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we copy the Doric or the Gothic model? Beauty, convenience, grandeur of thought, and quaint expression are as near to us as to any, and if the American artist will study with hope and love the precise thing to be done by him, considering the climate, the soil, the length of the day, the wants of the people, the habit and form of the government, he will create a house in which all these will find themselves fitted, and taste and sentiment will be satisfied also.

SELF-RELIANCE.

Insist on yourself; never imitate. Your own gift you can present every moment with the cumulative force of a whole life's cultivation; but of the adopted talent of another, you have only an extemporaneous, half possession. That which each can do best, none but his Maker can teach him. No man yet knows what it is, nor can, till that person has exhibited it. Where is the master who could have taught Shakspeare? Where is the master who could have instructed Franklin, or Washington, or Bacon, or Newton? Every great man is a unique. The Scipionism of Scipio is precisely that part he could not borrow. If anybody will tell me whom the great man imitates in the original crisis when he performs a great act, I will tell him who else than himself can teach him. Shakspeare will never be made by the study of Shakspeare. Do that which is assigned thee, and thou canst not hope too much or dare too much. There is at this moment, there is for me an utterance bare and grand as that of the colossal chisel of Phidias, or trowel of the Egyptians, or the pen of Moses, or Dante, but different from all these. Not possibly will the soul all rich, all eloquent, with thousand-cloven tongue, deign to repeat itself; but if I can hear what these patriarchs say, surely I can reply to them in the same pitch of voice: for the ear and the tongue are two organs of one nature. Dwell up there in the simple and noble regions of thy life, obey thy heart, and thou shalt reproduce the Foreworld again.

GOOD-BYE, PROUD WORLD!

Good-bye, proud world! I'm going home:

Thou art not my friend, and I'm not thine.
Long through thy weary crowds I roam;
A river-ark on the ocean's brine,

Long I've been tossed like the driven foam;
But now, proud world! I'm going home.

Good-bye to Flattery's fawning face;
To Grandeur with his wise grimace;
To upstart Wealth's averted eye;
To supple Office, low and high;
To crowded halls, to court and street;
To frozen hearts and hasting feet;
To those who go, and those who come;
Good-bye, proud world! I'm going home.

I am going to my own hearth-stone,
Bosomed in yon green hills alone-
A secret nook in a pleasant land,
Whose groves the frolic fairies planned;
Where arches green, the live-long day,
Echo the blackbird's roundelay,
And vulgar feet have never trod

A spot that is sacred to thought and God.

O, when I am safe in my sylvan home,
I tread on the pride of Greece and Rome;
And when I am stretched beneath the pines,
Where the evening star so holy shines,
I laugh at the lore and the pride of man,
At the sophist schools, and the learned clan;
For what are they all, in their high conceit,
When man in the bush with God may meet!

RUFUS DAWES.

RUFUS DAWES was born in Boston, on the 26th of January, 1803. His father, Thomas Dawes, was a member of the State Convention, called to ratify the Constitution,' and was for many years one of the

It is well known that, in many of the conventions called to ratify the Constitution, strong objections were made against it, because it did not contain a distinct clause for the abolition of slavery. To meet this objection, Judge Dawes referred to Article 1, Section IX., Clause (1)—“The migration or importation of such persons as any of the States now existing shall think proper to admit, shall not be prohibited by Congress prior to 1808." From this he went to show that by "importation" was intended the foreign slave trade, and by "migration" the domestic slave trade, and that slavery thus restricted could not live. He closed his speech with these words: "We may say, therefore, that although slavery is not smitten by an apoplexy, yet it has received a mortal wound, and will die of consumption." Judge Wilson, in the Pennsylvania Convention, and others, took the same ground; and

Judges of the Supreme Court of Massachusetts, distinguished for his learning, eloquence, wit,' and spotless integrity. Our poet entered Harvard College in 1820. On leaving it, he entered the office of Gen. William Sullivan as a law student, and after completing his studies, was admitted a member of the Suffolk County bar. The profession, however, was not congenial to his feelings, and he has never pursued its practice. Early in 1828, he published a prospectus of "The Emerald and Baltimore Literary Gazette," of which he was to be the editor, and on the 29th of March, of that year, appeared the first number. In 1829, he was married to a daughter of Chief Justice Cranch, of Washington. In 1830, he published "The Valley of the Nashanay, and other Poems ;" and in 1839, "Athenia of Damascus," "Geraldine," and his miscellaneous poetical writings. In the winter of 1840–41, he delivered a course of literary lectures in New York, before the American Institute.

SPIRIT OF BEAUTY.

The Spirit of Beauty unfurls her light,
And wheels her course in a joyous flight;
I know her track through the balmy air,
By the blossoms that cluster and whiten there;
She leaves the tops of the mountains green,
And gems the valley with crystal sheen.

At morn, I know where she rested at night,
For the roses are gushing with dewy delight;
Then she mounts again, and round her flings
A shower of light from her crimson wings;
Till the spirit is drunk with the music on high,
That silently fills it with ecstasy.

At noon she hies to a cool retreat,

Where bowering elms over waters meet;

She dimples the wave where the green leaves dip,

As it smilingly curls like a maiden's lip,

no one who reads carefully the history of the times can doubt that not only the great and leading men of the Revolution, but the mass of the people looked forward to a speedy extinction of this crime and curse.

He was remarkable for his quickness of repartee. He was very short in stature, and one day standing in State Street, Boston, with six very tall men, among whom were Harrison Gray Otis and Josiah Quincy, Mr. Otis said, Judge Dawes, how do you feel" (looking down on him at the same time very significantly) when in the company of such great men as we ?" "Just like a four-pence half-penny among six cents," was his prompt reply.

The New England "four-pence half-penny" is the York "sixpence," or the Pennsylvania fip."

When her tremulous bosom would hide, in vain,
From her lover, the hope that she loves again.

At eve she hangs o'er the western sky
Dark clouds for a glorious canopy,

And round the skirts of their deepen'd fold
She paints a border of purple and gold,
Where the lingering sunbeams love to stay,
When their god in his glory has passed away.

She hovers around us at twilight hour,
When her presence is felt with the deepest power;
She silvers the landscape, and crowds the stream
With shadows that flit like a fairy dream;
Then wheeling her flight through the gladden'd air,
The Spirit of Beauty is everywhere.

SUNRISE, FROM MOUNT WASHINGTON.

The laughing hours have chased away the night,
Plucking the stars out from her diadem:-
And now the blue-eyed Morn, with modest grace,
Looks through her half-drawn curtains in the east,
Blushing in smiles and glad as infancy.

And see, the foolish Moon, but now so vain
Of borrow'd beauty, how she yields her charms,
And, pale with envy, steals herself away!
The clouds have put their gorgeous livery on,
Attendant on the day: the mountain tops
Have lit their beacons, and the vales below
Send up a welcoming: no song of birds,
Warbling to charm the air with melody,
Floats on the frosty breeze; yet Nature hath
The very soul of music in her looks!
The sunshine and the shade of poetry.

I stand upon thy lofty pinnacle,
Temple of Nature! and look down with awe
On the wide world beneath me, dimly seen;
Around me crowd the giant sons of earth,
Fixed on their old foundations, unsubdued;
Firm as when first rebellion bade them rise
Unrifted to the Thunderer: now they seem
A family of mountains, clustering round
Their hoary patriarch, emulously watching
To meet the partial glances of the day.
Far in the glowing east the flickering light,
Mellow'd by distance, with the blue sky blending,
Questions the eye with ever-varying forms.

The sun comes up! away the shadows fling From the broad hills; and, hurrying to the West, Sport in the sunshine till they die away.

The many beauteous mountain streams leap down,
Out-welling from the clouds, and sparkling light
Dances along with their perennial flow.
And there is beauty in yon river's path,
The glad Connecticut! I know her well,
By the white veil she mantles o'er her charms:
At times she loiters by a ridge of hills,
Sportfully hiding; then again with glee,
Out-rushes from her wild-wood lurking-place,
Far as the eye can bound, the ocean-waves,

And hills and rivers, mountains, lakes, and woods,
And all that hold the faculty entranced,
Bathed in a flood of glory, float in air,
And sleep in the deep quietude of joy.

There is an awful stillness in this place,
A Presence that forbids to break the spell,
Till the heart pour its agony in tears.
But I must drink the vision while it lasts;
For even now the curling vapors rise,
Wreathing their cloudy coronals, to grace
These towering summits-bidding me away;
But often shall my heart turn back again,
Thou glorious eminence! and when oppress'd,
And aching with the coldness of the world,
Find a sweet resting-place and home with thee.

TO AN INFANT SLEEPING IN A GARDEN.

Sleep on, sweet babe! the flowers that wake
Around thee are not half so fair;
Thy dimpling smiles unconscious break,
Like sunlight on the vernal air.

Sleep on! no dreams of care are thine,

No anxious thoughts that may not rest;

For angel arms around thee twine,

To make thy infant slumbers bless'd.

Perchance her spirit hovers near,

Whose name thy infant beauty bears,
To guard thine eyelids from the tear
That every child of sorrow shares.

Oh! may thy life like hers endure,
Unsullied to its spotless close;
And bend to earth as calm and pure
As ever bowed the summer rose.

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