"And pass the prairie hawk, that, poised on high.
Flaps his broad wings, yet moves not."

"The great heavens

Seem to stoop down upon the scene in love,

'Till twilight blushed, and lovers walked and wooed

In a forgotten language, and old tunes

From instruments of unremembered form,

Gave the soft winds a voice."

"The mountains that infold,

In their wild sweep, the colored landscape round,
Seem groups of giant kings in purple and gold,

That guard the enchanted ground.”

"So live, that, when thy summons comes to join

The innumerable caravan, that moves

To that mysterious realm, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,

Thou go not, like the quarry slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon, but sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave-
Like one, that draws the drapery of his couch

About him, and lies down in pleasant dreams."

Rumor says, that the magnificent lines, last quoted, were never read by Thomas Campbell, the author of the "Pleasures of Hope," without causing him to shed tears.

Mr. Bryant is a native of Cummington, Massachusetts. His father was an eminent physician, distinguished for his learning, and taste, and scientific attainments. When our author was sixteen years of age, he entered Williams' college, where he was eminent for his attainments. He commenced the study of law in 1812; and was admitted to the bar three

years afterwards, and forthwith commenced practice ir i town of Great Barrington. He was but little more than ghteen years of age when he wrote "Thanatopsis," which was first published in the North American Review. In 1821, he delivered "The Ages" before a literary society in Harvard. After ten years practice at the law, he removed to New York, and devoted himself to literary pursuits in the society of such men as Verplanck, Sands, Legget, &c. In 1826, he assumed the chief management of the "Evening Post;" a position he still occupies with honor to himself, and credit to his craft.

The Post is one of the most readable and influential journals on this continent. Of course, no true poet can countenance oppression; and when the question of slavery was first agitated by leading men, in and out of his party, he wielded his pen in defence of the weak and down-trodden. He has been a vigorous opposer of the Fugitive Slave Bill; and like a brave, honest man, fearlessly trips up the infamous intriguers, who make the auction block their platform. Mr. Bryant is a reformer, and is classed among the "Softs" of the democratic party—the term, however, applies more to the hearts than it does to the heads of the humane leaders in the ranks to which he belongs.

Mr. Bryant is upwards of fifty years of age, about five feet nine inches in height, with rather athletic frame; he has a large, thin, sallow face, lit up with a pair of sharp, grey eyes, which twinkle like stars, under heavy eye-brows-his countenance indicates the reserved dignity for which he is noted his forehead is broad, head quite bald, hair fine,

soft, and grey, with whiskers to match; he dresses with neatness and simplicity. Notwithstanding the sternness of his smile, and the sedateness of his physiognomy, he is genial as the sunshine, and his heart overflows with generosity. If General Pierce was king, and not President, he could not do a wiser thing than to make the greatest poet of his party Poet Laureate. As Wordsworth linked his name with the waters of Windermere, and the vale of Keswick, and the towering Helvellyn; so Bryant's name is indissolubly associ ated with the lakes, and prairies, and mountains of America.

DANIEL S. DICKINSON

THE political nomenclature of New York is a science not taught in the schools. A thorough knowledge of the various names assumed by some and assigned to others, requires an out-door education-a sidewalk and street-corner tuition, a convention and mass-meeting training. Why, the names given to the "Federalists," and "Republicans," the "Clintonians," and the Bucktails," have become obsolete, and the terms "Whig" and "Democrat" are regarded as altogether too antiquated for modern use; so we have the "Silver Greys" and the "Hunkers," the "Conscience Whigs" and the "Cotton Whigs”—the "Free Democrats," which of course implies there are Democrats that are not free, such for instance as are known by the euphonious title of "Hunkers"—then we have the Barnburners, known also by the names of "Softs," "Puttyheads," "the Unterrified," and their bitterest opponents, the "Hards," "the Terrified," &c.

Daniel S. Dickinson is an "Old Hunker," dyed in the wool, although not a "woolly head." He is one of the hardest of the hards, one of the most terrible of the terrified-a Northern man with Southern principles-a Virginian born by mistake in Connecticut, and the burden of his song, is "Oh, carry me back to old Virginia, to old Virginia shore." If he ever prayed

he prayed (to whom?) for the passage of the Fugitive Slave Law. If he ever labored harder at one time than another, it was when his voice and vote could help to place the compromise measures—so called-upon our statute books. No man erawled longer and crouched lower than he did, to serve the south at the expense of the north. He forgot he had constituents to serve, and devoted himself exclusively and unsparingly to the slave power-toiling incessantly for those who despised his principles while they praised his "patriotism." The chivalrous southerner, whose instincts and education and interests wedded him to the "peculiar institution" is guilty enough in the face of humanity and heaven, but his guilt whitens into innocence when contrasted with the contemptible meanness which impels a native of New England to crouch and cringe in the most "terrified" manner in the presence of his masters. Pray what will be the reward of his trimming and treachery? Will he step from the neck of the slave to a seat in the cabinet? Can he climb into the presidential chair on the bleeding back of a negro? Will the nation clap its hands to see him chase a fugitive? Will his nomination terminate in anything but defeat? He is, undoubtedly, a man of extraordinary talent, without however a single spark of genius. He is a debater of uncommon ability—a well read statesman, an industrious worker, a skilful tactitian, a shrewd sharp politician, up to all the arts and tricks of wool and wire pulling and log-rolling-and had he kept pace with the progress of the progressives in his party, he would have been a man the Democrats would have delighted to honor. In private life, I have the impression he is a most esti