NOW that cities have been tried and have been found a failure IN. by many in pursuit of happiness - whether it be because business is unsuccessful, or that their minds find little satisfaction and repose in crowded thoroughfares - the country and its occupations will find new votaries. Some have formed ecstatic anticipations of the pleasure which rural life produces ; they have been so wearied by the search for money, by erroneous estimates of the profits of trade, by mistaken confidence in human honesty, that they are ready to bury themselves in comparative solitude, hoping to surround their firesides with domestic pleasures, books, a few friends, and content.

Take heed, unwary citizen, how you precipitate matters. "Corking care" is not confined to towns; with the human mind, where-ever it goes, the seeds of dissatisfaction accompany it; we cannot have everything to our minds in city rows; in villas it is the same; in cottages the difficulties are undiminished ; the palace no less than the hovel contains the same ever floating fungus of disappointment. A city man suddenly transported to fields where nature holds sway, needs preparation for the change ; some seeds will not germinate without soaking; the store-keeper who scarcely knows a pear from an apple-tree, needs information before he begins to plant. But most he needs to know how to pass his time without the customed ledger, or the society of mere acquaintances that have helped to chat life away.

We once knew intimately a fat merchant replete with cash, who won the hand of the most beautiful and accomplished lady of her day. To be near her friends he bought, built, and settled in the country. There chanced to be a neighborly farmer of elegant leisure, to whom trees were companions, walks with nature, society; the fresh air was poetry, books his delight, and his pen gave happy employment on a dull wintry day. Poet he was in the estimation of those of his contemporaries who chanced to know his merit, and though few, a fitting and appreciative audience listened to his humorous, his witty, or his religious musings. The village newspaper, then with only a very limited circulation, and that strictly local, caught up, whenever the author's modesty could be overcome, his fun, his satires on the things around him, or his happy musings when the world wagged to suit the rhymer. His life resembled that of Cowper's; he was a bachelor looking from the loop-holes of retreat on a world then just about to ruin itself with steam and railroads. These he eschewed, and, we believe, though a steamboat left and arrived at the village wharf more frequently than every day, he never put his life in danger by traversing her decks, and, if we rightly remember, gave her but one sorrowful glance.

He was a resident of New Jersey - not distant from Philadelphia - a city in which he slept but one night, and was so disturbed by the noises that no inducements were strong enough to take him there again. In bis fine inherited farm he took great delight; he was the reverse of morose; he was genial in all things, and in a select circle of near relatives was not only greatly admired, but beloved. He was no hermit either, but daily paid a visit to the village post-office for his most liberal supply of books, papers, and periodicals, and in a chat with favorite connections threw off sparks of information and humor which have left their impress on another generation, At home, too, the few who knew him well, found him genial and hospitable. We shall have something more to say of this almost unknown American poet and gentleman. To day we devote a small space in order to insert two playful letters appropriate to the Horticulturist, which he addressed to our corpulent friend and his wife on their farming prospects, hoping to interest our readers in what we may hereafter copy:to- - ;

ABout to remove from the city to reside on a farm in new jersey.

The rural mansion's reared at last, The toil of building almost past; And now, while winter's stormy gale Around you scatters snow and hall, Borne evening hours are spent, I guess, In planning Future happiness-Bedding where these shrubs shall grow, Those fruits expand, or flow'rets blow; Where waving pines shall throw their shade, And where the verdant lawn be made; Which fields for grain, and which for clover, And conning great and small things over. I love these plans - they keep the mind,

And body too, alert and gay, For every hour employment find,

And banish hyp and gloom away.

Thou'rt travelling now, my friend, the road Which leads, I think, to joy's abode; But though not wond'rous wild and rough,; 'Tis strewed with trivial jolts enough. Though ills of various kinds compose The farmer's long, long list of woes, Thou soon wilt find the laboring race, 8hould oocupy no second place: Their time and toil though dearly bought, One half at least are good for naught (In this, our land of milk and honey, Where earth is plentier far than money, The cartful and industrious poor An independence soon secure) Item - 'tis spring - the orchards bloom, And every zephyr breathes perfume; 'Tis time the Indian corn was planted, For this, some extra help is wanted; Away to this, and t' other neighbor, To find a man to do this labor: And when the work of airing's done, He'll play three hours, and labor one. Once, on a time, a farming brother, Returning from some jaunt or other, His train domestic thus addressed, To know how business had progressed: "Well Richard - I've been some time out, What work have you, pray, been about ?"

"HelpingTom, air." "'Tis well, Dick, thou hast acted right, United hands make labor light Thomas, I see the corn wants hoeing, Pray, what have Dick and you been doing ?"

"Nothing, sir".

The grass is cut - is turned - is dry-Dark clouds proclaim that rain is nigh; But lo! the wheel has lost a spoke,

The gears are rotten, shelvings broke; Ere all these things can be amended, The time is past, the shower's descended.

Thy neighbor's herd of hungry swine - As lean as Pharaoh's famished kine - Assail thy fence, let down a bar. And with thy wheat wage cruel war; With snout insatiate tear the ground, And spread wide devastation round!

When the first sprouting grass is seen To tinge the riv'let's side with green, Thy men permit the cows to wander From mead to mead, up here, down yonder; Ruin the lots through which they stray, And lose their appetites for hay. Till each dry bone-betraying hide Seems Poverty personified; Their legs refuse to bear their weight, - And crows receive them soon or late.

Through some unlucky youngster's fault, The pigs have broth too not, and salt; Hence measled shoulders, scalded throats, And varied llls that pester shoots ; Dogs find thy sheep delicious picking, A mink each night purloins a chicken. Rats share the corn, and mice devour the bacon, The turkeys, geese, and ducks, by two legg'd rogues are taken.

And will thy stomach, friend, be quiet On farmer's plain substantial diet; Thy appetite look pleased and clever At salt and dried, recurring ever ? (For ah ! expect not here to meet The varied fare of Market Street) And canst thou, too, thy hunger stay With broken meat on washing-day ? If not - tell John to kill the calf, And send some brother farmer half: And when he slaughters veal or sheep, In turn take what he cannot keep; Get, for thy well-fed, famished veal, On which a hawk might make a meal; And for thy tender, juicy mutton, Such as is fit no dish to put on.

Thus, anxious friend, for thy repose, I've warned thee of some coming woes, That during winter's blustering weather,

While fenced from tempest - calm - secure - Thou might'st a stock of patience gather For the next year's expenditure.