at least, if not to the world, of cultivated intellect, dignified deportment, and refined breeding?

The two latter productions, possessing a milder spirit, and a less offensive tone, are so far preferable, as samples of discussion. They could not, during delivery, have awakened the resentment of opponents, and had, therefore, no personal passions to encounter, whatever they might have had of party prejudice, feelings of self-interest, and love of power. There was nothing in them to fan the fire of discord among us, which, yet only smouldering, threatens to burst into a consuming blaze, if it be not allayed by reason and wisdom, and a sacrifice of selfishness on the altar of patriotism and public good. It is, therefore, that we would earnestly recommend to our statesmen the adoption of their tone and manner, or of something analogous, without meaning to pass a censure on the other two, which rank, in their kind, with the finest efforts of modern eloquence. Another argument of some weight in favor of such adoption, is, the proneness of passion to exagerate and discolor, if not to pervert. When a public speaker, therefore, vents against his opponents or their opinions a deluge of angry feeling, he rarely receives credit for the entire truth of his remarks. He is suspected of hyperbole, if not of intentional misrepresentation.

This suggestion, we make neither thoughtlessly nor dictatorially, nor from an overweening belief in our fitness to advise. It is the result of some reflection, and of a deep and abiding sense of what we owe, in common with our fellowcitizens, and our contemporaries at large, to our country and our race. Nor, without other views than now present themselves to us, can we resign the opinion, that, if adopted and acted on, it might be productive of good. It would, at least, suffer passions to sleep, which, under the influence of the present style of debate, are too often roused to obstinacy and the work of mischief, and thus open a wider and fairer field for the operations of reason. And this would surely be something gained. It would be, so far, a victory of the higher over the lower faculties of the mind, in our public men, without which the existing scene of turbulence and confusion must become more turbulent and confounded, until it shall end in some catastrophe, which it may require ages to remedy.

It would be gratifying to us if, waiving all considerations of their justice or injustice, and regarding them merely as matters of taste, we could speak approv ingly of the language and imputations that issue abundantly from a still higher source; we mean the Executive branch of the Government. But a regard for truth forbids us to do so. The terms and phrases "Monster," "Mammoth corporation," "Moneyed aristocracy," "Sink of corruption," and other like expressions, habitually indulged in by the Chief Magistrate of the Union against the Bank of the United States, estranged alike from intellect and morality, are gross manifestations of animal passion. They bespeak a deplorable ascendency, in him who practises them, of the lower over the higher faculties of the mind. Totally inconsistent with the dignity and decorum of high station, they lower the occupant of it to the level of the mob. If, for no other reason, they are worthy of all reprobation, on account of the coarseness and vulgarity of the example they set, and the style of degradation, in which they present the manners of the American Government to the eyes of foreign nations. We venture to say that, for nearly two centuries, civilized communities have witnessed nothing equal to them in so high an officer. It is with mortification we add, but truth demands the addition, that they tend not only to vitiate public manners, and render them offensive, but to fix a stain, also, on morals, and indicate among us the commencement of a retrogradation toward feudal barbarism. To him, who might engage in a dissertation on this subject, O tempora! O mores! would be a suitable motto. Nor is the worst yet told.

It is more than a century since the most sage and philosophical of poets told us, "For forms of government let fools contest;

That which is best administered is best ;"

and the lapse of time, and the accumulation of experience, have but served to confirm the truth of the maxim. That the form of our own government is the best that has been devised, because most in accordance with the constitution of man, cannot be doubted. The wise and parental administration of it heretofore, and the unexampled prosperity enjoyed under it, have given proof of the fact. But our Chief Magistrate was then the head of the nation; and the government was administered on national principles. The interest of no one class or body of the community was sacrificed to that of another. Hence all interests flourished,

and all classes were happy. Is it so now? Would to God we could answer affirmatively. But truth forbids us. Distress sufficiently deep is already in the land, accompanied by gloomy apprehensions that it will yet be deeper.

Nor is the cause of the evil concealed. Our Chief Magistrate (we speak it with grief and humiliation as Americans) is now the head of a party, and administers the government on party principles. Their extent and ruinous influence excepted, there is now nothing national in the measures of the Executive. They centre exclusively in the gratification and aggrandizement of the dominant party. Their manifest object is, to reward friends, and punish enemies; the "spoils of victory" and the public purse being the instruments in the former case, and vetoes, manifestoes, proscriptions, denunciations, protests, and expulsions from office, in the latter. But the measure most portentous of mischief, and, therefore, alarıning beyond all others, is the open effort, on the part of the Executive, to render himself the officer of the people, or rather of a part of them, and not of the Constitution, to degrade the Senate, render it odious to the populace, and excite against it the jealousy and dislike of the House of Representatives, and to pamper the hatred of the poor toward the rich, and array them in settled hostility against them. We must not trust ourselves to speak of this effort, and the spirit that prompts it, in the terms our feelings might impel us to use. We need not say, because the fact is already on record, that the same sanguinary and detestable project erected the guillotine in revolutionary France, and supplied it with victims, and has reddened the fields and the streams of Ireland and other countries with the blood of their inhabitants. And such is its natural tendency, wherever it may be set on foot. Nor need we add,-for history has proclaimed it,-that the worst of all despotisms is the despotism of party. The reason is plain. The despot is shielded from personal responsibility, and pursues his course without danger or dread. Added, moreover, to the impulse of his own evil passions, he is urged to mischief by the worst and wickedest portion of his party, to whose counsels his ears must be always open, and who are usually as covetous of power, as they are profligate in principle and practised in crime. Nor are other causes wanting to add to the evils of party despotism. Through the hosts of its supporters, all of whom are virtually spies and informers, and many of them official directors of public affairs, it is so intimately incorporated with society, and amalgamated with its very vitals, as to reach, with its malign influence, in undiminished vigor, the dwelling of every one, who dares to oppose it; and, by bringing political feelings to bear on judicial proceedings, it obstructs or turns aside the streams of justice and equity, or adulterates them in their course. we must forbear, and take leave of the subject, that we may not be seduced into the same intemperance we have condemned in others. We shall first, however, subjoin, as a corollary from the whole, that the most fearful and demolishing chastisement we have ever known a sophist to receive, is that inflicted on the Secretary of the Treasury, by the champions of Congress. If he be a man of deep sensibility, priding himself on his intellect and professional standing, death would have been preferable; for, as a reasoner and a constitutional lawyer, he is hung up to irretrievable derision, if not to something worse. The manner in which his antagonists have handled him, reminds us of the treatment sometimes bestowed on a lion or a tiger, that has the hardihood to assault a party of elephants. Having first disabled the monster, by a blow, three or four of the most powerful of those noble and sagacious animals, stationing themselves in suitable positions, toss him indignantly from one to another, striking him with their trunks, as in a game of battledoor, and trampling on him, until he is dead, his bones crushed, and his carcass reduced to a mass of gore and jelly-Sic semper tyrannis! O! sic, sic inimicis reipublicæ patriæque proditoribus!

But

THINGS WHICH I LIKE NOT.

THERE is an account, in the Spectator, or somewhere else, of a good woman, who, at her trial before Rhadamanthus, being asked how she had employed the seventy years of her life, replied, that she had been so taken up with the faults of others, that no time was left for the improvement of her own character. Unless the world has since degenerated the judge was wrong to reject the excuse. I take no pains to search out follies. I dislike to come in contact with them. Yet they meet me at every turn. There is no avoiding them. They have no respect for times, persons, or places. In the market-place and senatechamber, on 'change and in the hovel, in highways and in by-ways, public houses and private houses, their silly faces are seen. My own room is no sanctuary. "Even Sunday shines no sabbath day to me." At church, the prude before me, and the sleeper at my side,-would that he slept silently!—with fans, and airs, and grimaces, in all quarters, are more than I can bear with perfect composure. In my dealings with the world all sorts of follies assail me. There is

Pedantry: I do not like it. Yet how keep out of its reach?

R―, an impudent young man, of considerable talent, has just been reading Brown's Philosophy. "I think," says he, to the first friend he meets, "that Brown has done more for philosophy, than any man since Bacon." "I have not examined the works of all who have written upon the subject since Bacon," replies the friend," and therefore cannot decide." The implied reproof was felt; but did little to reform the young man's character. "I think Descartes decidedly a greater man than La Place," said he, pompously, while I was near him at a small party, shortly after the conversation just stated. The ladies, to whom the remark was made, were admiring his knowledge. Reader, did you ever feel an irresistible inclination to do a mischievous thing? Such, I confess, was my feeling at that moment. I could not bear to see a young upstart decide in that way upon the merits of two such men; and, turning to him, I quietly asked, whether he had read the Mecanique Celeste, in French, or in Bowditch's translation? It was a wicked question-he had never seen either; but, fortunately, business at the other side of the room called him away before he could answer me. To this hour the offence is not forgiven.

This species of fault is particularly common in young men just from their studies. Some, in the community, are ignorant enough to believe, that students, fresh from the seat of Minerva and the Muses, should know nearly every thing; and few are willing to lessen the respect in which they see themselves held by their friends at home. I was once sadly caught in this folly, and have, therefore, been the more cautious since. Myself and companion-both students and about equally wise-were in a stage-coach, full of spirits, as students generally are when going home to see their friends, hear compliments, and show their learning. Not suspecting that any one present had half the knowledge, that we possessed, our opinions were given, in a decided, off-hand manner, upon any subject, whether in literature, religion, politics, or philosophy. After a time, I observed that almost every topic was suggested by an elderly gentleman, in the corner of the

coach, who, however, took no other part in the conversation than to ask, now and then, a question. For a while we dashed on, nothing daunted, though several times brought to a stand by his simple, yet pertinent inquiries. At last, he himself began to talk upon the same subjects on which we had been engaged, and, without the least assumption or air of superiority, went through with questions and remarks, in so clear, so manly, and, at the same time, so unpretending a manner, that, while delighted with his spirit, clearness, and intelligence, I could not but feel that the extreme diffidence and forbearance, which characterized his manner, were a severe and intentional satire upon our own presumption; and I could plainly see, that the same thought was running through the minds of our fellow-passengers. Yet not a word either of ridicule or asperity escaped him. What, then, must have been our mortification, when, in addition to this, we learned, that he was one of the ablest scholars in the nation! It has been my fortune to meet him several times since; but to this day I have not been able to summon courage enough to be introduced, lest, by some unlucky accident, he might be led to recognize in me the cidevant literary coxcomb of a stage-coach-a distinction which I covet not. Why is it, reader, that, for years after such an exposure, we cannot think of it without shame and mortification, while moral delinquencies, and even crimes, if once confessed and thoroughly repented of, often cease, in time, to give great pain in the remembrance?

I do not like a mode of extorting Praise, which is not uncommon in the world. Farmer B- has a better field of corn than any one else in the town. He wishes to hear it praised. Accordingly he contrives to take a neighbor, whose corn is very poor, through the field. "I don't know how it is," says he, in a complaining tone, "but my corn is miserable this year." "Yes, I see it is," carelessly replies the other, who, seeing through the trick, is determined to disappoint craving vanty." Well, if it is miserable," rejoins the first, in a passion, "it is better than any of my neighbors'."

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Paternus is an aged man, and verging upon second childhood. His foibles, therefore, are pardonable. Besides, he is a good man, and I respect even the failings of such an one. Thomas, a man of uncommon merit, is his favorite son; and no incense can be offered so grateful to the father's heart as encomiums upon the son. He is visited by an old friend. They had set out together upon the journey of life, and together had breasted many a storm, at times when trials and dangers were something more than a name. "You," says he, to his friend, are fortunate in your children. Mine have all left me but Thomas, and he-I am full of fears he is not what I could wish. He is an unpromising man." "Yes, I understand that he is very much of a spendthrift." "No, no. He is no spendthrift. He has always been prudent. Say what you may of him in other respects, he is certainly not a spendthrift." "But, if I mistake not, he is indolent." "Not at all. He is as industrious a man as the town contains." "It gave me great pain to learn that he was intemperate." "Intemperate ! Who said so? A more temperate man never lived." "Now I remember that he is irregular in his habits." "What, sir! My son irregular! Where have you been to hear such stories? or what induced you to believe them? He has been with me from a child, and

I have never known him guilty of an irregular, vicious, or immoral act. No man has greater influence in the town, and no man more faithfully performs all the duties of life." "Then I see not, my friend, why you should complain of him." Indeed, I was wrong," says the father, as if awakening to a sudden consciousness of his situation, and of his son's true character.

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This way of seeking praise is not a peculiarity of the aged. Do you see that young man talking to a detachment of ladies in the further corner of the room? Note how careful he is, that no one of his own sex should hear him. What a look of modesty he puts on! I will lay any wager, that he is striving to elicit their praise. He has just come from a public meeting, at which he made a very tolerable speech of some ten minutes. The ladies were there. The points, on which he plumes himself, and in which he really excels, are a deep, full voice, and great distinctness of enunciation; and in this speech he had taken considerable pains, not without success, to make a beautiful cadence at the close. Hear what they are saying. Miss A- -."We have had a delightful meeting. Much of the speaking was excellent." Florio. Yes, very good, except one thing. I am sorry that I took any part in it. I was not at all prepared. Yet no one else was disposed to speak, [four persons started to get the floor at the moment when he arose] and silence, at such times, is worse than bad speaking." Miss B. "I must differ from you in that. An occasional silence gives to us ladies the privilege of exercising our tongues. But really, you need not regret your effort so much. You succeeded admirably." Florio. "No. My voice was so high and shrill." Miss A"Why, I thought your voice deeper and more clear than any other there. But, Mary, did you observe the gentleman who "I wish I could have had time to collect myself. My enunciation must have been bad." Miss F- "I was as far from you as any one,

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and yet heard every word. I wish I could find out who that "Did you not see how abruptly I ended?" Miss B. "You are certainly mistaken. It will not do for you to have so low an opinion of your own abilities. As I was coming from the house I met "I wish I had known, before going in, that I should have to Shall we listen longer, or shall I reveal the secret?" Mr. Florio, I think you succeeded much better in public, especially at the close of your speech, than when I heard you rehearsing in private." His room is next to mine, and for three days he had done nothing else than rehearse, times without number, the extempore speech, which had been written down and committed to memory.

If, reader, you should doubt the truth of this relation, listen to the conversation of almost any young man, whom you see disposed to talk in an under tone to ladies, after an exhibition which he has made in their presence. Or, if you remember the proverb, and fear the fate of a listener, keep an eye to your own conduct, and see if you detect nothing of the kind. It is by conversations of this kind, that so many young men, of respectable talents and attainments, are spoiled. O ladies, you little think what feeble creatures we are in your hands,— how fond of compliments, and how easily puffed up by them. We confess to you, only that our confessions may be thrown back with encomiums. We are humble in your presence, only that our humility