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 I've been tossed like the driven foam; Good-bye to Flattery's fawning face; I am going to my own hearth-stone, A spot that is sacred to thought and God. O, when I am safe in my sylvan home, 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, At morn, I know where she rested at night, 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, At eve she hangs o'er the western sky And round the skirts of their deepen'd fold She hovers around us at twilight hour, SUNRISE, FROM MOUNT WASHINGTON. The laughing hours have chased away the night, And see, the foolish Moon, but now so vain I stand upon thy lofty pinnacle, 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, And hills and rivers, mountains, lakes, and woods, There is an awful stillness in this place, TO AN INFANT SLEEPING IN A GARDEN. Sleep on, sweet babe! the flowers that wake 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, Oh! may thy life like hers endure, |