title of dignity than to be ambitious of usurping a barbarous distinction, to which they have no claim. Cesar was the name of a man, but became in time a title of the most dignified nature. Who knows but some enterprising genius may spring up in the western world and convert his name into a title that will be remembered for ever?

The Indians give names to their children in infancy; but that Indian would sink into absolute contempt, who should not acquire, to himself, a new name, by his success in hunting or his exploits in war. Now, would the polished citizens of the United States condescend to learn something useful from the savage inhabitants of the wilderness, we think they might adopt this custom with the greatest propriety. Let every man be reckoned utterly contemptible 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 distin guished himself by any single exploit, it is probable that there will be discoverable 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 vitious.

Exempli gratia: If a man discovered a great inclination to indulge in the pleasures of the table, and this propensity became the leading trait in his character, we see no reason why he should not be denominated "The Glutton." Such should be the name of the man who may be said "to live that he may eat." But should the glutton discover an extensive acquaintance with the art of preparing viands, we think he ought to be honored with the appellation of "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 compo sition 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 C

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 go. vernment, 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 nimis,

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 society. Their own interest is annihilated. They are merely a necessary part of the luxurious establishment of their principal.

We passed by the residence of Polydore. We saw his gorgeous palace and widely extended fields. We examined his gardens, his park, his orchards; and were struck with astonishment at the splendor of his establishment. And is this all, we inquired, designed for the accommodation of one man? Can one creature, not six feet high, occupy all these splendid apartments? Behold the flocks and herds and fields of corn! can all these be necessary for the sustenance of one? But if 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 subdue 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 their necessities. A fortunate concurrence of circumstances, and the laws of the country, have made Polydore rich; but these men are poor. A small portion of the product of their labor goes to the support of themselves and their families; but the far greater part is applied to the aggrandizement of Polydore's establishment. And as this aggrandizement increases, in like manner increases his ascendency over others.

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. It it were otherwise, in what manner would he induce them to supply his factitious wants, or gratify his luxurious inclinations? Cottages, then, must necessarily 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 multiplied. 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 are 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 nusances, 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 wilder ness. They cannot meet with that obsequiousness and servility which is necessary to their happiness. They complain, most dolefully, of the impertinence of their servants, and, indeed, of the difficulty of procuring any one sufficiently qualified for the situation of a menial. You frequently blush for the rudeness and barbarity of your countrymen, when you listen to these complaints

of your polished visitants; but do not 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 sordidness, 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 progress 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 cease 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 eyebrows. 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 ye 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 own existence in the valley of Childhood. His couch was composed of roses, and canopied over by the boughs of the orange and the myrtle. 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 delightful. 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 supernatural and celestial brilliancy. When he lay down to repose, poppies were strewed on his pillow; and when he awoke, his heavenly companion entranced his eyes with her magical 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, determined to acquire more substantial bliss, by heroic exertions.