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DEATH AND THE ARTIST.

" The pale-faced artist plies his sickly trade,"saith the poet. And what then? The daring ge-nius will not be appalled in his pursuit of glory ;the enthusiastic painter would yet spread the pig-ments on his palette, though the King of Terrorswere at his elbow, playing the part of levigator.A fig for life, to gain a deathless fame!

Death, the everlasting bugbear to wights of com-mon mould, hath no terror to the philosopher,whether he be poet, painter, sculptor, or other,bent on those scientific pursuits that lead to im-mortality. Let sordid souls tremble at his name—these mental heroes start not for worthless gold,but run the race for glory.

The poet takes his flight above the region of