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ed at years of maturity, will "
put away child.
ish things" and we wish that Solomon would
follow his example..

Esquire.

&c. be only honored with the title of "worshipful," when we could pronounce with such sweetness and dignity, "His Serene Highness, Alderman Clodhopper;" and “ His Adorable Greatness, Justi e Numskull?" Why should the clergy only he known by the appellation "reverend," when there are such words in use as "The Most Holy Father in God, Christopher Over good?"

Most of the Indians who live near the frontiers of the United States have become debased and corrupted by their intercourse with the descendants of Europeans. They are contami When Constantine, the great, first christianized nated with the vices and infected with the di- the Roman empire, he inve ted a long string seases of civilized nations. They have forgot- of delectable titles. An account of them may ten the heroic exploits of their warlike ances- be seen in Gibbon's Decline and Fall of the tors. They join no more in the war dance, nor Roman Empire. We would advise 'he citizens raise the song of victory and triumph. They of the United States (as they have full right to have lost all national pride and dignity of choose what titles they please in this land of character; and are to be seen, in a state of liberty) to adopt the ingenious scale of titles beastly intoxication, wallowing in the streets laid down by Constantine; or if these should of your frontier villages. not appear sufficiently dignified, they may refer to the kingdoms of the east, and select some of the most sonorous, such as, Holy Son of Heaven, Disposer of Kingdoms, Brother of the Sun and Moon, &c.

These degraded wretches, when they come among you, are fond of adorning themselves with the cocked hat, or cast-off coat, of some military officer. You laugh at their childish folly; and you are right in so doing: for they deserve both ridicule and contempt.

If you must adorn yourselves with borrowed feathers, your good taste might lead you to But what must be said of the enlightened choose those of the peacock, the ostrich, and citizens of an illustrious republic, who are the bird of paradise, in preference to those of proud to decorate themselves with the shreds the owl, the buzzard, and the crane. The and patches torn from the many-colored English language is copious. Select the most motheaten coat of feudal aristocracy? They harmonious and splendid designations; but do do not attempt to manufacture a garment for it boldly. Prepare provisions for yourselves. themselves, but they search the ditches and Why should you lick up the crumbs that fall alleys and dunghills of corruption, for rags and from the table of your former master! tatters, wherewith they ornament themselves, What ridiculous consequence a plain reand then strut about with the most disgusting publican immediately assumes upon finding pomposity. These people were once slaves, himself addressed by the title of esquire! He but became unruly, and, by a successful exer- soon conceives that he feels something like tion of their powers, emancipated themselves: noble blood coursing up and down through his but it appears that they were unfit for freedom, veins! He thinks it very possible that he may as they still continue to be proud of the livery have sprung from some younger son of a which they wore when in a state of servitude. They prate much about the dignity and perfectibility of man; but, an attentive observer may still perceive that they hanker after the golden trappings of servitude.

younger brother of some noble house. Some of his ancestors may have lived in some digni. fied family, as butlers, or housekeepers, or some other way. Sometimes he even flatters himself that certain illegitimate sprinklings of blood royal may have ennobled the plebeian current that runs in his veins. He begins to study the nature of his name, decipher its etymology, and claim kindred with every family who may have borne the same appellation.

If they must have titles of dignity, why do they not select the most honorable? They have as good a right to be dukes, marquises, and earls, as to be esquires. "His Grace, the Duke of Gooseland" would sound much better than "the honorable John Dolt esquire." Why Would it not be better for some of these should they address one of their governors ambitious mortals to endeavor to convert their with the contemptible appellation of "Excel- own name into a title of dignity than to be lency," when there are such fine highsounding ambitious of usurping a barbarous distinction, words in the language as "Majesty," "Sereni- to which they haveno claim. Ceasar was the ty" Sublimity ?" Why should they talk of name of a man, but became in time a title of his "honor the judge," when they might the most dignified nature. Who knows but make use of the dignified appellation of" Lord some enterprising genius may spring up in the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court?" Why western world and convert his name into a should members of the legislatures be described title that will be remembered for ever? only as honorable,' when there could be added The Indians give names to their children in many more adjectives equally expressive of infancy; but that Indian would sink into abtheir characters: such as "Sapient, Intelligent, solute contempt, who should not acquire, to Profound;" and they might be addressed with himself, a new name, by his success in hunting great propriety as "High and Mighty Lords?" or his exploits in war. Now, would the polishWhy should justices of the peace, aldermen, ed citizens of the United States condescend to

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learn something useful from the savage inhabi- splendid apartments? Behold the flocks and tants of the wilderness, we think they might herds and fields of corn! can all these be adopt this custom with the greatest propriety. necessary for the sustenance of one? But if Let every man be reckoned utterly contempti ble who shall not acquire a new name before he be thirty years of age.

If he have performed any remarkable action, let his name be taken from that. If he have not at all distinguished himself by any single exploit, it is probable that there will be discov. erable some prominent traits in his character, from which he may be designated. The new appellation would become a title of honor to the virtuous, and a mark of opprobrium and disgrace to the vicious.

all this be the product of his own labor, he has full liberty to enjoy it. Polydore must be a giant. Did he pile up these massy stones, and erect these ponderous buildings? Did he sub. due the lordly forest, and cover the fields with waving grain? No: Polydore has done nothing. He owes all this to the labor, of others. But how then, we inquired with amazement, did Polydore gain this ascendency over others? How did he compel his fellows to cultivate his fields, or labor in his ditches? Polydore did not compel them: they were compelled by Exempli gratia: If a man d'scovered a great their necessities. A fortunate concurrence of inclination to indulge in the pleasures of the circumstances, and the laws of the country, table, and this propensity became the leading have made Polydore rich; but these men are trait in his character, we see no reason why poor. A small portion of the product of their he should not be denominated "The Glutton." labor goes to the support of themselves and Such should be the name of the man who may their families; but the far greater part is ap be said "to live that he may eat." But should plied to the aggrandizement of Polydore's the glutton discover an extensive acquaintance establishment. And as this aggrandizement with the art of preparing viands, we think he increases, in like manner increases his ascen. ought to be honored with the appellation of dency over others. "Cook." This title should be given to those gentlemen who distinguish themselves by learned disquisitions on the nature of custard, or can enumerate the ingredients that enter into the composition of a pudding. Adepts in the science of preparing turtle soup, and those whose intelligence enables them to descant learnedly on the manner of giving to oysters the most exquisite flavor, should likewise be distinguished by the same designation.

If such a plan as this were adopted, instead of the unmeaning names now in use, we should hear of "Drunkard," "Swindler," "Romancer," &c. There might likewise be established, under the superintendence of government, a college of heralds for the purpose of giving appropriate ensigns armorial to every one, on the completion of his thirtieth year; but, ne quid mimis.

THE SAVAGE-NO. III.

Effects of Civilization.

Shall your cooks and your waiters, your carters and your ditchers, be accounted equally civilized with yourselves? Shall they who watch the look, and tremble at the frown, of a superior, be allowed to possess delicacy of sentiment and dignity of character? No: they are deprived of all personal consequence in so. ciety. Their own interest is annihilated. They are merely a necessary part of the luxurious establishment of their principal.

We saw through the whole in a moment. It is therefore absolutely necessary that every rich man should be surrounded by others more indigent than himself. If it were otherwise, in what manner would he induce them to supply his factitious wants, or gratify his luxurious inclinations? Cottages, then, must neces. sarily be found in the vicinity of palaces; and lordly cities must be surrounded by suburbs of wretchedness! Sordidness is the offspring of splendor; and luxury is the parent of want. Civilization consists in the refinement of a few, and the barbarism and baseness of many.

As the grandeur of any establishment is augmented, servile and base offices are multi. plied. Poverty and baseness must be united in the same person in order to qualify him for such situations. Who fill servile and low employments in your Atlantic cities? There arc not American minds to be found sufficiently degraded for these contemptible occupations. You find it necessary to have recourse to the more highly polished nations of Europe for suitable drudges to sweep your streets and remove nuisances, to stand behind your carriages and perform degrading duties about your persons.

Civilized Europeans, when they visit your country, complain loudly of your barbarism. You are little better, in their estimation, than the savages of the wilderness. They cannot meet with that obsequiousness and servility which is necessary to their happiness. They We passed by the residence of Polydore. complain, most dolefully, of the impertinence We saw his gorgeous palace and widely ex- of their servants, and, indeed, of the difficulty tended fields. We examined his gardens, his of procuring any one sufficiently qualified for park, his orchards; and were struck with as- the situation of a menial. You frequently tonishment at the splendor of his establish- blush for the rudeness and barbarity of your ment. And is this all, we inquired, designed countrymen, when you listen to these comfor the accommodation of one man? Can one plaints of your polished visitants; but do not creature, not six feet high, occupy all these despair. The seeds are sown: and the growth

will be rapid. The causes have begun to operate, and the effects to be seen There will soon be a sufficiency of indigence and poverty of spirit to make servants obsequious, and multiply the number of domestics. Let splendor, refinement, and luxury, triumph; and we promise that so didness, baseness, and misery, will walk in their train.

Man was designed by nature to cultivate the fields, or roam in the woods. He has sufficient strength to do every thing for himself that is necessary to be done. He can erect a hut of poles and cover it with bark or skins without the assistance of another. A small portion of his time procures clothing and food; and the remainder is devoted to amusement and rest. The moment you leave this point, your destination is certain, though your pro. gress may be slow. (To be continued.)

Vanity.

Some ingenious author has run a parallel between pride and vanity. The proud man, says he, reposes, with dignified confidence, on the superiority of his own mind; but the vain man depends on the fluctuating opinions of the world. The vain man values himself for his personal qualifications, as long as they continue fashionable; but the moment they ceasc to be admired by others, they sink also in his own estimation.

Little Vapid is one of the vainest men in existence and what can give importance to little Vapid? His features are diminutive, and his person contemptible.

Vapid values himself on the cleanness and neatness of his dress. A speck of dirt on his white pantaloons would throw him into an agony of unutterable distress. His shoes must shine with glossy blacking, and his coat be brushed with the utmost care, before he will venture out of the house. He spends an hour in adjusting his cravat, and two hours in giving the hair on his silly, insignificant head the proper direction. One half of his time is spent in scrubbing his teeth and arching his eye. brows. And when he grasps his little cane, and hops into the street, with every plait in proper order, and the indispensable grimace on his countenance, one would suppose that he had broken loose from imprisonment in a bandbox.

Fan him gently yo zephyrs! Ye northern blasts, discompose not the folds of his garment! Ye sylphs, watch over his white pantaloons, when he skips over the gutters! But may his guardian angel protect him, should he encounter a dray!

Vapid is not proud: he sets no value on the intrinsic excellence of any quality he possesses: his happiness depends on the breath of mortals as contemptible as himself.

The Hill of Life. Armine became acquainted with his existence in the valley of Childhood.

own His

couch was composed of roses, and canopied over by the boughs of the orange and the myr tle. Bubbling springs were seen among the flowers, and the melody of birds was heard amid the branches. The Hill of Life appeared before him, and he set his face toward the summit of the mountain. The ascent is known by the name of Youth: it was easy and de. lightful. A female form of the most angelic appearance was his constant companion: her name was Hope. She strewed his path with flowers: and her presence shed abroad the sunshine of cheerfulness and joy. She led him forward by the hand: and distant objects, when pointed out by her finger, assumed a super. natural and celestial brilliancy. When he lay down to repese, poppies were strewed on his pillow; and when he awoke, his heavenly companion entranced his eyes with her magi. cal mirror of ravishing delights. Sometimes he turned aside into the gardens of pleasure, and bathed in the rivers of sensual delight; but when he heard at a distance the loud but mellow voice of the trumpet of Fame, which sounded on the top of the mountain, he broke loose from the allurements of pleasure, deter. mined to acquire more substantial bliss, by heroic exertions.

When he had gained the last stages of the ascent, he was met by a restless being, of a dark and forbidding countenance: her name was Care. She pressed him into her company, and attempted to engross his attention. But her familiar approaches were forbid en by Hope and she contented herself with flitting about in his view at a distance.

The summit of the mountain is an elevated plain, known by the name of Manhood. It commands an extensive prospect on every side; but these views are not all equally delightful. When you stand on the mountain and cast your eyes backward to the valley of Childhood, the mind is overpowered by conflicting emo. tions. You review with delight the wander. ings of infancy in the valley of roses; but this enjoyment is mixed with an inexpressible sen. timent of sorrow and regret: the thought of joys never to be repeated, and of pleasures forever gone!

The ascent of Youth is viewed still with less complacency. The aberrations, in this part of the journey, give to the prospect a bitterness and gloom that cloud the enjoyment. "Sweet humble vale!" said Armine, looking through the long vista of Youth, to the commencement of his journey, "Sweet humble vale! your de. lights are forever vanished! your pleasures can

never return!"

Having thus said, he turned himself around to take a view of the clevated plain on which he stood. The face of the country was various: some parts were covered with thistles and thorns; and others were crowned with proud forests of oak, and groves of towering poplars. In some parts were to be seen "cloud-capt towers and gorgeous palaces;" and in others,

the sordid and miserable "huts of cheerless poverty." Some of the inhabitants build houses of marble, as though their residence in the place were never to have an end; while multitudes are crowded in cottages of clay. Dark clouds hang continually over the mountain: some contemplate their appearance with calm. ness, but others view them with horror and dismay.

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with tranquility the greatest possible misfortunes!"

Care now became the constant companion of Armine, though he was still accompanied by Hope. Hope had lost a great part of her magi. cal power, but still was able to soften the influence of Care, and calm the occasional perturbations of his mind. He adopted various schemes for passing the time of his continu A philosopher, who sat, with the utmost ance on the mount; but the issue of every one composure, on the point of a rock, and viewed was the same-disappointment. Sometimes the shifting of the clouds through a perspec. he joined the votaries of pleasure; and some. tive, beckoned Armine to approach. He times, the lovers of wisdom. Pleasures ended obeyed. "I perceive," said the philosopher, in smoke; and knowledge was the parent of by your countenance, that you have lately despair. Sometimes he employed himself in gained the summit of the mountain." Armine gathering together the glittering stones that assented. "Well," continued the sage," you may be found on the summit of the mountain: will remain here awhile: I have, for my part, but the exertion, necessary in this contemptibeen many years a resident on this plain; and ble pursuit, was painful in the extreme. He must speedily descend on the other side of the then endeavored to derive amusement from hill. I observed you, just now, looking back dispersing abroad what he had collected togeth on the valley of Childhood: have you any ob- er: and the issue of the whole was · vanity jection to take a view of the opposite descent?" and vexation of spirit.' Armine was silent. The philosopher took him by the hand and led him to the brow of the hill. "The declivity," said he, as you may perceive, is much greater on this side than on the other: it is called the Decline of Life. It has but a dreary appearance. The descent is rapid into the valley of Old Age: and in that valley, rolls the black, sluggish, and bottomless River of Death.". Having thus spoken, he sighed, and immediately began to descend. Armine called after him with a loud voice, saying, "Is the river without a shore? Are there no green fields on the other side, where a weary traveller may find lasting repose?" The philosopher turned round, and looked upon Armine. There was an expression of sadness upon his countenance. "No traveller has returned," said he, "to give us any intelligence. There is, without doubt, a country on the other side of the water: I have had a glimpse of it myself; but those who are swallowed up by the River of Death, are, in all probability, carried by the rapidity of the current into the Dead Sea of eternal oblivion." Having thus said, he pursued his way down the mountain. Armine observed him, for some time, in his descent; and took notice that, having proceeded a little way, he found a green place on the side of the hill, where there was a spring of water. Having refreshed himself, he sat down to rest; and immediately began to examine the na ture of the grass, which was the production of so sterile a soil. He continued this employment for some time, and then took out his pocket perspective, and observed the movement of the clouds, with as much composure as he had formerly done on the summit of the mountain. "Wonderful elasticity of the human mind!" exclaimed Armine, as he turned round from the contemplation of the Decline of Life, "Wonderful elasticity of the human mind, which causes it to yield to the pressure of circumstances!—which enables it to support C

The Temple of Fame stood 'on a rugged promontory of the mountain, which was suspended over the black and putrid waters of Infamy. The building was magnificent be yond description; its summit was hid in the clouds. The voice of the goddess was heard from the temple, inviting the approaches of all; but the attempt to obey the invitation was at tended with danger. Every one was desirous to enter, in order to leave some memorial of having performed the journey of life; but few, very few, were found able to surmount the obstacles which impeded the entrance. The daring adventurer, whose heart beat high with the love of glory, pressed forward through dangers of every description. Frightful rocks and yawning caverns, giants of tremendous dimensions, and spectres of terrific forms, op. posed his progress. Envy, Malice, Hatred, Anger, Slander, Revenge, and a thousand others, armed with "firebrands, arrows, and death," stood in array against him. The hero who broke through their ranks and entered the temple covered with blood was received with shouts of joy and the sound of the trumpet.

Armine essayed to enter: but Poverty, a gaunt and haggard monster, effectually baffled every attempt, and drove him away from the precincts of the building. Here he was seized by Disease, who hurried him away to the descent of the mountain.

As he passed down the Decline of Life, every thing wore a gloom of despondence. Dark clouds hung over his head; and nothing was heard but the screaming of the raven from the " lightning-blasted oak," and the hooting of the owl from the mouldering turret. He entered the valley of Old Age. The air be. came dark. The funereal cypress overshadow. his path.

Weary and dejected, he tottered along, until, ere he was aware, he stood on the banks of the

River. A thick fog, an everlasting cloud, rested on the face of the waters. Nothing was to be seen. Nothing was to be heard. It was the reign of Darkness, Silence, Inanity, Death. While he yet lingered, he received a last visit from the companion of his youth. Hope appeared, arrayed in a robe of resplendent whiteness. She directed her hand toward the opposite side of the River. The clouds broke away for a moment. He had, or fancied he had, a glimpse of a brighter region. Time hurried him into the stream; and he was heard of no more.

Remonstrance of the letter H.

The letter h begs leave to represent to Piomingo that he labors under many heavy and intolerable grievances. He has suffered injustice both from the ancients and moderns,

the learned and unlearned.

Grammarians have long contended that he is no letter; that he is merely a "hard breathing before a word or syllable." They never explain themselves fully on this subject; and it is hard to find out what they mean by the assertion. One of their leaders has, indeed, observed that h requires no conformation of the organs of speech; and therefore cannot be a letter. This is involving the matter in "clouds and thick darkness." What are the organs of speech? Is the windpipe included in the number? But, without entering into any niceties on the subject, it is simply demanded, Can they give this "hard breathing before a word or syllable," without making any use of the organs of speech? When the organs of speech are at rest, the mouth must be necessarily closed. Now, let them pronounce any word, in which his sounded, without opening the mouth until they have made this "hard breathing;" and the point

will be conceded.

But h is not disposed to contend for a name. Let him be possessed of the substance, and he will never declare war for the shadow. Let him enjoy every right, power, and emolument, belonging to a letter; and they are welcome to call him a "hard breathing" as long as they please.

At present, he humbly solicits that he may be relieved, by the interposition of Piomingo, from the galling oppression and intolerable injustice he suffers from the "organs of speech" of the polished inhabitants of the city of Philapelphia. No people are more ready to comdlain, of any real or imaginary grievance, than the citizens above mentioned; yet they forget the golden rule, of doing to others, as they would that others should do unto them, when they deprive your remonstrant of his undoubted right and inheritance.

It has long been known to all the world, that, many years ago, w usurped the station of h, in such words as, when, where, what, &c. which ought to be written hwen, hwere, hwat,

&c. H, at first, felt indignant at this treat ment; but, as a long continued usurpation is said to confer a legitimate right, he was, at last, induced to yield the precedency in these words, as he was assured that he would lose none of the power by his acquicscence. It was represented to him, that the king of Great Britain had long used the title of king of France, without claiming the least right to interfere in the affairs of that kingdom; that the emperor of China was styled "sole governor of the earth," without other princes supposing that their sovereignty was affected by this ar rogant assumption. These, and various other things, were mentioned to prove that the condescension of h, in this particular, was nothing remarkable.

But h observes, with infinite dissatisfaction, that his peaceable disposition has led mankind to suppose that he will submit to every species of injustice that may be inflicted by the world. While he only thought that he was yielding precedence to another letter, he finds that his undoubted and unalienable rights, privileges, and powers, have been suppressed and destroyed. Who now can hear any thing of the sound of h in a numerous class of words when pronounced by a Philadelphian? The words what, when, where, wheel, which, wharf, and a hundred others, are pronounced by the unlearned, and alas! by the learned, exactly thus, wat, wen, were, weel, witch, warf, &c.

The letter h begs leave further to represent that, independent of any personal considera. tions, this practice introduces unheard of cor. ruption and confusion into the language, as may be seen by the following view of the subject: What and wot, wheel and weal, when and wen, where and were, whet and wet, whetstone and wet stone, whether and weather, whetter and wetter, whey and way, which and witch, whig and wig, while and wile, whin and win, whine and wine, whist and wist, whit and wit, white and wight, whither and wither, &c. are words in the English language, expressive of distinct and independent ideas; yet every one in the above list is pronounced, in opposition to the united voice of the orthoepists, exactly in the same manner as its yokefellow. Let this and other grievances be redressed, and your remonstrant will demean himself as a peaceable member of the alphabet, and as a liege subject of the republic of letters; other"hard wise, you will be troubled with some breathing" occasionally.

Prudence.

Of all the qualities of the mind, prudence is the most useful. It is the virtue of civilized nations. What is prudence? It is

A sly slow thing with circumspective eyes.' It takes a full view of the ground, and advances with caution. It subdues all violent emotions, of whatever nature they may be. It forms no friendships but profitable ones; and these are

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