[By our own correspondent.]

THE Commencement exercises at Wellesley College yesterday were highly satisfactory, and worthy of the ladies who took part. The Crimson is very happy to give selections from such creditable performances, and is sorry not to be able to insert the whole, from want of space.

The orator, Miss Margaret Tippet, a lady whose massive brow was partly shaded by a halo of auburn curls, and who wore a dark gray polonaise trimmed with Valenciennes lace was loudly applauded on rising to deliver her oration. As this was in Greek, we have tried to translate it as literally as possible, although feeling how incompetent we are to reproduce the sparkling freshness of the original. The speaker began by alluding to the many victories which the class of '79 had won. "When we first entered these classic porticos," (she said), "it had been the custom for us to have no butter-plates. We who had been brought up in the lap of elegance and refinement, - we who were to lead the society of our country, - we who were to push on the engine of progress to realms of perfection, - were deprived, not of a luxury, but of a necessity. (Applause.) What did we do? Why, we sent in a petition, - we waited, - and the next morning butter-plates smiled on us as we sat down to breakfast." She then spoke of their achievements during the Sophomore and Junior years, - of their great crew, - of their Croquet Club, - of their Knitting-Needle Society, and its rival organization the "Hair-pins." (Groans.) Passing on to the principal events in their lives as Seniors, she playfully mentioned that Miss -- tried to secure the election to Beta Kappa Phi, over Miss X., by wearing the most graceful Parisian costumes, and at this point her sage remarks on the frivolity of dress were both apt and original. In conclusion, she looked forward expectantly to the day when the fair sex should exclude men from every post of honor and responsibility. "Kai yap" (she went on), "are not wives gifted with an extraordinary faculty of extracting secrets from their husbands?" (At this point some gentleman in the audience murmured, as if in pain, "Alas! yes!") "Finally, let us look to the future for the consummation of all our hopes, but above all, let us remember that men are inferior animals!"

After about fifteen minutes, when the applause which burst forth spontaneously at this brilliant sally, had somewhat abated, Miss Rosamond Mortimer, the poet, was escorted on to the stage. Her appearance was in every respect romantic. Her profile was of the purest Grecian type, excepting her nose, which, being a little retrousse, added marvellously to the deep sentiment written plainly in her other features. There was a plaintive dulcet tone to her voice that thrilled the heart of every hearer, as completely as - as - as the squeaking of bad chalk does in a recitation-room. Her poem, "On the Beauty of Youth," was too perfect a production for us to dare to mar it by quotations. The author breathed forth her inspiration with all the calm resignation of some bereaved, unappreciated, neglected world-wanderer, who looked back with tears in her eyes to the days of her youth. Many times her words were scarcely audible through the sobs of her listeners, and as she repeated these last lines, there was literally a shriek of sympathy:-

"But, ah! alas! why should I sing?

The night comes softly like a dove,

The parting words now sadly ring,

I hear the echoes of my love

Roll wildly through my shattered heart, -

And madly shriek, We part! we part!"

So unexpected was the call on the handkerchiefs and sensibilities of the audience, that none of the following disquisitions met with the appreciation they deserved. We recall, however, with pleasure, the interesting facts brought forward by Miss Dorothy Simper, in her historical essay on the "Rise and Progress of Flirting."