In cities, every man is, or would be thought to be, sufficient for himself, and he forgets as far as possible his relationship to the great human family. He seems to himself to draw the requisites for daily life from some great indefinite mass-some general provision; and he scarcely remembers that this mass is made up of individuals, on each of whom he is in some degree dependent; - that this provision for his need is the result of corresponding necessities in his brother man. Competition has rendered supply so easy and so certain that there is little or no recognition of a mutual, personal dependence, and there is consequently very little personal interest beyond a very narrow circle. Rules are strict, and lines are accurately drawn, and every body is forced to observe them, however they may contravene erratic propensities, aspiring wishes, or rebellious sensibilities. Propinquity has nothing to do with bringing people together. People who have lived next door neighbors for seven years may be, and often are, utter strangers; and though every countenance in each family be perfectly familiar to every member of the other, yet the two races may be crammed into a close carriage, and dragged up Cattskill Mountain on the hottest day in July, without a glance or a nod betokening that they have ever met before.

To be sure, if one of the children should fall into the water, and neighbor Nextdoor should pull it out at the risk of his life, we may thank him, unintroduced, without a breach of etiquette, and even recognize him after our return to town, until he invites us to a party, (not of our set,) or asks us to endorse a note for him - either of which would effectually build again the icy barrier between us. It were vain, in such regions, to inquire, "Who is my neighbor?" The relation is unknown.

In the country, and especially in the new country, the case is far different. The code of morals, as well as of manners, has a warmer, a more human tinge. It is not enough that you avoid all encroachments upon the rights of others. It will not do to wrap yourself in exclusiveness - meddling with nobody, and claiming no aid but such as can be bought with money

A nice oyster, shut up in a fine shell of pride.

You would be set down for a brute in a little while, and, what would be much worse, you would begin to fear that you deserved the character. Such a position is odiously unnatural where men are few and the means of life distributed with tolerable equality. If harmony is desirable - as where is it not? - there must be sympathy; and where there is sympathy, there will be contact; and where there is contact, we cannot but learn to appreciate people according to their real merit, and not according to their outward advantages, since their personal character is alone of any consequence to us.

This closeness of acquaintance leads to great plainness and sincerity - not always pleasant perhaps, but still, nearer right than its hollow-hearted opposite. There is no glare thrown round any body; no chance to pass for any thing but just what you are; no opportunity to be grand, or overpowering, or condescending; since the foundation. of such display must always be laid in the minds and habits of those on whom it is to take effect. You cannot be "charitable" at small cost, in the country. It would not do to sit, richly dressed, on a silken sofa, and plead poverty as an apology for not helping to rebuild the cottage of a poor man who has lost his all by fire. Inextinguished laughter would shake the country round. Nor can you feed the destitute with what none of your own family would eat. Such messes as I have seen doled out from city areas would be sent back from the most wretched hovel in the wide West, with a feeling of deep and general contempt for the giver. Reputation is not cheaply maintained here. Where every thing is known and understood there can be no illusion; and all is certain to be known where every body feels perfectly at liberty to ask point blank questions upon any and every subject. A certain class in the gay world, who act falsehood daily; whose whole life is a - fib, to say the least; - whose happiness and respectability (in their own computation) depend upon their appearing what they are not, and despising what they really are, would soon find themselves routed out of their

skulking-places of deceit, and reduced to the necessity of "walking uprightly," since no curtain of ceremony would be of any avail in hiding what should be behind the scene.

It is not to be supposed that, even to those who have no desire to deceive, this extreme of freedom can be always agreeable. It is, indeed, often far otherwise; but those who think so are but a small minority-a mere fraction of the body politic, and not usually the busiest or the most earnest class, so that their opinion goes for little. Seeing this to be the case, they rather endeavor to conform to the general view, since whatever price the community sets upon its good-will, it is always cheap to pay it. And perhaps the general improvement is not the less probable for the cultivation of a spirit of patient humanity in those who claim to have made some advances in the philosophy of life. The most certain method of proving the truth of their views and the value of their discoveries, both to themselves and to others, is to show the practical effects of their doctrines in the elevation of their own characters. The mere gloss of civilization, without this elevation, is worse than useless, inasmuch as hypocrisy is worse than coarseness.

But, as we were saying, these primitive ways of ours afford a field for a character unknown in the more advanced stages of society - the good neighbor. We could not get along without him. He is the main stay of the community. We have no "True-neighbor-societies," - they are not suited to our condition. We have none so well off as to be able to bestow a great amount of time or means in aiding others, and few so poor as to need any but neighborly aid. Good neighbors are all

we want.

It is not easy to describe this beneficent spirit. It takes a thousand forms. It changes its aspect like the clouds of a glowing sunset, but it wears ever the rich golden tint of a true human sympathy. Does disease invade your dwelling? The good neighbor does not pass coldly by, and take it for granted that you have all that is needed. He sends his horse for a doctor or his wagon for a nurse; he offers aid for the long night-watches, or perhaps takes kindly away to his own home the little noisy voices that might disturb the invalid. Does death, in spite of all care and kindness, make good his dreaded entrance? You cannot send for an undertaker, but you have such aid as professional hands never gave. The good neighbor relieves you of all anxiety as to the details of the last sad parting, watching your wishes with a delicacy which is erroneously supposed by many to be foreign to unpolished natures; and he leaves not the good work until he has with his own hands laid the loved remains in the earth, with all due rites and pious care. Can this do less than bind your heart to him forever, and secure to him as warm a friend for a like hour of need?