"It is," replied the nobleman, "a place of public interment."

"I do not understand you," said the stranger.

"It is the place,” repeated his friend, "where we bury our dead."

"Excuse me, sir," replied his companion with some embarrassment, "I must trouble you to explain yourself yet further."

The nobleman repeated the information in still plainer

terms.

"I am still at a loss to comprehend you perfectly," said the stranger, turning deadly pale. "This must relate to something of which I was not only totally ignorant in my own world, but of which I have as yet had no intimation in yours. I pray you, therefore, to satisfy my curiosity; for, if I have any clue to your meaning, this surely is a matter of more mighty concernment than any to which you have hitherto directed me."

"My good friend," replied the nobleman, "you must be indeed a novice amongst us, if you have yet to learn, that we must all, sooner or later, submit to take our place in these dismal abodes; nor will I deny that it is one of the least desirable of the circumstances which appertain to our condition; for which reason it is a matter rarely referred to in polished society; and this accounts for your being hitherto uninformed on the subject. But truly, sir, if the inhabitants of the place whence you came are not liable to any similar misfortune, I advise you to betake yourself back again with all speed; for be assured there is no escape here; nor could I guarantee your safety for a single hour."

"Alas!" replied the adventurer, "I must submit to the conditions of my enterprise, of which, till now, I little understood the import. But explain to me, I beseech you, something of the nature and consequences of this wondrous metamorphosis, and tell me at what period it most commonly happens to man." While he thus spoke his voice faltered, and his whole frame shook violently; his countenance was pale as death, and a cold dew stood in large drops upon his forehead.

His companion finding the discourse becoming more serious than was agreeable, declared that he must refer him to the priests for further information, this subject being very much out of his province.

"How!" exclaimed the stranger," then I cannot have understood you :-do the priests only die?—are you not to die also ?"

His friend, evading these questions, hastily conducted his importunate companion to one of their magnificent temples, where he gladly consigned him to the instructions of the priesthood.

The emotion which the stranger had betrayed, when he received the first idea of death, was yet slight, in comparison with that which he experienced as soon as he gathered from the discourses of the priests, some notion of immortality, and of the alternative of happiness or misery, in a future state. But this agony of mind was exchanged for transport, when he learned that, by the performance of certain conditions before death, the state of happiness might be secured. His eagerness to learn the nature of these terms excited the surprise and even the contempt of his sacred teachers. They advised him to remain satisfied for the present with the instructions he had received, and to defer the remainder of the discussion till the morrow.

"How!" exclaimed the novice, " say you not that death may come at any hour?-may it not then come this hour?-and what if it should come before I have performed these conditions! Oh! withhold not this excellent knowledge from me a single moment!"

The priests then proceeded to explain their Theology to their attentive auditor; but who shall describe the ecstasy of his happiness, when he was given to understand that the required conditions were, generally, of easy and pleasant performance; and that the occasional difficulties or inconveniences which might attend them, would entirely cease with the short term of his earthly existence!

From that period, continues the legend, the stranger devoted himself to the performance of those conditions, on which, he was told, his future welfare depended. If ever he was tempted for a moment to violate any of the conditions of his future happiness, he bewailed his own madness with agonizing emotions; and to all the invitations he received from others to do any thing inconsistent with his real interests, he had but one answer," Oh!" he would say, "I am to die!-I am to die!"

Jane Taylor.

THE STARRY FIRMAMENT.

I GAZE upon yon orbs of light,

The countless stars that gem the sky;
Each in its sphere serenely bright,
Wheeling its course,-how silently!
While in the mantle of the night,
Earth, and its cares, and troubles lie.

Temple of light and loveliness,

And throne of grandeur! can it be
That souls whose kindred loftiness,
Nature hath framed to rise to thee,
Should pine within this narrow place,
This prison of mortality?

What madness from the path of right,
For ever leads our steps astray,
That, reckless of thy pure delight,
We turn from this divine array,
To chase a shade that mocks the sight-
A good that vanisheth away?

Awake, ye mortals, raise your eyes
To these eternal starry spheres ;-
Look on these glories of the skies!
And see how poor this world appears,
With all its pomps and vanities-
With all its hopes, and all its fears.

Who can look forth upon this blaze

Of heavenly lamps, so brightly shining Through the unbounded void of space, A hand unseen their course assigning; All moving with unequal pace,

Yet in harmonious concord joining.

Who sees the silver chariot move

Of the bright moon; and, gliding slow, The star, whose influence from above Sheds knowledge on the world below; And the resplendent queen of love, All bright and beautifully glow.

Who that hath seen these splendours roll,
And gazed on this majestic scene,
But sighed to 'scape the world's control,
Spurning its pleasures poor and mean,
To burst the bonds that bind the soul,
And pass the gulf that yawns between?
Lord Holland.

TRUTH AND SINCERITY.

NOTHING, perhaps, is more beautiful, or more rare, than a character in which is no guile. Many who would be shocked at an actual breach of truth, are, notwithstanding, far from sincere in manner or conversation. The mode in which they speak of others, when absent, is wholly inconsistent with their professions to them, when present. They will relate a fact, not falsely, but leaning to that side which tells best for themselves; they represent their own actions in the fairest colours. Such conduct, if not direct falsehood, is certainly a species of deceit to be severely condemned, and strictly guarded against, not only in ourselves, but in our children: for we shall find them early prone to art, and quick in imbibing it from others. It is not enough to speak the truth before children, our whole behaviour before them should be sincere, upright, fair, and without artifice. Let all who have the care of children consider it a duty of primary, of essential importance, never to deceive them. Do not, for instance, assure a child, that the medicine he must take is nice, when you know that it is not so.

Great caution is required in making promises, and in threatening punishment; but we must be rigid in the performance of the one and in the infliction of the other. If, for example, we assure a child unconditionally that after his lessons he shall have a top, or a ball, no subsequent ill-behaviour on his part, should induce us to deprive him of it. Naughty or good, the top must be his; and if it be necessary to punish him, we must do it in some other way than by breach of engagement. For our word, once passed, must not be broken.

The confusion and undesigned inaccuracy, so often to be observed in conversation, proves that truth needs to be

cultivated as a talent, as well as a virtue: children require not only to be told to speak the truth, but taught how to do it. To this end, it will be highly beneficial to accustom them to give an accurate account of what they have read or seen, and to relate correctly circumstances in which they themselves have been engaged. Dr. Johnson observes, "Nothing but experience can evince the frequency of false information; some men relate what they think as what they know; some men of confused memories and habitual inaccuracy, ascribe to one man what belongs to another; and some talk on without thought or care. Accustom your children, therefore, to a strict attention to truth, even in the most minute particulars: if a thing happened at one window, and they, when relating it, say that it happened at another, do not let it pass, but instantly check them; you do not know where deviation from truth will end. It is more from carelessness about truth, than from intentional lying, that there is so much falsehood in the world."

It is desirable, as far as possible, to manifest confidence in the honour and veracity of children; for we should wish deceit and falsehood to be considered among them as offences of which we do not even suppose them capable: to accuse a child falsely, breaks his spirits, and lowers his sense of honour. If we have reason to suspect a child of telling a falsehood, or of concealing the truth, great caution is necessary in betraying that suspicion. We should endeavour to ascertain the fact by our own observation, or the evidence of others, rather than by the common expedient of questioning the child himself, or strongly urging him to confession; for in so doing, we shall often lead him, if he be guilty, to repeat the falsehood: or if innocent and timid, to plead guilty to a fault which he has not committed. We must be careful not to bring children into temptation, or put too much to the proof their still weak and unformed principles. There are many suspicious cases, the truth of which being buried in the breast of a child, cannot be discovered; and these it is generally wiser to leave unnoticed. For example, were a child to assure me that he had so many times read over his lesson to himself, and I had reason to doubt the fact, I would let it pass in silence, dreading the effects of ill-placed suspicion, and knowing, that if he were guilty and should