Thus was their testimony rendered more dear to succeeding generations, from the sacrifice of selfish interest with which it was given. That genius which is called into action by the desire of fame only, must be interested; that stimulated by gain alone must be mercenary. Happily there is not enough of these encouragements in our new country to induce the many to leave the walks of busy life, or the more healthful though rugged paths of labor, from motives so liable to disappointment. Few can afford to devote a life to literature, and many of our brightest gems in poetry and prose are the offspring of minds, whose influence is more powerfully felt in the great action of our nation’s progress, or the refining process of their own good example on the morals of society. Others just peep out from the veil of their cherished domestic duties, to throw a simple flower into the world’s path. If lost, or unheeded, it causes no aching of the heart. The great system of general education, now disseminating its light throughout our land, will place knowledge a welcome guest at every cottage hearth, and national intelligence will form the firm basis of our national literature. The labor of intense thought will not fall too heavily on the few. From the shade of every valley, from the height of every hill, genius will spring forth. The friction of cheerful and healthful labor, will light the spark, which virtuous emulation will fan to a flame. From the freedom and happiness enjoyed, must necessarily arise a grateful sense of these blessings, a warm expression of that sense, and an anxiety to perpetuate those blessings. With genius and education, these feelings will find a vent in the flowing numbers of song, or the more perspicuous paragraphs of prose. In both the old and new world, the present is a golden age of literature, rich in its array of brilliant talents and gifted minds. Some of these are glorious as the day-star, and like it, the harbingers of increasing light. Minds that from their own fullness impart knowledge and feelings, whose gushings are like those of the mountain stream, pure even when impetuous. Others are like the meteor, brilliant, startling; their path a track of fire, but under that bright deception, like that wandering light are only a combination of unwholesome exhalations. Under their false glare, the clouds of vice are tinged with beauty, and the guilt of crime seems but the trace of romantic catastrophe.