The mind of society is composed, to a greater or less degree, by the mingling of purity and pollution. As the pure rivers of intellect and affection flow on, they are met by counter streams deeper and broader, emanating from the sources of evil and ignorance. Thus, good is counteracted, and its tendency destroyed by evil; thus, society is full of bitter animosities and contentions, and kept in a deleterious, feverish excitement, destructive of all noble effort. By the introduction of this principle, peace, active and beauteous, will calm the angry waters, and the countless currents of thought and feeling which sweep society, will only tend to the magnifying of one grand current flowing to universal good. Moreover, at the approach of this light, struck out of the mind of the mass, ignorance, though sitting upon her throne of centuries, shall find her throne to crumble from under her, and her reign over mankind to depart forever. Superstition, too, which has ever chained down the soaring spirit of mind, and destroyed the harmony and independence of society, shall find her power vanish—her altars prostrate—"her spell over the minds of men broken, never to unite again." In their place, whatever is glorious, noble, and sublime in mind, will reign supreme. And instead of any one desire giving tone productive of sordid selfishness to the thought and action of society; or instead of that levelling spirit, originating in lawless passion, which tramples upon and bids defiance to all law and good order—which marches through society with the terror and fatality of a thousand plagues—from a union of the virtues of the heart and intellect, a spirit of high-mindedness will arise, full of nobleness and power, to guarantee the force of law, to strengthen the social ties, and, like the star of the east, which marked the coming of the Saviour, ensure to the world universal happiness.
Are the effects of this principle sufficient to create a motive conducive to the universal cultivation of mind—or is something more required? As an effect creative of a motive, we would merely refer to the immortality of mental achievement. It is a fact, known to every one of common observation, that a virtuous mind dies not with the clayey tenement, but lives forever in its hallowed results. It is founded in reason and philosophy. The mind of the past is not different in its essential characteristics from the mind of the present; and therefore, the thoughts and feelings of the past are in a measure congenial with our thoughts and feelings; and from this kindred sympathy, it is, that the intellect of the remotest antiquity lives in the intellect of the most distant future. Are Homer, or Cicero, or any of that galaxy of mind which casts so brilliant, so undying a lustre over the ancient world, forgotten? Are Milton and Shakspeare, or Newton and Franklin, or any of the illustrious moderns, whatever their sphere of action, forgotten? The beautiful fanes and consecrated groves, where genius was wont to shine in her full power and brightness; the elegances of art, her towering domes and her magnificent columns, once the centre of admiration; the luxuries and splendors of opulence, once affording rich continued gratification—where are they? They have passed away, like "shadows over a rock," and are lost in the dust. But the mind which created them, admired them, enjoyed them, lives, will live, shall live, forever, forever.
H. J. G.
Cincinnati.
DYING MEDITATIONS
OF A NEW YORK ALDERMAN.
| Let me review the glories that are past, And nobly dine, in fancy, to the last; Since here an end of all my feasts I see, And death will soon make turtle soup of me! Full soon the tyrant's jaws will stop my jaw, A bonne bouche I, for his insatiate maw; My tongue, whose taste in venison was supreme, Whose bouncing blunders Gotham's daily theme, In far less pleasant fix will shortly be Than when it smack'd the luscious callipee. Oh would the gourmand his stern claim give o'er, And bid me eat my way through life once more! And might (my pray'rs were then not spent in vain,) A hundred civic feasts roll round again, As sound experience makes all men more wise, How great th' improvement from my own would rise! What matchless flavor I would give each dish, Whether of venison, soup, or fowl, or fish! In this more spice—in that more gen'rous wine, Gods, what ecstatic pleasure would be mine! But no—ungratified my palate burns, Departed joy to me no more returns; And vainly fancy strives my death to sweeten, With dreams of dinners never to be eaten. The dawning of my youth gave promise bright Of vict'ry in the gastronomic fight: "Turtle!" I cried, when at the nurse's breast, My cries for turtle broke her midnight rest; Such pleasure in the darling word I found, That turtle! turtle! made the house resound. When, after years of thankless toil and pains, The pedant spic'd with A B C my brains, My cranium teem'd, like Peter's heav'nly sheet, With thoughts of fish and flesh and fowls to eat; The turtle's natural hist'ry charm'd my sense— Adieu, forever, syntax, mood and tense! And when in zoologic books I read, That once a turtle liv'd without his head, To emulate this feat I soon began, And so became a Gotham Alderman. A civic soldier, I no dangers fear'd, Save indigestion or a greasy beard; Forced balls were shot, I fac'd with hearty thanks, And in the attack on Turkey led the ranks, The fork my bayonet—the knife my sword, And mastication victory secur'd. Alas! that kill'd and eat'n foes should plague us, And puke their way back through the œsophagus! Ye murder'd tribes of earth and air and sea, Dyspepsia hath reveng'd your deaths on me! Ah! what is life? A glass of ginger beer, Racy and sparkling, bubbling, foaming, clear; But when its carbonated gas is gone, What matter where the vapid lees are thrown? In this eternal world to which I go, I wonder whether people eat or no! If so, I trust that I shall get a chair, Since all my life I've striv'n but to prepare. And holy writ—unless our preachers lie— Says, "Eat and drink, to-morrow we must die." My faith was firm as ardent zeal could wish, From Noah's ark full down to Jonah's fish. Then may the pow'rs but give a starving sinner, A bid to that eternal turtle dinner! |
E. M.