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པ ཀཀང་

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mation-men require but a faint foreshadowing of their approach, when they hasten to embrace the messenger and the message, and entertain them with the purple robe and fatted calf. Here is our proof, gent.e reader. He may benceforward repose himself upon the mountain-side, or by the murmuring waters, with the happy consciousness of not only having followed the bent of his own inclinations, but contributed to the amusement and instruction of a numerous class of his fellow-creatures." We cut the words no matter whence, and of the person you shall know more presently.

What has this man accomplished, that his earthly course is fin shel, that he may fing around him the charms of pastoral melancholy, and spend his sunset of life in retired and idle dignity? Been a physician of souls or bolies? No. A v's tant of the prison-house to alleviate human ils? No. A lawyer, a cotton-spinner, a farmer, a merchant, a mechanic, a laborer for hire? None of these. Well, perchance even a polit cian? Far from it. But the devotee of an anging rol!-not a serviceable fisherman with a harpoon in the Southern Ocean; nor with a Lobiine off Cape Cod; nor even with a herring dragnet a.ong the bleak shores of Shet land. The usefu', dear reader, is no part of mo lern benevolence; it is the exquisite, the sleek dilettantism of labor, which alone enjoyeth this realy and universal praise of notable philanthropy. The hero, on whom this ante mortem epitaph is written, is a petty, ingenious artist of" Megs with a muckle mouth," "May flies," ree's, silk lines, bagrods, and floats; a digger of beetles, grubs, and dew-worms; skilled in a I the wisdom of Izaak Walton, together with a" first symptom" of a well-bied apothecary in discussing the tincture of benzoin, oil of aspray, cocu us indicus, assafœtida, and oil of polypody, as enticements for dead baits; can impale a frog on a Limerick, and make a solution of alum to color his line; knows every cast in the 1 weed, the Solway, and the Medway; and all the season, for the twenty years of a philanthropic life, from Lady lay to October, has been striking his trout, dashing through shallows, clambering over rocks, floundering through whirls, tu bling over rapids, drowning his exhausted salmon in a deep hole, dragging it ashore, and with one coup-de-grace ending it. Oh, noble William Scrope, Esq., well done, good and faithful servant, philanthropist and philosalmonist, piscator maximus! in return for the edification of mankind vouchsafed in thus "following the bent of thine own inclinations," retire to that

lovely mountain-side, and, wrapping thyself in the mantle of angling glory, chase the green grasshoppers over the rolling pastures, as the only remaining public benefaction within the province of that imbecility, to which declining years have reduced thee, and as the only titillation for senses still prurient with the habits acquired in the pastime to which thy days were devoted— and rejoice, O public, in the doul le fact, that your charity, which awards such honor to such service, enjoys a tension of wonderful elasticity, and that heaven and earth are verily met in this new-fangled identity of selfishness and philanthropy.

In the worse days of one century ago, they managed these things better, for they left to each public benefactor of this species the task or the sacred immunity of intonating his own trumpet. The Conversations-Lexicon tells usand what don't it tell us?-that John James Reiske, of Saxony, discarded his father's useful trade of tanning, and took to philology. After devouring all Christian and Pagan literature, he seized upon that of the false prophet, and studied the Koran till his eyes were bloodshot, and his pockets empty. Theoretical medicine he knew, but abominated the practice. Self-will, or what is politely denominated a noble love of independence, got unto him many enemies; but in a lucky hour he obtained a rectorship, and shortly afterwards a wife; which two things turned the wasting waters of a wayward genius into a channel whence they fell upon the great waterwheel of society, to assist its revolutions. Herr Reiske buried himself in the labyrinths of syntax, manuscripts, variæ lectiones, and verbal guesses, while the young world about him 't is himself that bears the indignant testimony in good Latin-squandered its time and its money in horse-racing, dice-throwing, dramdrinking, and fortune-hunting. Hear, then, the crusty philologist, in his preface to Demosthenes, as he turns his own face to the mirror of posterity." I hope that a grateful posterity will one day call to mind there once existed a Herr Reiske, a man of toil, who, in his effort to present the public with a Demosthenes, in a more attractive and perspicuous garb, spared not vigils, nor labor, nor money, spurned many conveniences, voluntarily undertook many most irksome tasks, despised the gibes of fools, willingly sacrificed his personal estate and his health for the public good, and bestowed all the powers of his mind and body on the studies, the possessions, and the pleasures of those who knew him not." There, good public, does not

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your heart palpitate at least once oftener in the minute, in gratitude for such generosity? But, gentle jury, suspend your verdict till the other party hath been heard, even Frau Reiske, with her long list of woes, and heartaches, and domestic estrangements. Mark you those words wherein he confesses to a wasteful expenditure of estate-jacturam rei familiaris—in the publication of his lucubrations on the rant of an Athenian demagogue. Count up the thousand little comforts denied to the domestic garniture, add thereto the constant spectre of impending ruin, and pile upon these the many hours of solace lost to the patient Frau, who might of right have demanded them, and you will begin to observe that this act of philanthropy is like a changeable silk, and hath more than a single color in its web. Never," continues the monomaniac philologist, "never could this have been accomplished, but for the patient endurance of a wife, who assumed the entire management of the household," and, we may add, left him at liberty to cultivate his rank patch of exotic quibbles and Greek roots. Frau Reiske was but an handmaid, while Demosthenes enjoyed the real honor of espousal; the music of a German voice, and the love of a pair of living German eyes, yielded to the potent melody of a Grecian orator, though dumb in death.

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Review now, good public, a day's labor of this worthy couple, and adjudge who deserveth the laurel, albeit the bridegroom vaunteth that his toil is "for the public good," and is largely beneficent" for those who know him not." The rector has been closeted with his parchments, delving for knots in a clump of bulrushes, ponderating the disputed claims of two pitted particles, making simple dark by metaphrasis and anacoluthon, asking you to subaudi this an I dele that, pointing out where Taylor tripped and Wolfe nodded, aggregating quotations, rectifying the grammar, and lashing his brain to invent an emendation of text; noon cometh, and the frugal meal is eaten mechanically; night cometh, and the graveolent pipe conveyeth the smoker into the third heavens of philology-'t is bedtime, and Herr Reiske sleeps. Look we now to the fair consort. From morn till "dewy eve" she hath plie her frugal hand, scattering nameless comforts about her modest apartments, arranging the snowy linen in her lockers, busying her thoughts to lend smiles to her scanty board, plying betimes the polished shaft, building bright hopes of the morrow, cheering her neighbors, and comforting the young mourner. The shades of night have intercepted their labors,

and with the rising stars gentle Sleep, emerging from his sunless cave, hath shed fragrant opiates upon her brow, and caused merry dreams to hold high festal along her unbent nerves. There they lie, domestic frugality by the side of public philanthropy; the seeker out of blessings for home and kindred, and the huntsman of vagaries for the torture" of those who knew him not" slumber hath banished alike the cares of grammar and the cares of gravy. Say now, gentle public, ere the first blush of Aurora rewaken the hopes and the projects of the morrow, which approaches the nearest to a discharge of the duties imposed by God, and which is returning to the bosom of their fellows the largest portion of those boons poured into their laps from the cornucopia of Providence? Yea, Hibernicé, which was the most of a man, the Herr or the Frau? Peace to thy ashes, John James, but the most brilliant and ennobling chapter in thy history is the silent, "unsaid and unsung" service of instruction undertaken by thee at intervals, and forced upon thee by necessity!

Your moral philanthropist of the nineteenth century, has a thousand idle schemes on which to spend his breath. He pounces upon the truism that society is all agog. If he has caught the prevailing epidemic, and feels Carlyle-ish, he bids you discard matter-of-fact, and have no respect to the recompense of reward, but keep open doors for every guest that bears a human form. He prates of the beauties and energies of faith, and whispers that it is innate, unformed, and self-existent. But beware, gentle listener, that you mention not in such company the efficacy of prayer for a righteous man, nor the place where the wicked die for ever If he is a Socialist, his lips drop with the honey of benevolence, and demonstrate the necessity of a new organization of society upon the universal principle of love. Be on your guard, good public, that you demand no experiment of this theory. Turn not the hot sun and warm showers of prosperity upon the promising vine, lest the rank vegetation make it all leaves without fruit; sweep it not with a late and nipping frost, lest it perish from the root. Prosperity giveth it fatness, and it kicketh; and when adversity depletes its feverish arteries, and coagulates its vital fluid, it will be ready to "curse God and die."

We have the Mormon on one side, and the Adventist on the other; a Come-outer here, and a Repealer there, Socialism, Fourierism, and Mammonism, all striving to strike their roots down in our government and religion; and ve

rily, good public, you may think the prophecy of Zachary is now fulfilled in thee," in those days ten men shall take hold out of all langua ges of the nations, even shall take hold of the skirt of him that is a Jew, saying, We will go with you; for we have heard that God is with you." But pull not away thy shoulder, nor place the hermetic sigil on thine auditory nerves, dear public, till we have caused it to ring on thine ear like the explosion of a firecracker, and reverberate like the roll of a kettledrum, that you have got the wrong text, and that it is not

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the parable of the "ten men," but of the " en women," who with hearts as snares and nets, in a time of leap-year and famine, have seized upon thee, and are vying with each other in blandishments and fair speeches, to inveigle thee into the noose of wedlock: but who, with all their outcry about philanthropy, and faith, and love, desire only to eat of thy substance, and, "following the bent of their own inclinations," smite thee with the tongue, and the sword. Verily a modern philanthropist is a sore evil under the sun.

WASTED INTELLECT.

It is an interesting as well as probable inference from the discoveries of modern astronomy, that the numberless orbs which crowd the sky are worlds with intelligent tenants, leaseholders of the great Proprietor of the universe, of an existence and of faculties and responsibilities not unlike our own. So that we no longer perform lonely and unwitnessed our cycles in the firmament, but travel on amid a caravan of worlds each shouting with intelligent joy the praise of its Creator.

But what if "bright-eyed science" in her farther explorations, should detect on the broad field of the heavens some black and rayless orb swinging to and fro, and bearing upon its face evident signs of utter desolatenesss and abandonment, and should perceive that it was a world of the dead, a grave-yard in the sky, embosoming only the dust of a smitten and extinct race of intelligent beings. Towards such an anomalous spectacle in God's glad universe who would not often turn a melancholy thought, and yield emotions of mingling wonder and

sorrow?

Precisely such a world there may not be, but a world resembling it there is, and that world is ours. And let not the sentiment be deemed cynical and severe. Observation, which all are capable of making, sadly confirms it, and shows in the intellectual history of our race a waste of mind, a destruction of the noblest powers God has given us, absolutely appalling. In the authentic record of man's creation, we learn that God made him in his own image, gave him a mind which was a miniature of the infinite and eternal intellect. But in the history of man for six thousand years, how little do we

see of mind and its mighty workings? Here and there solitary minds burst their cerements and glimmer like summer flies amid the dust and dim distance of the past; but slow moving centuries revolve in the intervals, and the really great minds of the world from the beginning till now might almost be counted on one's fingers. Strike from the scroll of fame the mere butchers of men, the honorable ruffians, the titled and decorated scoundrels of history, and retain but the names of the wise and virtuous, and a beggarly account truly is presented. Where are the teeming millions of the ancient east that once swarmed along the banks of the Euphrates? Where the myriads that once trod the valley of the Nile? and what traces of intelligent thoughtfulness have they left behind them? A melancholy thing it is to think of, that the amount of mind developed in any one age and nation hitherto, has been but as a fragment or a spark. Some mighty superincumbent pressure has kept it down, or some internal derangement or neglect has smothered or consumed it. It is not to be believed that God has made the great mass of men so mindless as they appear to be. It is not credible that he who has so profusely garnished nature in all her departments, sprinkling even the wilderness with flowers, and lining the caves of ocean with gems, should have so scantily furnished men with the intellectual endowments that belong to their rank in the scale of being. It is not credible that he scatters great minds centuries apart, and creates the millions between with mere shells and feelers-with just wit enough to catch their food and eat it and die. It is agreeable to what we know of the Deity to believe

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WASTED INTELLECT.

that he delights to create mind. It is the only thing in the universe that is like him; the only thing with which he can commune and hold fellowship. It is reasonable to suppose that in the great family of man there is originally nearly or quite as much mental equality and conformity as in any family of plants, or flowers, or animals-that there is mind enough, if rightly fostered and fairly developed, to make this an intellectual, instead of a sensual, worldenough, it brought out, to create a visible and impassable chasm between man and the cattle that browse at his feet, and to link him with the angels, than whom God has made him but a little lower. There is perhaps at any one instant mind enough in this nation, could it be made to take wing and move upward to its sphere, to eclipse all the mind that has shone out since the fallenough to traverse in groups and measure the mighty space where Newton walked in solitary grandeur, or strike the deep organ tone of Milton, or echo the sweet strains of Cowper from a thousand American cottages.

We may with profit reflect upon some of the causes which have contributed, and are yet contributing, to the waste of intellect, of which we have been speaking. Among these we may reckon the influence of FALSE RELIGIONS.

Man is, by the constitution of his nature, a religious creature. He is incomplete without some system of religious faith. Just as the human eye, though perfect in organization and finish, is a useless instrument without the light. It was made for the light and the light for it, and either without the other is useless. So of the human mind. It was made for religion, and cannot develope its powers without it. As the wild flower of the desert droops and shrinks till the pattering rain-drops revive it, and refuses to yield its fragrance or unfold its delicate beauties till the warmth and light of the sun have wooed it, so shrinks and withers the human spirit if not surrounded and breathed upon by a purified spiritual atmosphere, if not stimulated and quickened by a holy religion. What institutions," inquired the Japanese Emperor of a European, "what institutions have you in Europe for making poets?" "Sire," replied the latter, "we have a beautiful heaven and a beautiful earth, and a holy religion." The mind may be compared to a musical instrument. The harp is a reservoir of musical capabilities, but what character of music it shall discourse depends upon the skill and airiness of the fingers that shall touch its chords. The best instru

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ment may stand untouched and mute till dust and cobwebs have covered it. Or in an unpractised hand it shall yield only grating discords, instead of those graceful and glorious utterances that raise the soul to heaven. And that grand harmonicon, the human mind, discovers all its powers and reveals all its harmonies only to the touches of the divine and master hand that made it. The influence of religion upon it is as the movement of the finger of God and the breath of angels, and then it speaks in all the dialects of melody like the deep toned organ, or in melting Eolian strains, or as the chiming of silver bells.

Need we wonder then that such deplorable and wide wastes are seen in the history of the human intellect, when a true and holy religion has had so little to do with the development and enlargement of its powers; and not only so, but when we consider that in all climes and ages false and debasing religious systems have encrusted and cramped it? For just as certainly as that a true religion expands and ennobles mind, does a false one contract and debase it. It is like the enclosure of the shell-fish, circumscribing and determining the figure and dimensions of the creature it encases. Bandaged, blinded, entombed alive in childish forms, in stupid ceremonials, in dead and damning dogmas, how could it be otherwise than that whole generations and races should pass a miserable or a torpid existence, and depart leaving no gleam of light behind them? O had the sun of righteousness but shined upon and into that mass of inert and dormant mind, how different had been the history of man at this day.

Bad government, as well as false religion, has operated always and everywhere to the extinguishment or degradation of intellect. What does a despotic and corrupt government want of mind? What possible use can it have for thinking men! It wants people who can pay taxes, or do the drudge work and fighting of their masters; but for enlightened, elevated intellect, there is no conceivable use. Nay, might not such intellect become troublesome, if not positively pestiferous? Is it not indeed likely that a people without souls would as well answer all the ends of a bad government as a people with souls? Who wishes his ox had a soul, when all we want of him is his labor first and his meat afterwards? Upon considerations quite philosophical, therefore, we may perceive, that not finding their interest in any such commodity as intellect, the corrupt rulers of the world have neglected its cultivation; nay, that

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