearly ready for college. 
In the afternoon wo walked out; the wife 
and daughter excused themselves on plea of 
the heat. The sunlight laid along the green 
bank of the river, and dimpled in its clear, 
blue waters; and the beautiful hills sloping 
from valley to valley, on the far shore, shono 
with uncommon brilliance. Wo entered the 
arbor, a fairy construction of debcato lat¬ 
tice-work. 
“ This is a cool place,” I remarked ; “and 
its structure, though novel, is pleasing.” 
“Yes,” he answered; “I indulge hero 
sometimes; fino placo for smoking; and 
pretty good for an afternoon nap.” 
I gazed out upon tho glorious scenery, 
and with great effort prevented myself from 
saying “ pshaw !” 
•• I’ve often thought,” he continued, com¬ 
ing to the door and leaning hack languidly, 
“if I could have this location for a mill, 
what a fino thing it would he; if I was a 
younger man, it’ 1 was only a younger man. 
I’d soon make it tho most valuable property 
in the United States. Why, look here: what 
splendid land, and all running to waste as 
you might say; timber enough, too, to build 
a fino establishment, besides making fuel 
and working into planks. If I could just 
get about that sort of business hero, I should 
he contented ; for tho fact is, Judge, tho fact 
is, I am—” 
“ You are not happy in retirement." I 
said, bluffly. 
“That’s it, Judgo; I can’t bo contented 
with this namby-pamby sort of life; and 
this monotonous scenery is quite wearing 
me out. There’s brother Jacky, he will tell 
you another story; I don’t think he over 
had quite tho passion for entorprize that I 
have. I don’t like tho country, that’s flat; 
business and hustle is my life. But, come, 
let’s stop over to brother’s; you see ho lives 
but a stono’s throw away.” 
Brother Jacky, as the old man called him, 
was in tho garden, superintending tho re¬ 
moval of some very choice plants. IIo was 
attired in a linen jacket and straw hat, and 
his cheeks were as red and fresh looking as 
those of a youth. 
He sprung forward to meet me, his beam¬ 
ing smile attesting his pleasure, he led me 
through his garden, not so precise, but far 
more beautiful than his brother’s; he show¬ 
ed me his orchard, as clean and thrifty as it 
could he. and then led me to an arbor simi¬ 
lar to tho 't.her and through the trellis- 
work of which emerald clusters of unripe 
grapes were hanging. 
“There! isn’t this a place fit for a mon¬ 
arch ? 1 toll you, sir. take a favorite author 
on a glowing day, bring daughters and wife 
here, with their work-table and basket, sit 
them down beside you, just place them and 
yourself on these cosy little settles : and if 
a man isn’t happy then, why, he don't de¬ 
serve to be.” 
I cast a sidelong glance at his brother;— 
he had taken out a daily paper, and was ear¬ 
nestly engaged in reading—tho advertise¬ 
ments. 
“Docs not the sameness of the country 
weary you ?” asked I. 
“Weary me !’’ ho exclaimed, with a flash¬ 
ing eye; — “sameness! why! look you, 
Judge, the sun is near setting, now; look at 
the hills; did you ever see such a glorious 
royal purple, a brighter crimson ? how soft¬ 
ly tho shaded mantles of light fall upon 
them, and how rich and vivid tho brown in 
the hollows! Behold the sky!” and while 
he looked almost inspired, he pointed his 
linger towards the heavens, all burnished 
and crimsoned, the gorgeous colors reflect¬ 
ed in the gentle Susquehanna; “see how 
it is dipped, as it were, in the molten beams 
of the sun. In the morning think you it is 
tho same ? No. no, I come out by myself 
to watch the darkness away, and behold tho 
great sun brightening the heavens, flash af¬ 
ter flash, till the whole horizon seems fitly 
called heaven. And then at night. Judge, I 
take my children, and loosen the little boat 
fastened, you see, to the bank, and while 
the moon silvers trees and shrubs, and whit¬ 
ens the water as the oar breaks through, I 
tell you it is a change, and a glorious one.— 
And my daughters, since they have been 
here, have changed wonderfully; and my 
wife and sons, they take long healthful ram¬ 
bles with me; they had the dyspepsia in tho 
city, it has gone now; they are up with the 
lark, and as merry they sketch from na¬ 
ture. drink from that pure brook, eat from 
theso trees, these beds and vines, and on 
the whole are pretty good specimens of 
what nature can do; very different beings 
from what they were when we led an arti¬ 
ficial life.” 
Here his brother, who had been saunter¬ 
ing off some distance, came forward. — 
“ There,” said bo, pointing his speculating 
finger to a beautiful bend in the river. “ there 
is the best site in the world for a mill; a 
lumber mill. I mean. The tide is rapid and 
strong, and just strike off those useless elms, 
there would bo the finest spot for opera¬ 
tion. What are the elms good for ? what 
is the river, this part of it, I mean, good for 
at present? They don't benefit any one a 
dime’s worth.” 
My worthy friend smiled as he glanced 
towards me, but shook his head as much as 
to say, “It’s no use—he has no eye but for 
mills and cotton.” 
I walked into the country-loving broth¬ 
er’s house; his daughters, attired in simple 
dresses, wholly unadorned, except by the 
glossy ringlets that twined round the snowy 
necks of each, gave me a pleasant greeting, 
and with graceful, easy manners, conversed 
with the stranger as if he were an old friend. 
His wife, a youthful-looking matron, was as 
busy as her domestics, but her transient re¬ 
marks indicated a cultivated mind and deep 
powers of thinking. 
Edward caught up a fresh paper, and 
turned as usual to account of stocks, which 
he plodded through with as anxious a face 
as tho veriest fearful speculator ; while Jacky 
took me to his library, named over the 
choice books, and carefully commented on 
each, though with the manner of a very 
modest man. 
Now the great difference in theso two 
brothers was this: one had studied books 
in his leisure, and men and circumstances 
when occupied with business; tho other had 
cramped down a mind originally noble, to 
tho mere object of money-getting—and yet 
lie bad amassed no more than his wiser 
brother. Now in old age. one was a nerv¬ 
ous, restless being, seeing more beauty in 
a ledger than in green fields and babbling 
streams,kind happier in a little dingy count¬ 
ing-room than in his palaco house, surround¬ 
ed with every good gift of God ; tho other 
an open-hearted, intelligent, contented man, 
blessed in his life, 
“ Exempt from public haunt, 
finding, 
“ Tongues in trees, books in the running brooks. 
Sermons in stones, and good in everything.” 
ROMANCE IN REAL LIFE. 
The facts which follow are furnished us 
by a reliable correspondent, and contain suf¬ 
ficient of the “ raw material” for a good 
novel. We are assured by the narrator that 
the statements are literally correct: 
Some sixteen years sinco, a gentleman in 
Now York city contrived for a while to pay 
his addresses to a beautiful girl there, the 
daughter of a worthy, but obstinate Pearl 
street merchant, who was opposed to the 
young man’s visiting his daughter. He per¬ 
sisted in his endeavors to win tho young 
lady, and at last was forbidden to enter tho 
old man’s house. 
Still tho lovers continued to meet, occa¬ 
sionally, afterward— and at tho expiration 
of some six months, matters having boen 
previously so arranged—tho girl consented 
to marry the youth who lovod her, and for 
whom, at any time he would have periled 
his life, so deeply rooted was liis affection 
for her. He did not seek her fortune, for 
ho was in the enjoyment of a handsome sal¬ 
ary as principal book-keeper in an extensive 
jobbing house, and his prospects, pecuniarily, 
were very fair. But the parents were ob¬ 
durate, and he was driven from tho house. 
As wo have hinted, at the end of half a 
twelve month, they agreed to bo married, 
and all tho requisite arrangements were 
made, the evening was fixed upon, even tho 
I chaplain had been engaged— but on the 
morning of the day proposed secretly for 
the nuptials, the whole plan was discovered, 
and the match was broken off, peremptorily 
-—by the absoluto authority of the parents. 
Time passed on. Tho daughter was sent 
to distant part of tho country for awhile— 
tho young man was disappointed and dis¬ 
heartened— and left Now York for tho 
West, where he remained two years. Mean¬ 
time, a person to suit the tastes of the pa¬ 
rents turned up—a man of considerable 
means, but old enough to bo tho young 
girl's father—and a match was arranged, af¬ 
ter long persuasion, between Emma and this 
man, and she wedded him at last. 
Three years subsequently, the young man 
found himself in New England, where ho 
settled and took a wife, also—finding it 
“ not good to dwell alone”—and some dozen 
years or more passed away, with their thou¬ 
sand and one changes of place, of circum¬ 
stance and fortune. From tho time of their 
separation, the original lovers had never 
met. 
The young man became the father of lit¬ 
tle ones, and then lost two of these; which 
bereavement was soon after followed by tho 
death of his wife. Time flew by—ho had 
been a widower for some years, and his old¬ 
est daughter had got to bo quite a Miss.— 
He had been fortunate in bis business, and 
resided a few miles out of tho city, in a 
sweet “ little cottage unclouded by sorrow,” 
for tho day of his sorrow had long since 
gone by; and he endeavored to bo content¬ 
ed and happy, surrounded as he was by the 
comforts of life, and in the enjoyment of tlio 
society of his dear little daughter. 
One day last month he was returning home 
in the afternoon, and upon entering the cars 
found them full. He sought a seat and 
found one occupied by a lady about thirty 
years of age—beside whom he sat down, and 
the cars soon moved out of tho depot. As 
they immerged into the light, he suddenly 
turned to the lady and exclaimed— 
“ Mad—am ! Emma! Is this you?” 
Ho didn’t know exactly what he said, but 
it was a’fact that he was on the seat with 
the girl to whom ho had once been engaged 
to bo married, whom ho had really loved, 
and whom he had never seen from the day 
of their cruel separation. 
A mutual explanation quickly succeeded. 
Our widowed friend ascertained that his 
former intended was on her way to tho 
North upon a visit to her friends. That 
she had been married about eleven years, 
had but one child living, and her husband 
had been dead over two years. Tie pointed 
to his pretty cottage, as tho cars passed on 
—but did not leave tho train ! 
lie proceeded forward, renewed liis ac¬ 
quaintance. found tho lady her own mistress, 
proposed to her again—for he believed her 
quite as lovely as ever — and won her sure, 
this time ! And we record the fact with no 
ordinary degree of pleasure, that within 
three weeks the lovers were actually united 
together in marriage, in tho city of Boston. 
Long may they live to enjoy their wealth, 
and the happiness which wo know must fol¬ 
low their union.— American Union. 
Into JkjmrttiMit. 
WE HURRY UP TOO FAST. 
In the antiquated Country house where 
our infancy budded into boyhood, there 
were two clocks ; one a quiet, sedate, and 
highly-respected timepiece, that graced the 
mantel of tho family sitting-room ; tho oth¬ 
er, in the kitchen, was a regular bully among 
clocks—made in Connecticut of course. It 
ticked out tho seconds as if it supposed it¬ 
self the pulse of all creation, and was under 
bonds to keep everybody in the vicinity 
awake. At every jerk—for the pendulum 
rather jerked than swung,—it distinctly ar¬ 
ticulated hurry-up, hurry-up, hurry-up, and 
when it struck the hours, the sleeping babe 
invariably turned in its cradle and cried.— 
Years enough have passed, with their alter¬ 
nations of heat and frosts, to try tho tem- 
por of these fellow-laborers, and determine 
which worked to the best advantage. The 
sober and sedate one is yet as reliable as ever 
—promising to continue its gently-whisper¬ 
ed monitions to tho thoughtful of another 
generation. And the little kitchen bully 
hurries up with all his ancient vigor—when 
once ho is got under way ; but, lie is somo- 
what rheumatic in the joints, his marrow is 
getting cold, and his hands are clumsy.— 
Ho is trusty enough to poach eggs by. but 
if tho johnnycake were to stand in the spi¬ 
der till bis hour is up, it might possibly bo 
burned to a cinder, for tho little Yankee’s 
oleum laetitiae is thick and adhesive. 
Verily, as it is with the machine, so it is 
with its manufacturer. IIo is too likely, by 
incessant labor, to wear himself out before 
his death and to dio before his time. We 
have said it before, and wo repeat it as our 
conviction, that tho Yankee labors too much, 
to labor to advantage, and makes too hard 
work of his resting. IIo cannot, with all 
this sail set. hold on his course forever.— 
Squalls will carry away his topsails, sever 
his rigging, and snap his spars, if they do 
not over-set him. The nocturnal vigilance 
or hurrying dreams that succeed any extra¬ 
ordinary excitement, tho moments of lost 
consciousness which wait upon his little ail- 
monts, are the premonitory gusts. They 
give warning of terrible storms at hand,— 
of raging delirium, apoplectic strokes and 
confirmed insanity.— JY. Y. Times. 
Anger without cause is liko a fire under 
an empty kettle — it burns and roars to no 
sort of bonefit. 
THE DAY-DREAM: 
FROM AX EMIGRANT TO HIS ABSENT WIFE. 
[A new edition of the poems of Samuel Tayi.or Cot.e- 
ui doe contains the following verses, contributed to tlie 
Morning Post, in 1802, but not until now included in any 
edition of their writer's poetry.] 
If thou wort here, these tears were tears of light, 
But from as sweet a vision did I start 
As ever made these eyes grow idly bright 1 
And though I weep, yet still around my heart 
A sweet and playful tenderness doth linger, 
Touching my heart as with an infant’s finger. 
My mouth half open, like a witless man, 
I saw our couch, I saw our quiet room, 
Its shadows lieaviug by the fire-light gloom; 
And o’er triy lips a subtle feeling ran, 
And o’er my lips a soft and breeze-like feeling— 
I know nut what—but liad tlie same been stealing 
Upon a sleeping mother's lips, I guess 
It would have made tlie loving mother dream 
That she was softly bending down to kiss 
Her babe, that something more than babe did seem, 
A floating presence of its darling tiitiier, 
And yet its own dear baby-self far rather. 
Across my chest there lay a weight so warm 1 
As if some bird hud taken shelter there; 
And lo 1 I seemed to see a woman’s form— 
Thine, Sara, thine ? O joy, if thine it were 1 
I gazed with stifled breath, and feared to sfir it 
No deeper trance e'er wrapt a yearning spirit! 
And now, when I seemed sure thy face to see, 
Thy own dear self in our own quiet home; 
There came an elfish laugh, and wakened mo; 
’Twas Frederick, who behind my chair had clomb, 
And with bis bright eyes at my face was peeping, 
I blessed him, tried to laugh, and fell a weeping. 
For tlie Rural New-Yorker. 
MRS. E. S. SEAGER* 
LATE PRECEPTRESS OF THE GENESEE WES¬ 
LEYAN SEMINARY, LIMA, N. Y. 
As the intelligence of the death of this 
beloved woman spreads'over tho country, a 
thousand hearts will melt in sorrow, and a 
thousand eyes overflow with sadness. Her 
name was closely entwined with somo of 
tho dearest recollections and brightest 
hopes that youthful minds ever cherish 
during their halcyon school-going days. 
As those who attended tho Genesee Wesley¬ 
an Seminary when she was its Preceptress 
hear of her departure, they will recall many 
a happy scene in which she was a central 
figure, and dwell with grateful, but melan¬ 
choly pleasure on the many noble virtues 
that adorned her character and made her 
what she was to them when they most 
needed a true counsellor and friend. If the 
sincere sympathies and heartfelt regret of 
j others could afford her bereaved husband 
I any relief, then he might find some, though 
\ not His highest consolation, in the inflection 
I that ho neither mourned alone, nor without 
hope. 
The unostentatious but honorable career 
of this talented lady, was a beautiful and en¬ 
couraging illustration of what perseverance 
and application can do under circumstances 
the most difficult and trying. Of humble 
but reputable parentage, she cai-ly saw that 
sho must rely mainly on herself, and be the 
.architect of her own fortunes. With the 
calm decision for which sho was remarkable, 
she immediately sot about the great work 
i of preparing’herself to live a life of useful- 
j ness—she began the self culture of the 
| head and heart. When quito young, with 
j genuine sell-reliance, she left her homo and 
became a distinguished student of tho Sem¬ 
inary, over tho female department of which 
she afterwards presided for a number of' 
years, with so much benofit to others, and 
credit to herself. Sho worked mornings, 
evenings and during vacations to get tho 
means of defraying the necessary expenses 
of attending such an institution of learning. 
After thoroughly going through tho regu¬ 
lar course of studies pursued there, sho 
voluntarily took up other branches, and 
added much to her already extensive ac¬ 
quirements. After sho had succeeded in 
securing a liberal education for herself, she 
willingly extended a helping hand to her 
j near relatives and companions, and always 
had a word of kind encouragement or 
friendly admonition to all who camo to her 
for advice. 
Sho was a severe student, and the result 
was, she became a good teacher and an ac¬ 
complished preceptress. At no time has 
tho Seminary located at Lima, been more 
useful and popular, than when sho and her 
surviving companion were its heads as prin- 
; cipals. They secured tho lasting good will 
; and warm attachment of all who were ac- 
! quainted with their course as instructors, 
' and enjoyed the privileges of their society. 
Tho high respect and esteem in which they 
were universally held by their pupils, rested 
on the basis of solid merits and well-per¬ 
formed services. They felt and manifested 
a strong personal interest in the success of 
all who were temporarily committed to 
their chargo, and left nothing undone that 
could contribute to their welfare. Mrs. 
Seager’s ideas of what female education 
should bo were elevated but correct and at¬ 
tainable, as her published opinions clearly 
prove, yet sho based all on the safe founda- 
“Died in Buffalo, on the morning of Sept, 3d, Mrs. E. 8. 
Seauer, wife of l’rof. S. Srager, Raster of Swan street M. 
1 E. Church. 
tions of utility, common sense and sound 
judgment. Sho sought to carry them out 
in practice, and seemed to act as if an 
abiding sense of responsibility was ever on 
Her mind, and labored faithfully to acquit 
herself fully and fairly. When a new col¬ 
lege was about to bo established in Western 
New York, and a question was raised wheth¬ 
er it should be opened to both ladies and 
gentlemen on precisely tho same terms, she 
eloquently and triumphantly plead the cause 
of her sex and secured to them the advan¬ 
tages of a collegiate education in her favor¬ 
ite region of country. 
She was a rarely gifted woman, as all who 
enjoyed her acquaintance and confidence 
knew and felt. In her there was a happy 
blending of the mild and strong elements 
of intellect. Sho knew how to be firm yet 
gentle—how to censure earnestly, yet kind¬ 
ly. Shrinking from tho fulfilment of no 
obligation, sho was yet retiring in her dis¬ 
position, and preferred tho secluded walk 
of domestic life, to all tho attractions of a 
brilliant position. Though she hold for 
years a high public trust, as tho principal 
of a numerously attended school, sho neg¬ 
lected none of her duties as a wife, mother, 
neighbor and Christian. Sho exhibited in 
her own person how a woman can be truly 
learned, without seeking to overstep the 
modesty of the intelligent, pure-minded 
lady. Her belief in tho religion of the 
Bible was the result of a deop conviction of 
its truth, and tho whole aim of her life was 
one continued effort to walk in tho ways of 
peace and pleasantness, which tho Redeem¬ 
er had pointed out in his word and by his 
example, and her flight to eternity was but 
a transit from “ sunshine to tho sunless 
land.” 
Sho is gono, and of tho hundreds who 
ever gratefully remembered her in life as 
their teacher and guide, there is not one 
who will not, with tearful sorrow say, as 
they learn that so much worth and goodness 
has been snatched from earth— 
“ Green be flic turf above (liee, 
Friend of my better days 1 
None knew tlioe blit to love tliee. 
None named thee but to praise.” 
Lockport, Sept, (i, 1852. D. W. Ballou, Jr. 
BASHFUL MEN. 
We never yet saw a genuinely bashful 
man who was not tho soul of honor. Tho’ 
such may blush and stammer, and shrug 
their shoulders awkwardly, unable to throw 
forth with ease, tho thoughts that they 
would express, yet commend them to us for 
friends. There are fine touches in their 
characters that time will mellow and bring 
out; perceptions as delicate as the fairest 
tint is to the unfolding rose; and their 
thoughts are none the less refined and beau¬ 
tiful that they do not flow with the impet¬ 
uosity of the streamlet. 
Wo are astonished that such men are not 
appreciated; that ladies with really good 
hearts and cultivated intellects, will reward 
the gallant Sir Mustachic Brainless with 
smiles and attentions, because lie can fold a 
shawl gracefully, and bandy compliments 
with Parisian elegance, while they will not 
condescend to look upon the worthier man 
who feels for them a reverence so great that 
his every mute glance is worship. 
Tho man who is bashful in tho prcsenco 
of ladies, is their defender when the loose 
tongue of the slanderer would defame them: 
it is not ho who boasts of conquests, or 
dares to talk glibly of failings that exist in 
his imagination alone; his cheek will flush 
with resentment, his eye flash with anger, 
to hear the name of woman coupled with a 
coarse oath ; and yet he who would dio to 
defend them is least honored by tho major¬ 
ity of our sex. 
YVho ever heard of a bashful libertine ? 
The anomaly was never seen. Ease and 
elegance are his requisites; upon his lips 
sits flattery, ready to pay court alike to 
blue eyes and black ; he is never non-plus- 
sed, he never blushes. For a glance ho is 
raptures; for a word, he would professedly 
lay down his life. Yet it is bo who fills our 
vilo city dens with wrecks of female puritv; 
it is ho who profanes tho holy name of 
mother, desolates the shrine where domes¬ 
tic happiness is throned; ruins the heart 
that trusts in hm; pollutes the very air ho 
breathes, and all under tho mask of a pol¬ 
ished gentleman. 
Ladies, a word in your ear; have you lov¬ 
ers, and would you possess a worthy hus¬ 
band ? Choose him whoso delicacy of de¬ 
portment, whoso sense of your worth leads 
him to stand aloof, while others crowd 
around your sex. If ho is retiring and 
modest, iot not a thousand fortunes weigh 
him down in the balance, for dopend upon 
it, with him your life will bo happier with 
poverty, than with many another surround¬ 
ed by the splendor of palaces. 
A new Degree.— In an address delivered 
before tho Phi Beta Kappa Society of Yale 
College, Prof. Silliman remarked, that, tho 
best diploma for a woman, is a large family 
of children and an honored and happy hus¬ 
band. Tho Professor thought, that with 
regard to the degree of Mistress of Arts, 
lately conferred by a western College, tho 
title would be more becoming with an he 
prefixed to arts—for Mistress of Hearts, wo¬ 
man must ever be. 
In fashionable circles, general satire which 
attacks the fault rather than the person, is 
unwelcome; while that which attacks tho 
porson and spares tho fault, is always ac¬ 
ceptable. 
