The character is gloomy, and to a certain extent forbidding, owing to the heavy walls and piers and columns, and the great masses supported by them; but when in its freshness and quite uninjured by decay or violence, the exquisite coloring of the walls and ceilings and columns must have added a great deal of beauty: this must have very much diminished the oppressive effect inseparable from such massive construction and from the gloomy darkness of many portions of the buildings. It is also noteworthy that the expenditure of materials and labor is greater in proportion to the effect attained than in any other style. The pyramids are the most conspicuous example of this prodigality. Before condemning this as a defect in the style, it must be remembered that a stability which should defy enemies, earthquakes, and the tooth of time, was far more aimed at than architectural character; and that, had any mode of construction less lavish of material, and less perfect in workmanship, been adopted, the buildings of Egypt might have all disappeared ere this. SELECTIONS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE. FITZ GREENE HALLECK. If one is not too critical there is a good deal of pleasure to be got out of Halleck’s volume.—_National Magazine_ (_1852_). Dana, Halleck and Bryant rose together on steady wings and gave voices to the solitude; Dana with a broad, grave undertone like that of the sea; Bryant with a sound as of the wind in summer woods, and the fall of waters in mountain dells; and Halleck with strains blown from a silver trumpet, breathing manly fire and courage.—_Bayard Taylor._ To * * * * The world is bright before thee, Its summer flowers are thine, Its calm, blue sky is o’er thee, Thy bosom pleasure’s shrine; And thine the sunbeam given, To nature’s morning hour, Pure, warm, as when from heaven It burst on Eden’s bower. There is a song of sorrow, The death-dirge of the gay, That tells, ere dawn of morrow, These charms may melt away, That sun’s bright beam be shaded, That sky be blue no more, The summer flowers be faded, And youth’s warm promise o’er. Believe it not, though lonely Thy evening home may be; Though beauty’s bark can only Float on a summer sea; Though time thy bloom is stealing, There’s still beyond his art The wild-flower wreath of feeling, The sunbeam of the heart. In Memory of Joseph Rodman Drake. Green be the turf above thee, Friend of my better days! None knew thee but to love thee, Nor named thee but to praise. Tears fell when thou wert dying, From eyes unused to weep, And long, where thou art lying, Will tears the cold turf steep. When hearts whose truth was proven, Like thine, are laid in earth, There should a wreath be woven To tell the world their worth;