I designed to come back Saturday, and pass the Sabbath and part of Monday with you. I had my trunk packed, ready for a start; and then-imagine my disappointment-a storm came, and I was obliged to abandon the idea. I rode through Seneca Falls the next Tuesday with a party of friends, and I could not then call. I looked in all the byways and highways, hoping to catch a view of my friend; but in this I was as much disappointed as in my visit. Your village is a charming place; it seemed all activity and enterprise. I noticed sev eral dwellings delightfully situated; picked out a beautiful brick edifice for your father's; but perhaps I was mistaken.

The recollection of my sojourn in Auburn and its vicinity is like a fairy dream. I visited nine different towns, and their names are very unique. I went from "Brutus" to " Cato," and from "Conquest" to "Victory," though I could not say, in so doing "I came, I saw, I conquered,"-unless it was in the subjugation of hearts, and about this you know I could tell nothing.

We are now in the midst of harvesting. Every five minutes a load of hay passes by my window. Bro. Thales comes in with blistered hands and sore wrists; and we bandage them up, and send him back again. I am as truly busy as the rest. In the dining room, three or four tables are stretched out, and my vocation is to set them. Ah, our girl is now calling me; it is time to prepare the tables; and here my letter is unfinished.

From the above you may infer my health is a little better. I should not be at work if it were not so.

VIII. TO THALES.

NEW YORK, Nov. 13, 1845.

MY DEAR BROTHER T.,-If my last was so ethereal that it was impossible to "condense me for examination," you will certainly discover in this that my Pegassus has been clipped and curbed, and that I am still held in durance by the chains of mortality.

You call me "ideal," and what wonder if I am? From the never-ending din of busy life that surrounds us in the city, we are vastly glad to escape to the sunshine of our own creation, and gild the passing moment with the glow of fancy.

Ever since my arrival in the city, I have been in a reverie; or, as Mrs. Childs said when she stopped writing letters from New York, "I've been thinking." New York is the place for speculation. Almost unconsciously one grows philosophical. There are no blank leaves in the history of this great metropolis. Every day has its incidents and accidents, its deaths and disasters; and one is ready to conclude, certainment,

"All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players."

I have already anticipated the acknowledgment of your letter in the allusion above. It reached me Friday the 7th instant; and you must know, I felt a little consequential at the time, as it is the first letter I have received in my own name since my arrival in the city. You told of writing long ago, but your missive never reached its destination. I had almost become piqued at your silence; for it is not half so poetical as you may imagine, to go off four hundred miles to be forgotten in the breadth of the journey. I have, like Dr. Johnson, a great desire for immortality, especially in the hearts of friends.

Then you have all, Tyler-like, turned "conservatives."* Well, it is nothing more than I could expect, when the "schoolmaster is abroad." But I opine you will change your politics next spring. Notwithstanding your threat of "closing the chapter of my virtues," C. and I have formed a conspiracy against oblivion, and are determined to keep you in remembrance of the absent. And then, it is something to see the glowing array of all the virtues of one's life time.

Father and Mother must have emigrated to the West, or some other place, as I do not hear any thing of their "whereabouts." Do not be so selfish in your next letter; but give them all a space.— Where is Wealthy? Do tell me what you all say

Thales had said in his letter: "We have all turned conservatives, and determined not to think of you any more."

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when you are gathered around the table of an evening. Don't you miss my music? I know there must be a terrible cavity in the family, for Father and Mother have often said I was a necessary evil. Anson is as mum as a philosopher; but then I know he is like Pat's owl, keeps an awful thinking." Tell him he must write about his journey to Pennsylvania and its enjoyment. In our daily paper to-day I saw a thrilling sketch of the mountains of Pennsylvania, together with a description of a thunder storm. It does not, however compare with some of my delineations during my stay at Aunt's!

By the bye, what delightful weather we have had during the entire autumn! For the first time in my life, the leaves have fallen without my witnessing their varying beauty. I have not looked out upon forest and field since my arrival in the city; though every thing is green in the back yards. Bird cages are suspended at almost every window, and streams of music are constantly issuing from them; and, but for the immensity of brick and mortar, one might imagine himself in the country. Like Miss Sedgwick's in Turin, my eyes are almost put out with the succession of brilliances that every where meet the view. Trinity Church is the grandest structure I have yet visited. The spire towers above every thing in the city, sweeping away heavenward as though it were to conduct the anthem of its saints to the very gate of Heaven!

I conclude from the tone of your letter, that you

have been apprised of my illness. Well, I was pretty severely indisposed for some days; but my malady seemed robbed of its sting by the unwearying attention of Mr. C., who watched by my couch day and night. Every thing that care and affection could do was done. I had a nurse, and one of the first physicians in the city; and I was almost wearied with the attention of friends. I am now quite well again. Since my convalescence, I have sprung up like a shaded flower, and am about as strong.

Has Rushville performed any revolutions? Have the leaves fallen from the grove, and has Dick gone wild among the flock? Do you all look as you did when I left home, and does the sun continue to set in the West? I know nothing about the points of the compass here in the city.

*

*

*

IX. TO MYRON, AT THE G. W. SEM.

NEW YORK, Nov. 18, 1845.

MY DEAR MY.,-You address me as "Little Sister," without knowing that it is the most endearing sobriquet you could employ. Burke has recently enlightened me on the real definition of this adjective; and when I opened your letter and saw it, I felt myself vastly flattered that I still retained so strong a hold upon your affections. But I fear, if you were to address me now, after my long delinquency,