The latest ruse adopted to obtain fresh country or city girls is to publish an advertisement in the papers, for 'a young lady of some accomplishments to act as a companion for a lady about to travel abroad. The applicant must have some knowledge of French, be a good reader, have a knowledge and taste for music, and be of a lively disposition.' Such an advertisement brought a young lady from Newark to a certain house in Twenty-fifth street. She had not been long in the parlor until she saw at a glance the character of the house. Both then spoke in pretty plain terms. The applicant was given a week to think over it. She returned at the end of a week and voluntarily entered the house. She remained in it six months. Disgusted with the business, she returned to her parents--who believe to this day that she was all this time abroad--and afterwards married a highly respectable gentleman, and she is now supposed to be a virtuous woman. "A beautiful young girl of seventeen, from Danbury, Connecticut when taken from one of these houses by her father, told him, in the station- house, that he might take her home, but she would run away the first chance. Her only excuse was: 'Mother is cross, and home is an old, dull, dead place.'" A SOILED DOVE. On the 1st of December, 1857, a funeral wended its slow passage along the crowded Broadway--for a few blocks, at least--challenging a certain share of the attention of the promenaders of that fashionable thoroughfare. There were but two carriages following the hearse, and the hearse itself contained all that remained of a young woman--a girl who had died in her eighteenth year, and whose name on earth had been Mary R----. Mary R----, was the daughter of a poor couple in the interior of the State of New York. She was a girl of exquisite grace and beauty, but her life had been one of toil until her sixteenth year, when she attracted the attention of the son of a city millionaire, whose country seat was in the neighborhood. He was pleased with her beauty, and she simple and confiding, gave her heart to him without a struggle. She trusted him, and fell a victim to his arts. He took her to New York with him, and placed her in a neat little room in Sixth Avenue. She was a 'soiled dove,' indeed, but the gentlest and dearest, and most devoted of 'doves,' 'soiled,' not by herself, but by others--soiled externally, but not impure within. There are many such doves as she-- poor creatures to be pitied, not to be commended, not at all to be imitated, but not to be harshly or wholly condemned--more sinned against than sinning.