tion. 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 considerations, this practice introduces unheard of corruption 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 wise, you will be troubled with some "hard 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 preserved no longer than they continue so. It studies the character of its neighbor: it marks his dispositions, propensities, and passions; and avails itself of every advantage that may be drawn from knowledge thus acquired. It hurries its friend into a paroxysm of rage, and deliberately notes down every extravagance of the moment. It then soothes the irritated passions of its openhearted dupe, and reaps the full harvest of his returning kindness. It worms itself into the confidence of the unsuspecting, and waits the proper moment to betray it. In fine, its constant business is to mark out the defects of others, and coolly take advantage of every weakness. It digs a pit for the stranger, and lays a stumbling block before the blind. O for "a hundred tongues, and a voice of iron," that we might curse thee Prudence!

To Correspondents.

WE lately received two communications: one was addressed to "Piomingo Muscogulgico, Esq.;" the other, to "Mister Piomingo." We were so much displeased with the titles, which had been so courteously bestowed upon us, that we threw aside the communications without so much as reading them.

We earnestly entreat our correspondents to address us by our name only, without any gothic addition. We lately gave our ideas on that barbarous and unmeaning appendage to a name-esquire. And we now add, that no honor can be derived from the prefix, mister. It would be common to us with the barber, the coachman, the chimneysweeper, and the oysterman: Mr. Razor, Mr. Whip, Mr. Soot, and Mr. Wheelbarrow.

There is considerable ingenuity displayed in the reasonings of K; but we are not disposed to propagate such opinions.

THE SAVAGE-NO. IV.

RECOLLECTIONS OF YOUTH.

WHENCE arises the happiness of youth? Is it owing to the novelty of the scenes which surround us, and to the superficial view we take of persons and of things?

Nature clothes her face in smiles; and we inquire no farther, but resign ourselves with enthusiasm to appearances. We are susceptible of the impressions of every species of beauty; but repel with impatience the approaches of deformity.

We rejoice: whether the sun rise in glory, and the leaves of the forest are spangled with the dew of the morning; or whether, setting in the western ocean, he dye, with streaming gold, the summits of the eastern mountains. We rejoice: whether the rushing of the north wind be heard among the hills, or the eastern breeze sigh amid the tops of the pines. We rejoice: whether the south wind breathe on spicy groves, or the gales of the evening curl the glassy bosom of the lake. We rejoice: and we wish to communicate to others the happiness which we feel.

Nature has been bountiful to us: and our hearts swell with emotions of benevolence too mighty for utterance. We would dispense blessings with a hand of unlimited profusion, and pour into every heart the enthusiasm of our joy. We think that all mankind are possessed of the same innocence, simplicity, and benevolence, of which we ourselves are conscious; the young tendrils of our affections lay hold of every object they can reach; and we resign ourselves to the raptures of friendship and of love. Must the dream have an end? Can no charm make the delusion coeval with our existence? Shall the frosts of adversity nip the young shoots of our affections? Shall the mildew of vice blast the fair hopes of a harvest of happiness? or shall the enemy, in the night, sow the tares of dissension and distrust?

Happy are they, whose life terminates ere the blind confidence of youth is destroyed! Happy are they, who.

D

líve not to discover the error under which they have labored!

Still may we remember the moment when we renounced, with anguish of heart and bitterness of soul, the confidence we had reposed in the world. The fair face of nature was deformed; the cup of delight was dashed from our lips; and we grew sick of our existence. The impression made on our minds by the treachery of one friend is, in part, effaced by the pleasure we find in confiding in another. But disappointment follows disappointment; and perfidy succeeds perfidy. Still we are not easily discouraged. Man cannot be happy alone. The enjoyments of life would be insipid, could we not share them with others. To minds who have exchanged the sentiments of friendship, there is no such thing as solitary pleasure.

Well then, let another smiling deception approach we embrace it. Interest or caprice dissolves the enchantment-we are miserable. But even our uneasiness hurries us on to make choice of a new friend. The blind confidence of youth is destroyed; but the social principle remains, and forces us, contrary to the plainest dictates of cool calculating reason, into new intimacies.

It is, nevertheless, observable that early friendships possess a charm which is unknown to those formed in maturer years. After having been often disappointed, a portion of fearful distrust mixes itself with our enjoyments. We wish to seize the golden fruit; but we remember the apples of Sodom. We regale ourselves with

honey from the rock;" but it is mingled with gall. In a moment of confidence we give away our souls: and the succeeding instant is imbittered with suspicious forebodings.

"He that hath ears to hear let him hear." We address those to whom nature has imparted a portion of etherial fire: whose lips she has touched with a live coal from her heavenly altar. We address those whose ruling passion in youth, was to reciprocate the delights of friendship; and who have experienced the mental agony and mortification that result from the idea of having misplaced their early affections. We address not

those who have always sailed on a smooth sea, with reason at the helm, and whose bark has never been tossed by a storm of tempestuous passions. Their tranquillity is rather owing to constitutional insensibility than to any thing else: they would not understand us.

An elegant author puts the following words into the mouth of Aristippus, the philosopher: "Friendship is the most sublime and most dangerous of the gifts of Heaven: its enjoyments are delicious, its vicissitudes tremendous; and ought a wise man to expose himself to losses, the bitterness of which would impoison the remainder of his life?" A wise man! No: The wise man of Aristippus, or of Rochefoucault, is as incapable of partaking of the "delicious enjoyments," as he is of experiencing the "tremendous vicissitudes" above mentioned. Such friendships as that of Aristippus are not indeed, uncommon: he would "admit of convenient intimacies, but banish that friendship, which renders us susceptible of the sufferings of others." "I was in Ægina," says he "when I learned that my dear master Socrates was condemned; that he was in prison; that the execution was delayed for a month; and that his disciples were permitted to visit him. If it had been in my power to have freed him from his chains, I would have flown to his assistance; but I could do nothing for him, so I remained in Ægina." Such may be the friendship of a wise man; such may be the dictates of prudence; but such are not the sentiments of virtuous and ingenuous youth. Such are not the sentiments of the man who can partake, with us, of the entertainment that is derived from these melancholy retrospections. [To be continued.

THE DEVIL.

Posthabui tamen illorum mea seria ludo.

Books have been written on the rights of man; and we have heard much of the wrongs which he has sustained. In one treatise the rights of woman are explained; and in another her wrongs are exemplified.