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Very true; but we do not go to names for smells, any more than to colors for music. And in the instance that she gives, what a loss it would have been to the world, if the word "rose" had not existed as the title of the queen of flowers; but, instead of it, some such common unmusical word as turnip or squash had been selected by the founders of the English tongue! What could poets have done with such a word? Where would they have found rhymes for it? The queen of flowers should have a name of beauty, and she has it. We are not able, at present, to say how many of the modern languages of Europe call this flower by a name resembling rose, or identical with it! but we believe that all of them do, which are based in any degree upon the Latin tongue, which had its rosa, a derivative and improvement upon the rodon of the Greeks. Juliet is in a very small minority upon this question.

And we would strengthen our position as to the importance of first names, by quoting Sterne's remark, that no one has ever thought of calling a child after Judas Iscariot. Some come pretty near it when they select the name Judah, which is radically the same name as Judas, but how carefully do they stop here! What an immense difference does a single letter, an H for an S, make!

We say given names, not Christian names, as is more common; for it is not every one having a first name that has a Christian name, as was exemplified in the case of Mr. Levi, who appeared as a witness before the Lord Mayor of London.

"What is your Christian name, Mr. Levi?" said that civic functionary.

"I have not got any, my Lord," was the reply. “I am a Jew, but my first name is Moses."

Various are the tastes in the selection of a name for a child-various are the motives that influence the decision. Sometimes a rich friend or relation is to be conciliated, and therefore some barbarous designation is affixed to a child that is a thorn in his side as long as he lives; and after all, the unfortunate may miss the expected legacy. Sometimes the name of some distinguished man is selected, to which the life of the new wearer adds no new lustre; thus we see George Washington and John Wesley occasionally figuring in the police reports, as the names of people arrested for.

riot or petty larceny. A classical taste inspires others, who are not always very particular in the names, provided they smack of the ancients, owing to which it happens that there is a boy now living in Philadelphia who has been christened -if we may thus use the word-after Commodus, one of the most infamous of the Roman Emperors.

The late Bishop Chase, of Illinois, had a dislike to having Greek and Romani names imposed upon children, which he displayed very pointedly on one occasion when a child was brought to him to be baptized.

"Name this child," said the bishop. "Marcus Tullius Cicero," answered the father. "What?"

"Marcus Tullius Cicero.

"Tut! tut! with your heathen nonsense! Peter, I baptize thee," and the child was Peter thenceforth and for ever.

Others, again, set much store by Scripture names, many of which to our ears are anything but melodious-for instance, Obadiah, Jeremiah, and all the other iahs; but this fashion is not near so prevalent as it was a century or two ago. Some of the Bible names have much sweetness, such as Beulah, Ruhamah, and Rhoda, but even these are rarely used.

The story is well known of the man, who, having called four sons after Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, wished to have the fifth christened Acts, because, as he said, he "wanted to compliment the apostles a bit;" but the sequel, as given by Mr. Lower, in the last edition of his valuable work on "English surnames," is not so familiar to us. It appears that the father had two other sons, who were christened Richard and Thomas, and that the story of the name that had been proposed for No. 5, getting wind amongst his schoolmates, he was constantly annoyed with having this distich repeated, of better metre than rhyme

"Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, Acts of 'Postles, Dick and Tom." Some persons appear to have tried how near they could come to the height of absurdity, in giving names to their children. Benjamin Stokeley, the first white settler in Mercer county, Pennsylvania (whose account thereof is in the fourth volume of the Memoirs of the Historical Society of Pennsylvania), gave most extraordinary names to all his

children; at present, but one of them occurs to our memory-Aurora Borealis -by which he thought proper to designate one of his daughters. A Mr. Stickney, a distant relative of Dr. Franklin, numbered his children, calling them One Stickney, Two Stickney, &c. We might mention here, the case of Mr. New, who is said to have called his first child, Something, and the next, Nothing; but the story is probably the creation of the fertile imagination of Mr. Joseph Miller, or some of his successors.

We will venture to add a few rules, which are the results of our reflections upon this subject.

1. The son should not be called after his father, nor the daughter after her mother.

The object of giving first names is to distinguish a person from all others bearing the same last name, particularly from those of his immediate family; but this latter is not attained when a child bears the name of its parent. Confusion must always follow, not always to be avoided by the additions of senior and junior, or the designations, 1st, 2d, &c., which are common in New England.

An eminent lawyer, who adorned the Philadelphia bar, forty or fifty years ago, had a son with the same first name as himself, who was studying law in his office. One day a letter arrived without any addition of junior, but intended for the younger, which the elder gentleman opened and read. It was from a source not very creditable to any one.

"I am ashamed of you,' " said the father indignantly, handing it to his

son.

"I am ashamed of you, sir," replied the son, handing it back, with his finger pointed at the direction."

One of the sons of the Benjamin Stokely of whom we have spoken above, was born during his father's absence from home. On his return, his wife told him that she had called the child Benjamin, after him. "None of that,” cried he, "I have no notion of hearing people talking of old Ben Stokely."

This confusion is one objection to the practice which we condemn; another is that if a parent calls a child after himself, he is in danger of becoming partial to that child, at the expense of the others. This is a feeling which makes its way into the minds of even good men and good women; it seems to some that a child bearing their name in full, is more fully their representative than

others. As this is all wrong, it is best to prevent the arising of such feelings, by giving no occasion for their existence.

2. The more common a last name is, the more uncommon should the first name be. We can pardon almost any prefix to Smith, Brown, and Jones. As one of the learned fathers of the bar lately observed in a discourse, "Who shall declare the generation of the Smiths, and especially of the John Smiths?" The very mention of John Smith in a court-house, police office, or other public place-and it is of frequent mention therein-brings a broad grin into every one's face immediately.

3. No name should be given to a child that will suggest a ludicrous idea when written in full, or when the initial only is used. We always pitied Mr. P. Cox, and Mr. T. Potts, both worthy men, but with thoughtless godfathers.

Middle-aged persons, in Philadelphia, can recollect a druggist, named Ash, (now deceased) whose friends had selected Caleb for his first name. He was constantly annoyed with inquiries from school-boys, and others of the rising generation, as to the residence of Mr. Calabash.

Forty or fifty years ago a very worthy little French tailor, named Frogg, resided in Charleston, S. C., and on the birth of one of his sons some wags persuaded him that it would be a very good thing for the child to call him after the chief magistrate of the State-Governor Bull, which was done accordingly, the unlucky combination of the two names never striking the father until it was too late.

4. Females should have but one given name and when they marry, should retain their maiden name as a middle name. This is the practice among the Society of Friends, and were it generally adopted it would have many advantages. We should know at once, on seeing a lady's name whether she was married or single, and, if the former, what the name of her family was. And it is further to be considered that the adoption of this rule of but a single first name for girls, would put an end for ever to the whole brood of Emma Milvindas and Euphemia Helen Lauras, and a style of nomenclature which is thought by most persons to be ridiculous in the extreme.

Have many of our readers seen the pretty verses on the raising of a child, written by Mary, the unhappy sister of Charles Lamb? We shall presume that

they have not, and without apology conclude this essay with them:

CHOOSING A NAME.

"I have got a new-born sister;

I was nigh the first that kissed her.
When the nursing woman brought her
To papa, his infant daughter,

How papa's dear eyes did glisten!-
She will shortly be to christen:
And papa has made the offer,

I shall have the naming of her.

Now I wonder what would please her,
Charlotte, Julia or Louisa?

Ann and Mary, they're too common;
Joan's too formal for a woman;

Jane's a prettier name beside;
But we had a Jane that died.
They would say, if 'twas Rebecca,
That she was a little Quaker.
Edith's pretty, but that looks
Better in old English books;
Ellen's left off long ago;
Blanch is out of fashion now.
None that I have named as yet
Are so good as Margaret.
Emily is neat and fine-

What do you think of Caroline?
How I'm puzzled and perplexed
What to choose or think of next!

I am in a little fever

Lest the name that I should give her
Should disgrace her or defame her:

I will leave papa to name her.'

TO MUMMY WHEAT.

FAIR resurrection from a buried era,

Superb in beauty, smiling here to-day,
Seeming almost a fancy-born chimera,

What com'st thou thus of ages past to say?
Freed from the cerements resinous and gummy,
Speak for thyself and for thy speechless muminy.

Of her life-unit earth retains no record,

Nor shows a footprint of her sojourn here

How her swift course with sun and shade was chequered-
What was her love, her faith, her hope, or fear;
Nor symbolled host of heaven, nor scarabeus
Untombed comes up, from doubts hereon to free us.

What was her presence, when the spirit lighted
Her eye with joy, or darkened it with tears?
How shone her visage-since, indeed, benighted
And hid, perhaps, for thrice a thousand years?
No conjured ghost from Lethe's sullen water,
Will whisper aught of Egypt's silent daughter.

Was she devote to Isis and Osiris,

Friends of spring budding, and the ripening corn?
And (we abjure impertinent inquiries)

How old was she?-and to what fortune born?
Where, and how long before the morning twilight
Of Gospel day, first breathed the baby Nilite?

Was she of Ceres once a priestess, making
Glad sheafy offerings to her deity;

Then to the shades, with power vicarious, taking

The grain, tight-clutched, whose heart embosomed thee

The cunning life within the germin wheaten,

The long, lone night in death's dark house to sweeten?

*Southey was of a different opinion from Mary Lamb; in one of his sonnets he says, "Saxen Edith pleases me the best."

"Sleeping while Egypt's impious power was humbled!

Roused not by monarchy in dying throes!

Fearless, while gods and thrones around her crumbled!"
Thus far, her past estate the present shows:
Buried by time's impervious rocky strata,
Her life's last story giveth up no data.

Eager to turn both life and death to profit,
Some wily speculator of our day

Has broke her frame, and made a cook-fire of it,
Tested for grace, and dined; then borne away
The balmy stuffing of the old Egyptian
Hoarded with care, for medical prescription!

For precious gums, and spice of fine aroma,
From heads uncatacombed, are borne as prey,
From where they'd rested since the death of Homer,
The vital fire in modern clods to stay;
And give the head Homeric, high and spicy,
Though on the lyre the hand be weak and icy.

Deposits choice, inclasped by mummy's cincture,
And blocked for ages in sepulchral walls,
Now turned to powder, balls, and pungent tincture,
Are deemed specific for the loudest calls
To war with death and Pilules Belladonna!
'Tis true, upon a listener's sacred honor!

Such, fair-haired Afric, was thy mummy's portion;
But thou shalt live and thrive while earth remains;
Albeit thy beauty may induce extortion

From greedy traffickers in bread and grains; When dearth, that comes to pinch the needy tighter, Rubs every groat, to Christian venders, brighter.

But, premature may seem this open statement

To one like thee, so fresh from ancient times; The while we moderns reckon for abatement, When filling measure, and supplying rhymes: While we affirm, our hearer should be sifting, Lest the light chaff the grain be over-drifting.

Yet men can meditate the grand transaction,

To sell their fathers in their graves, for gain,— Those saint old precincts, where the first infraction Must shock like doom the reverential brain! When filial hearts can sanction such profaning, Grace save the city stricken with the staining!

Spirits of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph,

Whose bones one tomb was consecrate to hold,
How had ye left them to the grave's repose, if
Paynim or Jew had shown such lust of gold?
If Christian man can vend his brother living,
To sell the dead for street, were past forgiving!

Magnific wheat! did thine ancestral kindred
The silver cup imbed, in that full sack
Of Benjamin, which his departure hindered
When his lost elder brother called him back,
Where the sweet stratagem of love fraternal,
Drew tears like rain that gems the blossom vernal ?

Did Nature, to commemorate the story,
From that cup's lustre and those sparkling tears,
By her fine alchemy, this silvery glory

Produce, to shine so mildly round thine ears,
While in the breath of morn with plume-like swaying,
They seem with spirit bands at tilt, or playing?

Those busy powers by one bold prince deputed
For building happy castles in the air,-
To lay out lawns, and get the roses rooted,
Still show their inklings after earthly fare,
Through agents here, on muffled drum-heads thramming,
With velvet touch, and modesty becoming.

If THEE they seek, their whispers never heeding,
Cling to thy mother's lap, and be content;
For thou, of earth, art earthly still, and needing
Her careful bosom and its nutriment;
While, clothed anew, in modern fancy-dresses,
Egypt's old priest-craft our young world caresses.

We wot not what their tables, here so troubled,
Have done, dismissing spirits to unrest,-
If death has on them in the beaker bubbled,

Or reeked in savory platters, richly dressed;
Or some young soul to games thereat been tempted,
Till earth and heaven, to him, of hope were emptied.

But none may plant thee on the air-based mountains,
And dreamy vales, that fill the seven spheres:
Where spirit-rappings cannot open fountains,
Nor furnish soil, to grow thy jeweled ears;
And where some awkward planetary blunder
Might crop thy head, thy grounding blow asunder!

Nay, lovely emblem, through the broken portal
Of death's abode, thus sprung to life and light,
As man by faith beholds himself inmortal

Beyond the tomb, till faith dissolves in sight,
Thou and thy seed, to man on earth pertaining,
Must nourish him and his, whilst here remaining.

We love the genial WHEAT from earth that springeth,
The staff of life, supplying nature's need;
We bless the sweet remembrance that it bringeth
Of food whereon our faith and hope may feed;
The hallowed metaphor of bread supernal,

To stay the soul, and give it life eternal.

Yet, as the living grain to mummy olden,
Who darkly held it ages in disuse,

God's will to man may now be coldly holden,

Still clasped, perverted, jeered, or deemed abstruse; When it should spread, a tree of life full blooming, Halo'd, the Spirit's breath each leaf perfuming!

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