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INTELLECTUAL INDOLENCE.

'Action and conflict, are the conditions of our existence in the world. - ANON. 'Riches take to themselves wings and fly away. — BIBLE.

FAR be from us the sin of inflicting upon our readers a homily upon a theme that has waxed fat and multiplied, under the care of moralizing sages, in every period of time. If we mistake not, however, there is such a thing as intellectual riches, far more evanescent in its nature, and even more likely to fly away than its grosser counterpart. No one will pretend but that the treasures of the mind may be exhausted, while the vigor of the body is complete, and that he who was once the possessor of literary wealth may become, and that by the operation of no physical causes, poor indeed. Knowledge, so far from being indued with any necessary and permanent adhesiveness, will of itself, if not carefully guarded, drop off from the intellectual edifice it once adorned, until only the thinnest coating remains to remind us of the beauty that was once there. Numberless facts demonstrate that the most extensive attainments in literature, and the most cultivated powers of intellect, if not enriched by constant additions, and invigorated by unremitted exercise, will gradually disappear, or become metamorphosed into a dull mediocrity. Every reflecting man's experience will in a greater or less degree bear witness to the fundamental correctness of this remark. He cannot but be conscious that there is a principle of decay at work in his own mind, which, if not counteracted by incessant mental activity, both of exertion and accumulation, would infallibly strip him of all the results of his past labors, and what is worse, unfit him for future efforts. The busiest intellect finds, after all, ample reason to lament the vast disproportion that exists between what it has known and what it does know, and the constant disappearance of particles of its knowledge, once fairly acquired and highly valued. Like a general marching through an enemy's country, to whom every evening's muster reveals a new loss, the absence of some sturdy veteran, or valued officer, cut off by a watchful and wary foe, so the intellectual itinerator will find, as the result of every faithful inspection, his list of missing swelling with every stage of his journey, and while he plumes himself upon new acquisitions, cannot but lament the loss of the old. Indeed it seems reasonable to suppose that, as we naturally lose our hold on one thing while attempting to grasp another, so the mind will almost of necessity experience an actual retrocession in knowledge on some subjects, as it makes farther and deeper advances in others. But if such is the case with the diligent and laborious cultivator of the field of literature, what ought we to expect from the lazy indifference, or mere passivity of the intellectual drone? What but the most pinching poverty of ideas, the most superficial attainments in science and literature?—his modicum of knowledge rapidly decreasing, and general inefficiency and ineptitude of intellect creeping upon him?

As the territories of a mighty conqueror, gained at the price of immense expenditures of blood and treasure, demand, in order to be retained, a constant exercise of those qualities by which they were acquired, so our intellectual acquirements, made at the cost of so much time,

him to give more heed to his composition, and to weigh more acc his conclusions in science, is the object we desire to accomplish brief notice of his Ornithichnology.

LAFAYETTE.

WRITTEN (UPON HEARING OF HIS DEATH) IN AUGust, 1834.

'NONE knew thee but to love thee,

Or named thee but to praise.'

"Twas his in manhood's blushing prime to tread
Imperial halls with coroneted head;

To bask in royal smiles, or lead the dance
Amid the gayest, gallantest of France;
Or, gladly loosed from grandeur's courtly thrall,
At gentle Hymen's sweet enticing call,
To seek his princely home, and fondly rest
His honored brow on wedded beauty's breast.

And never more the youthful lord shall leave
His blooming Eden and his blushing Eve,
But softly yield to love's voluptuous hours
His princely fortune and exalted powers;
Oh sooner deem the spider's brittle tie
Could hold the eagle from his native sky,
Than that luxurious indolence could bind
One little hour that angel-pinioned mind!
E'en now he springs from love's inglorious rest
With armed right arm and wildly-heaving breast;
What stirring thoughts his youthful heart inspire?
Why burns his eye with unaccustomed ire?
Lo! on his startled ear the winds have blown
The clank of chains where bleeding millions groan,
And swift he breaks from nature's dearest ties
In freedom's cause life, all to jeopardize ;
While every charm to home and Hymen wed,
Is crushed like flowers beneath a giant's tread.

Far o'er the deep, with hopes unspurred by fame,
The warrior-pilgrim in his glory came,
Poured his full purse in Freedom's empty hand,
And with her foremost sternly took his stand;
Fought, bled, nor faltered till the strife was o'er,
And the last foe was hunted from her shore.

Hark! as the sighing gales from Europe sweep,
What thrilling sound comes booming o'er the deep!
Is it a nation's mingled wail we hear,

Around its proudest hero's passing bier?

Yes: 'tis thy knell, worth-hallowed Lafayette!
Sun of two worlds, thine orb at last has set!

Though dark the storms that thronged thy fearful way,
No cloud e'er quenched or dimmed one blessed ray;
Bright in thy morning prime, thy noontide tower,
Yet not less glorious at thy evening hour;
And though we miss and mourn thy living flame,
Immortal burns the twilight of thy fame!

Stockbridge, (Mass.,) August, 1834.

HA

INTELLECTUAL INDOLENCE.

'Action and conflict, are the conditions of our existence in the world. -- ANON. 'Riches take to themselves wings and fly away. - BIBLE.

FAR be from us the sin of inflicting upon our readers a homily upon a theme that has waxed fat and multiplied, under the care of moralizing sages, in every period of time. If we mistake not, however, there is such a thing as intellectual riches, far more evanescent in its nature, and even more likely to fly away than its grosser counterpart. No one will pretend but that the treasures of the mind may be exhausted, while the vigor of the body is complete, and that he who was once the possessor of literary wealth may become, and that by the operation of no physical causes, poor indeed. Knowledge, so far from being indued with any necessary and permanent adhesiveness, will of itself, if not carefully guarded, drop off from the intellectual edifice it once adorned, until only the thinnest coating remains to remind us of the beauty that was once there. Numberless facts demonstrate that the most extensive attainments in literature, and the most cultivated powers of intellect, if not enriched by constant additions, and invigorated by unremitted exercise, will gradually disappear, or become metamorphosed into a dull mediocrity. Every reflecting man's experience will in a greater or less degree bear witness to the fundamental correctness of this remark. He cannot but be conscious that there is a principle of decay at work in his own mind, which, if not counteracted by incessant mental activity, both of exertion and accumulation, would infallibly strip him of all the results of his past labors, and what is worse, unfit him for future efforts. The busiest intellect finds, after all, ample reason to lament the vast disproportion that exists between what it has known and what it does know, and the constant disappearance of particles of its knowledge, once fairly acquired and highly valued. Like a general marching through an enemy's country, to whom every evening's muster reveals a new loss, the absence of some sturdy veteran, or valued officer, cut off by a watchful and wary foe, so the intellectual itinerator will find, as the result of every faithful inspection, his list of missing swelling with every stage of his journey, and while he plumes himself upon new acquisitions, cannot but lament the loss of the old. Indeed it seems reasonable to suppose that, as we naturally lose our hold on one thing while attempting to grasp another, so the mind will almost of necessity experience an actual retrocession in knowledge on some subjects, as it makes farther and deeper advances in others. But if such is the case with the diligent and laborious cultivator of the field of literature, what ought we to expect from the lazy indifference, or mere passivity of the intellectual drone? What but the most pinching poverty of ideas, the most superficial attainments in science and literature?his modicum of knowledge rapidly decreasing, and general inefficiency and ineptitude of intellect creeping upon him?

As the territories of a mighty conqueror, gained at the price of immense expenditures of blood and treasure, demand, in order to be retained, a constant exercise of those qualities by which they were acquired, so our intellectual acquirements, made at the cost of so much time,

him to give more heed to his composition, and to weigh more acc his conclusions in science, is the object we desire to accomplish brief notice of his Ornithichnology.

LAFAYETTE.

WRITTEN (UPON HEARING OF HIS DEATH) IN AUGUST, 1834.

'NONE knew thee but to love thee,

Or named thee but to praise.'

"TWAS his in manhood's blushing prime to tread
Imperial halls with coroneted head;

To bask in royal smiles, or lead the dance
Amid the gayest, gallantest of France;
Or, gladly loosed from grandeur's courtly thrall,
At gentle Hymen's sweet enticing call,
To seek his princely home, and fondly rest
His honored brow on wedded beauty's breast.

And never more the youthful lord shall leave
His blooming Eden and his blushing Eve,
But softly yield to love's voluptuous hours
His princely fortune and exalted powers;
Oh sooner deem the spider's brittle tie
Could hold the eagle from his native sky,
Than that luxurious indolence could bind
One little hour that angel-pinioned mind!
E'en now he springs from love's inglorious rest
With armed right arm and wildly-heaving breast;
What stirring thoughts his youthful heart inspire?
Why burns his eye with unaccustomed ire ?
Lo! on his startled ear the winds have blown
The clank of chains where bleeding millions groan,
And swift he breaks from nature's dearest ties
In freedom's cause life, all to jeopardize ;
While every charm to home and Hymen wed,
Is crushed like flowers beneath a giant's tread.

Far o'er the deep, with hopes unspurred by fame,
The warrior-pilgrim in his glory came,
Poured his full purse in Freedom's empty hand,
And with her foremost sternly took his stand;
Fought, bled, nor faltered till the strife was o'er,
And the last foe was hunted from her shore.

Hark! as the sighing gales from Europe sweep,
What thrilling sound comes booming o'er the deep!
Is it a nation's mingled wail we hear,

Around its proudest hero's passing bier?
Yes: 'tis thy knell, worth-hallowed Lafayette!
Sun of two worlds, thine orb at last has set!

Though dark the storms that thronged thy fearful way,
No cloud e'er quenched or dimmed one blessed ray;
Bright in thy morning prime, thy noontide tower,
Yet not less glorious at thy evening hour;
And though we miss and mourn thy living flame,
Immortal burns the twilight of thy fame!

Stockbridge, (Mass.,) August, 1834.

HA

INTELLECTUAL INDOLENCE.

'Action and conflict, are the conditions of our existence in the world. -- ANON. 'Riches take to themselves wings and fly away. - BIBLE.

FAR be from us the sin of inflicting upon our readers a homily upon a theme that has waxed fat and multiplied, under the care of moralizing sages, in every period of time. If we mistake not, however, there is such a thing as intellectual riches, far more evanescent in its nature, and even more likely to fly away than its grosser counterpart. No one will pretend but that the treasures of the mind may be exhausted, while the vigor of the body is complete, and that he who was once the possessor of literary wealth may become, and that by the operation of no physical causes, poor indeed. Knowledge, so far from being indued with any necessary and permanent adhesiveness, will of itself, if not carefully guarded, drop off from the intellectual edifice it once adorned, until only the thinnest coating remains to remind us of the beauty that was once there. Numberless facts demonstrate that the most extensive attainments in literature, and the most cultivated powers of intellect, if not enriched by constant additions, and invigorated by unremitted exercise, will gradually disappear, or become metamorphosed into a dull mediocrity. Every reflecting man's experience will in a greater or less degree bear witness to the fundamental correctness of this remark. He cannot but be conscious that there is a principle of decay at work in his own mind, which, if not counteracted by incessant mental activity, both of exertion and accumulation, would infallibly strip him of all the results of his past labors, and what is worse, unfit him for future efforts. The busiest intellect finds, after all, ample reason to lament the vast disproportion that exists between what it has known and what it does know, and the constant disappearance of particles of its knowledge, once fairly acquired and highly valued. Like a general marching through an enemy's country, to whom every evening's muster reveals a new loss, the absence of some sturdy veteran, or valued officer, cut off by a watchful and wary foe, so the intellectual itinerator will find, as the result of every faithful inspection, his list of missing swelling with every stage of his journey, and while he plumes himself upon new acquisitions, cannot but lament the loss of the old. Indeed it seems reasonable to suppose that, as we naturally lose our hold on one thing while attempting to grasp another, so the mind will almost of necessity experience an actual retrocession in knowledge on some subjects, as it makes farther and deeper advances in others. But if such is the case with the diligent and laborious cultivator of the field of literature, what ought we to expect from the lazy indifference, or mere passivity of the intellectual drone? What but the most pinching poverty of ideas, the most superficial attainments in science and literature? - his modicum of knowledge rapidly decreasing, and general inefficiency and ineptitude of intellect creeping upon him?

As the territories of a mighty conqueror, gained at the price of immense expenditures of blood and treasure, demand, in order to be retained, a constant exercise of those qualities by which they were acquired, so our intellectual acquirements, made at the cost of so much time,

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