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2 cent;” fearful of bad investments, of gold rings in gold markets, of bard times —and yet the world says, with an annual income of a couple of mil lions, he has not time to go and hear Patti sing; but the clerks go every night. That, eternallj’ sitting down over account-books, agency reports, collectors’ returns, he has not time to read Ijucile, to admire a painting, to enjoy good music, nor the sun, moon and stars, mountains and vallies, riv ers or ocean; and this, with a libra ry, art gallery, pianos and harps in his house; carriages, buggies and horses in his stables, and a yacht floating in one of the grandest har bors in the world. And, what is worse, he has knocked up his venti cle sky-high with unwholesome ab dominous inflations of gold-bogetting labors—hence diets off the simplest of food and of liquids, fearing he may be lifted like a balloon, from the clinging weight of wealth. Is this not literally valuing the body, flesh and flood, as so much gold, without the capacity or the will to enjoy a cent? Is this bodily freedom ? Now, one might say, “ But your soldier, is he bodily free?” My an swer is, that though under orders to drill, to march, and to fight, by the will of his commanding officer, he is fully as free bodily, as the gold-chain ed slave of the office chair by the weight of his property responsibili ties. Both obey orders, and the last the most obediently of the two, be cause the discipline clogs the mind like the body; and as to the abdomi nous apparatus, why there can be no comparison, for I saw my Yankee soldier one day, feasting upon a roast guinea hen, savory and poignant to the old miller’s nose. Whether he bought it or stole it, has nothing to do with the question. The next day, he was royally royal—tight as a drum.-head, glorious in glee. “ God save the Queen,” (for the fellow was from Wales,) “The star-spangled banner,” “ Pussey put the kittle on,” etc. It is true the sergeant put him in irons, but he slept the twenty-four hours as strait as a line, and swore when he awoke, he had been tho whole time in the valley of Cardegan, one of the most beautiful in Wales, and “ his own, his native land.” The world saith John Jacob is a million aire, and the world falls at his feet.— Your soldier is not worth his shirt, sir, and despised in his poverty. The Philosopher who keeps a clear con science, should not care a fig for the world, sir, and asks you which of the two is the happiest while alive?— When nailed in their coffins, they are literally on a dead level; and while history will bequeath a wreath to the memory of the last, the first, in his golden sarcophagus will be forgotten by his own blood in a single genera ion. So far then, you will admit THE GEORGIA COLLEGIAN". that in corporeal freedom, they are equal. Permit us philosophically to consi der it in its mental type. We state the broad proposition that, a man who has time to look at all things, is freer, mentally, than he who has only time to think of one thing; and as a corollarj’, the freer the mind, the more ennobling to the soul —and hence, tho man of one idea de grades it, and is an idolator—hence again, lost! I bad a friend once, who was in the lard business, wholesale and retail.— “ John !” he said to me one day, in a most plaintive voice, “ 1 may as well be a bog.” “ How so, my friend ?” “ Why, I am obliged to koep lard con tinually on my brain, and nothing else. I meet a lady and bow to her, and say, good morning, madam.”— Lard! I meet a gentleman, “ How do-you-do, sir.” Lard! And I pass on to the counting-room and ejacu late as I go—lard ! lard! lard l lard ! I go to breakf'at and eat lard ; and my wife is sure to talk of the last lard, as being bettor or worse than the first lard. The same lard ! lard! lard! lard! from breakfast to din ner, and from dinner to tea. And at night my head is all lard. Lard in Europe; lard in America. Lard afloat; lard ashore. Lard in New York, Cincinnati, St. Louis, It is the last thought at night, the last grunt on the pillow, I may just as well be a hog and be done with it.” And so said I, but not aloud my friend ; for my friend lived in elegant style, far more elegant than any man of mere lard should live. Now, it makes not a bit of differ ence, whether it is lard or gold, as in John Jacob’s style, it is the one thing, the one idea—gold or lard ; or any thing which commands and en slaves the mind. Os all enjoyments, those of the mind are the most delightful, the most varied, the least expensive, the most improving, the most innocent, for laws punish deeds not thoughts; ahd finally the most lasting, becauso it is eternal. Think of that, eternal enjoyment! That while the gold weighted brain is clogged to sink lower and lower for the want of free dom, even the poor soldier’s mind is free as air; glorious in the range of thought; unshackled, if the body is, and with half a chance at least, that when released from the clay by the whistling shell, he wings upwards in the smoke of the explosion, released, everlastingly and gloriously free. I say he has half a chance at least, of this immortal glory. We know that this cannot be the case with the idol ator, which a man necessarily is, with a single, constant thought of ccnt per-cont, or any exclusive idea. A single engrossing thought will cut off one from the enjoyment of the beauties of God’s creation. Because it is only when human nature can shake from the mind the memories of anguish, and from the heart its weight of cares, that the feelings are open to the pleasures and charms and beauties of the natural world. Then, what enjoyment, even in the waving of a bough, the color of a flower, the majesty of tho mountain, the grand eur of the sea. Even when the ele ments are at war, the unenslaved soul rises with joy above the raging storm with a trusting courage in the might of Him who raaketh the faith ful conquerors over all. But alas! false to our birthright, wo tear these joys from our own grasp by nursing covetousness, passions rendering the beauty of God’s creation loath some by contrast with the cancerous throbbing of the heart for the world of man. This being an almost certain result of mind-engrossing labors, especially in that for wealth, which increases witli the weight of years, is it not positively an increase of poverty of the most destructive character, since its range of injury extends beyond tho life of the labourer? hence it is true that— “ Magna servitus est magna fortu nas, quoduna est magnas opesfortuna.” Observer. Library, Sept. 17, 3570. For the Georgia Collegian. Why is It ? Ever since the birth of records, women have been a subject of re mark. Many adjectives, epithets, and words, remain from different minds, giving us the character of their reflections. Poets have lived and died, whose articulations were dulcit sighs or hoarse curses. Tra gedians and comedians have testated to posterity their picturings. Such have been the types of intellect, and the specimens of thinkers, who have worried their brains and wasted their time upon what every school-boy thinks he understands! Not a sha ded lip, but would dub me contempt uously an old fogy, or wife-ridden, were I to doubt that he understood “ the women” —his sweet heart. In spite of the anathemas of the “young America’s,” I crave your considera tion, while I weave out a cursory of this subject. Can there boa reason able doubt, that she is understood ? I9 this a question ? Precipitates of other minds, will aid us in the an swer. The Moon bears the feminine gender. Inconstancy, anger, and grief, were likewise, by the Latins, put in the same gender. This meth od of denomination may throw some light upon the original; and if the settlings are promiscuous, we can de pend they are not at random ; and when collected, their information, though crude, will be valuable. Ho mer has charmed us with his martial epic, brilliant with stately machines ry, trembling with quick-pulsed ac tion and heroic valor —the gallant rescue of Greece, of the truant and thankless wife of Menelaus, from the tender embraces of Paris. Old wise* head, Ulysses, is told to have buc cumbed to the wiles of Calypso; while Penelope, the chaste, wove tho web, which on account of him sho never filled. So ancient thinking commends ue; and as such thoughts come from genius, they will with stand the test of constancy. Pope, >in electrical compositions, in his “ Wife of Bath,” confessed his mind. Byron, in his miscellanies, hesitated not to leave his experiences, and his Haidee and Dudu are not tho shad* ows, but the substance, of his calm judgment. The breath of Moore’s conception, Hinda, “ the loveliest and gentlest of all Arabian maids,” faltered forth to the Gheber, in a parting scene— “ To see thee, hear thee, call thee mine, 0 mis’ry ! must I lose that too ;” Shakespeare, with a breadth of ge nius, believed there could be a Cleo patra, aud Juliet — She who had rather die with him Than live to gain the world beside.” The saintly Desdemona, hedecorated with jewel traits. Her existence was her love —her only plaint, I forgive him. He draped the dark, “ unsex ed,” Lady Macbeth, with chilling re ality. The wolf’s loud howls, the black stormy night, the cold shrieks of the owl—all alarums of “withered murder”—Macbeth’s pallor, disorder ed looks, shrinking eyes and bloody hands —the dizzied dupe of the “weird sisters” become sulphurous and lurid when the centre figure scoffs “ A foolish thought to say a sorry night!” Why is it? Are these several per sonages, from these various authors, natural ? Can these extremes of life be real ? It may be instructive and interests ing, to glance at some of the oddities abundant in woman. If we can hit upon the rationale of them, we may find the due point, at which tho mazes of many whims and follies will bo condensed—her strango freaks, surprising impulses, revolting loves, inexplicable aversions and curious fancies may be plainer. Women are constitutionally different from men. They have sympathies in common, but their natures are diverse. This very variance is for her, a prepossess sion. The chief pleasure of the con versation between the sexes, pro ceeds from these facts. Women have the keenest talents. Men furnish the material, while women carve up on it ingenious devices. She carves, she curves, she twists, sho twines; furnishes old ideas; gives dolicate suggestions beyond tho reach of his faculties. Men relish her art, her no* velty, her imagery. Women swim in the ecstacy of being enjoyed! That