College days are now over: our heroes have graduated with some distinction, notwithstanding their many peccadilloes, and have bid farewell forever to the "academic shades," figuratively speaking, of their Alma Mater. They have amazed, delighted, and edified the ladies present at the Commencement by the eloquence of their Greek and Latin orations: the pretty creatures listened with rapt attention, and most intelligent countenances, to the whole. Had it been Cherokee, it would have proved the same thing. They did not enlighten the audience, as a learned old Scotchman, who, some fifty years ago, was President of one of our northern colleges, actually did at a commencement speech. He had a board of trustees, whom he looked upon with great contempt, as illiterate men; and not being on the best terms with them, he determined upon a characteristic revenge. Turning round to one side of the stage, where some of them were seated, whenever he quoted Latin, he gave the explanation, "That's _Latin_, gentlemen;" and again, when he introduced any Greek, bowing to the other side, "That's _Greek_, gentlemen." But one incident occurred, showing equal respect to the classical acquirements of those around him: Will Forsythe, whose memory was none of the best, feeling a sudden lapse of it in the very middle of his speech, with imperturbable impudence, recommenced from his starting-point, and made an admirable impression. Thunders of applause rewarded him when he made his parting bow. The two friends still kept together. They visited the Falls of Niagara, Canada, Saratoga, and Newport; and yet, strange to say, their purses were not exhausted. What shall they do next? they are ready for any frolic that presents itself. They have money in their pockets, young blood in their veins, unlimited time at their disposal, and, of course, they must be in some mischief, as neither of them has lost his heart, and become sentimental. While in New York, Forsythe accidentally took up a newspaper, and that determined the especial kind of wickedness in which they should engage. He noticed a number of pompous advertisements of fortune-tellers under the head of astrology, which gave him an idea. He showed them to Barrington, who observed that "it was astonishing how many fools and ignoramuses there were still in the nineteenth century, when the schoolmaster was abroad." "A very sage remark," answered his friend. "If the schoolmaster would stay at home, and mind his own business, instead of being abroad so much, perhaps the world would be better taught. I notice that he is always going to an education convention. But I didn't show you that for the purpose of eliciting wisdom: quite the contrary--folly is what I'm after, just now. What do you think of our turning astrologers?" "Grand! you're a genius, Will! that's the very thing to wake us up! Here are you and I, dashing blades, who have been doing penance by trying to be fine gentlemen at