A DISTINGUISHED man in a large city died. During his illness his friends had merely said that he was "a little unwell;" and a few moments before the death-stroke the doctor observed to the nurse, in a decorous whisper, "His appearance does not please me." The man himself had been so completely deceived, as to the fatal nature of his disease, that it was only when he felt the hand of death upon him, that he started, and said, "I believe I am dangerously sick." A moment after, with a sudden horror, the thought thrilled through his soul, "Thou art dying." He struggled for a few moments-then all grew dark, and he sunk into an insensibility, which he supposed to be the commencement of annihilation. His friends stood horror-stricken and stupefied; and now, at length, they ventured to speak of his death.

The night winds in the lonely church-yard sighed heavily over the fresh grave mound of the departed; and above it, wavering in the moonbeam, a shadowy form seemed slowly and gradually disengaging itself from the earth. It was the soul of the dead, now breaking itself loose from its earthly tenement, as the butterfly frees itself from its withered and useless shell.

"And am I then still living," sighed the departed, "and is there, what I never believed, a life after death? But how cold, how dreary is this solitude? Whither shall I go?" Here the cheerful voices of some travellers, who were passing by the grave-yard into the city, struck upon his ears, and stretching his arms towards them, in an imploring tone, he besought them to take him with them into the city; but he perceived that they neither heard nor saw him.

"Ah! I see how it is," he said; "I am no longer able to hold communion with living men. I am forever separated from the warm and breathing forms with whom I have hitherto lived. Whither then shall I go? Who will guide me in this cold and lonely world which I have entered?"

As he spoke these words an angel form swept downward from the skies and approached him; his figure was glorious, and his face marked with a strong, benevolent, yet somewhat sorrowful expression.

"Son of Adam," said he, "thy connection with life is over. Thy Creator hath placed thee in the territory of the spiritual world. To what part of it dost thou now desire to be led?"

At first the spirit seemed overawed by this address, but striving to recover himself, he replied

"You treat me with more consideration than I had reason to expect, in the event of my coming into such a life as this. In my past existence, priests were wont to threaten hell and eternal torments to people of my habits of life and turn of thinking. I am now glad that I could see farther through the subject than they, and that I always treated their threats with contempt. But as you ask me whither I would go, I say, let me remain in this world, as here are all the things in which I have ever taken any interest."

"You forget," replied the angel,” “that yor can no longer hold any communion with men, o partake in any of their modes of life and enjoy

ment."

"Ah! too true," replied the dead, "I should be only a forlorn wanderer among the scenes of former pleasures; and could I reveal myself to my friends I should be only an object of terror. Well, take me then into the better land with you."

"The better land," replied the angel, seriously, is large and wide. In my father's house are many mansions. To which of these would you be led ?"

"To the most perfect of all, good angel," replied the departed.

"The most perfect," replied the angel, "is where God unveils his face-where Jesus is surrounded by the spirits of the just made perfect -where praises and hallelujahs to God and the Lamb are continually resounding."

The countenance of the departed expressed a feeling of ill-repressed disgust, as he answered"Is there no other place but that, good angel? I never liked to hear about Jesus Christ, and I am sure it would be very repugnant to my feelings to be anywhere in his presence; and as to all this psalm-singing and pietistic jargon, I always had the utmost contempt for it, and do not find the least disposition to conform to it now. But bring me into the society of intellectual men, of philosophers and men of learning."

"There is no learning in this world but the study of God and of Jesus, as seen in all the multiplied forms of creation. If it displeases you to hear of Jesus, there is nothing that you can investigate here with any pleasure, for in Him are hid all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge, and all things are by Him, and for Him, and He is before all things, and by him all things do consist."

"But then, if I cannot associate with your learned men," replied the departed, "bring me, at least, to the society of artists; for I have spent much of my life in the contemplation of the fine arts, and always found in them the greatest enjoyment. I think I am fitted for company of

this sort."

"It is true there is such society here," replied the angel, "but the object of all art is to shadow forth, and express, by new images, the Divine beauty and grandeur, as it appears in all his works; but most of all as it is reflected from the face of Jesus Christ. If you can take an eternal delight in such exercises of the creative power, come with me."

"

"No, no,” replied the dead, angrily, and shrinking back from the touch of the angel, are these same ideas to haunt me everywhere? Take me to the society of the polite, the refined, the courteous; to such society, in short, as I have been accustomed to on earth."

"And what is refinement, but purity?" replied the angel. "Those whom you seek, are these same ones who stand with uncovered heart, beneath the eye of God, yet look up to his face without a fear; in whose bosoms every passing thought may be read, yet not a blush rise to the cheek, or one shrinking feeling lead them to draw away from God, or each other. If, with unveiled heart, you too can be happy among these, ascend with me."

"For Heaven's sake, no," replied the dead, with a mixture of terror and anger. "What! have all my thoughts seen!-my heart forever unveiled!--a fine eternity that would be for me!" and he laughed in a bitter, derisive tone. must know-you must see," he suddenly added,

"You

"how you mock me, by presenting at every tur” these same ideas. You know I always hated and disliked all these images and associations; my whole life has been an effort to keep them out of sight; and do you suppose I can change in a moment so as to take pleasure in them?"

"I only tell you what is," replied the angel, in a grave and steady tone, “and again I ask, if all these things displease you, whither would you go?"

"Take me to those who feel and think as I do," rejoined the departed.

You exile yourself from all good, in saying so," sighed the angel; "nevertheless, come with me."

Then, as with broad wing the angel swept upward, they came near to a fair golden star, where might be seen forms of unearthly beauty passing to and fro; and as they passed, they seemed to be communing in an earnest and loving manner, or singing hymns in a sweet, mild, full-hearted joyfulness; and though there were many different voices, yet there was no discord, but all blended together in a calm and soothing harmony. But the spirit of the dead rebounded back from the sphere of the star, as by some natural repulsion, and passed downward into a shadowy region. And now they drew near to another world, where were forms of men, walking slowly and conversing with each other, and ever and anon they looked upward with an earnest and imploring expression.

"In this world," said the angel, are those who never fully in their life received the offer of the gospel by Jesus, but who died with a longing after truth, and an undeveloped germ of good in their souls. Here, by prayer and by searching, this germ is unfolded, till they ascend to the presence of God."

"Nay," said the dead, "this is not the place I am in quest of. I supposed here I should find an army of churches and priests, all in array to make a proselyte of me. No, let me go where all these things are never heard of."

"Then go,” replied the angel, "to thine own place;" and with these words the spirit of the departed sunk to a gloomy region that lay far below. The angel followed him not, but stood above. He then found himself joined by two illlooking figures, one of whom, laying hold of him roughly, saluted him hy a vile name, that reminded him of the sins of his youth. "How is this?" he exclaimed. "Where am I now? Are there no laws here!-no police to protect me from abuse?"

The angel from above answered, "That police which you found so convenient in the world you

have forsaken, owed all its efficiency to that moral sentiment inspired by the religion of Christ, which you say you always despised. You wished to be where nothing of the sort existed, and your wish is granted. This is a world where no relic of any of those restraints, which come from God in any shape remain-where there is no trace of any kind of virtue that had its origin in His laws and institutions. All that can be expected from the association of the ungodly and profanethe haters of God, you will find here; but look not for security, rest or peace of mind in such society. These only are to be had among the friends of God."

Then the face of the dead man grew dark with anger and blasphemy, as he bitterly replied

"I see now how it is, thou most holy, most virtuous, most devout son of God, thou most excellent preacher of righteousness. I am in the so-called regions of hell; this is what I am to understand; and call you this the land of my choice this gloomy and sterile desert, where not one flower can unfold? Such a residence is contrary to my taste, and therefore contrary to justice."

"Nay," replied the angel, " is it not meet that the beautiful mansions of my Father's house should be inhabited by His children, who love his presence and enjoy his smile? Because thou canst not bear Him and them; because all that thou findest there is disgusting and painful to thee, therefore it is that thou art compelled to seek this outer darkness. According to the character of the soul, so doth the material world

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form itself around it. Around the pure and peaceful sprit, pure and peaceful skies arise; around the lovely and the good, forms of loveliness and beauty are constantly springing; but around the dark-minded, and impure, and passionate, dark and stormy clouds forever arise; for the world without must forever image the world within. Such is the immutable law; and does it not seem to thee to be just ?"

"It may be so," murmured the dead, angrily, "but these vile forms around me, are these my equals ?"

"They are so," replied the angel. "He who first addressed you was indeed a low and coarse voluptuary; thou wast a polished and refined one; but still ye were both of the same order; and the artificial distinctions which separated you in yonder world no longer exist."

"And how long," rejoined the spirit, angrily, "is this to be my residence ?"

"Till thou canst love God, whom thou now hatest; till thou canst fall in repentance and submission at the feet of Jesus; till thy heart beats with the heart of the blessed-not till then."

"Till then!" rejoins the dead man; “I love God!-I ask forgiveness from Jesus! Never! never! never! Outer darkness-eternal stormeternal fire were better than that. Here I shall, at least, have one comfort-to hate and despise and hold them in utter contempt for ever. I be subdued no, never!"

"No, never!" responded the angel, in a voice that thrilled through the dark region. "No, never! Thou hast spoken it!"-AMEN.

Ir has been said, that "manners make the man." In some sense it is true. No small part of the art of succeeding well in the world consists in personal address. The pleasure of society is greatly diminished by offensive personal habits, or awkwardness of demeanor. To be conscious of such a deficiency in the art of making a good appearance, is such a serious drawback on the pleasure of social life, as to prevent not a few from seeking it. The position of one who is introduced into a circle of fashion, beauty, wit and wealth, without that knowledge of good breeding which will fit him to enjoy it—

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Awkward, embarrassed, stiff, without the skill
Of moving gracefully or standing still,"

is entitled to as much of commiseration as it is apt to receive of ridicule and contempt. We have a genuine sympathy with such unfortunates, for in all their misery we have participated; and therefore we write. We wish to put them at ease in society-to let them into the seeret of true politeness, that they may feel at home in "the Christian Parlor."

A proper acquaintance with what society has established to be essential to good manners is necessary, in order to the cultivation of good breeding. It is still more important, because of erroneous views and instructions to be found in all the ordinary essays on politeness. The school of Chesterfield is not the place whither we would send our children and youth for this accomplishment. If it is essential to a graceful personal appearance in society, to learn and acquire "the morals of a prostitute, and the manners of a dancing-master," such a school is the most appropriate for the purpose. This "hollow and insincere system of artificial manners" may be acquired, with all that courtly polish, that graceful and punctilious adjustment of smiles, bows, dress and minute attentions to posture, which are demanded in the circles of fashion, and in the

palaces of the aristocracy, and yet almost nothing be known of true politeness.

"I have not found," says the observant Dr. Johnson, "among any part of mankind, less real and rational complaisance, than among those who have passed their time in paying and receiving visits, in frequenting public entertainments, in studying the exact measures of ceremony, and in watching all the variations of fashionable courtesy. They know, indeed, at what hour they may beat the door of an acquaintance, (bells were not then in vogue,) how many steps they must attend him towards the gate, and what interval should pass before his visit is returned; but seldom extend their care beyond the exterior and unessential parts of civility, nor refuse their own vanity any gratification, however expensive, to the quiet of another."

True politeness has its seat in the heart. Whatever may be the education, the advantages of good society, and the outward personal grace, no one can be really polite, and truly well-bred, whose heart is destitute of kindly feeling. A pure heart and a sweet temper are essential to the perfection of good manners. The latter cannot subsist without the former.

"The universal axiom," says Dr. Johnson, "in which all complaisance is included, and from which flow all the formalities which custom has established in civilized nations, is, that no man shall give any preference to himself—a rule, so comprehensive and certain, that, perhaps, it is not easy for the mind to imagine an incivility, without supposing it to be broken." Apply this standard to the circles of fashion, and the cases are rare indeed that can endure the test. The universal passion by which the fashionables of the day are actuated, even in their compliments and courtly attentions, is self-adulation. To excel in the pomp and show of dress, of furniture, of sumptuous entertainment, and so to excite the envy and the wonder, if not the admiration, of

the less favored, is the one great object of fashionable ambition. A disinterested regard for the happiness of others, and a constant and unselfish effort to promote their comfort, have but little place in the hearts or plans of fashionable society. Nowhere is there more heartlessness, more self-seeking, more triumph in the mortification of others.

A female friend of my acquaintance is possessed of a most ample fortune, and has, by the kindness of a bountiful husband, the means of indulging any desire of her heart for the luxuries of life. Possessed of an elegant person, and accustomed to mingle in the most fashionable and wealthy circles of the town, she is regarded as a lady of great politeness, and excellently well-bred. Her house is furnished with all the elegance that pride could desire, or taste suggest, and is deficient in nothing that wealth can procure to make it attractive. Not a year passes but hundreds, and sometimes thousands, of dollars are expended in the renewal or change of furniture.

With all this elegance of person, style, address, and dwelling, my friend is yet very deficient in true politeness. I seldom call upon her without a sense of mortification, produced not by what I see, but what I hear. Scarcely have I taken my seat, before she gives expression to her disgust and contempt for all her splendid personnel. Not that she feels how vain and unsatisfying such enjoyments are; but that they are so mean, so contemptible, she can scarcely endure them; she is tempted every day to send the worthless trash to auction. Nothing suits her; nothing is good enough. Her dress she has worn but once, and she never means to wear it again, though she paid an extravagant sum for it. Now, the evident design of all this is to call my attention to the elegance of her dress, and the sumptuousness of her equipage; to draw forth some expression of admiration, and to feast upon my surprise. The effect on most minds would be, as they contrasted their more humble possessions, to repine at their own inferiority with all this magnificence, and to feel an envious discontent at their own lot.

I cannot but think that my friend, who, by the

way, is a member of a Christian church, is thus indulging her own pride by forcing me to make such a contrast. She has not yet learned that the obtrusion of unwelcome and displeasing ideas is a species of oppression, "and that it is little more criminal to deprive another of some real advantage, than to interrupt that forgetfulness of its absence, which is the next happiness to actual possession."

If asked, then, to give a definition of what I mean by good manners, I would say-REAL KINDNESS, KINDLY EXPRESSED. This is the essence and fountain of good breeding, whether in the courts of kings, or in the humble dwellings of the poor. It is a definition suited to all latitudes, and to every sphere of human life. Everything that comes short of this is, in reality, but affectation and artifice, or rudeness and vulgarity.

"Politeness," says Dr. Brown, "in all its most important respects; indeed in every respect, in which it is to be separated from the mere fluctuating and arbitrary forms and ceremonies of the month or year, is nothing more than knowledge of the human mind directing general benevolence. It is the art of producing the greatest happiness, which, in the mere external courtesies of life can be produced, by raising such ideas or other feelings, in the minds of those with whom we are conversant, as will afford the most pleasure, and averting, as much as possible, every idea which may lead to pain." A very slight acquaintance with the fashionable world must be sufficient to convince any one, that, while etiquette is studied and practised in great perfection, it is very rare to meet with that genuine politeness so truthfully defined by this learned philosopher and gentleman. True benevolence is the only basis on which it can subsist. And, where this is connected with a knowledge of human nature, and converts that knowledge into as many acts of kindness, and as few of unkindness, as possible, there you may expect to find good breeding. In vain will you look for it elsewhere. Real kindness, kindly expressed, is politeness the world over.

It shall be my design to show that, in the cultivation of good manners, the first and chief requisite is true piety.