If proof were needed of the comparative apathy under which we labor in respect to activities and progress in the more abstract and higher planes of intellectual effort, we find it in the contrast between the rewards meted out to the successful in this and in more material fields, in the general estimation awarded to the two classes of workers, and in the present expressions of the public bereavement when leading representatives of the two classes are removed from the scenes of their labors. Compare the quiet with which the ordinary wave of business interests and topic closed almost immediately over the announcement of the death of Horace Mann, with the protracted eulogy and untiring reminiscence of person, habits, work, and success, that, after the decease of William H. Prescott, kept the great wave of current topics parted for weeks--as if another Red Sea were divided, and the spirit of the historian, lingering to the chanting of solemn requiems, should pass over it dry-shod! For the great historian this was indeed no excess of honor, because grand human natures are worthy of all our praises; but was there not a painful want of respect and requital to the equally great educator? Prescott wrote admirable volumes, and in our libraries they will be 'a joy forever.' Horace Mann secured admirable means of instruction, made admirable schools, awakened to their best achievements the souls of our children; and his work is one to be measured by enlarging streams of beauty and joy that flow down through the generations. Would that, in the midst of so much justice as we willingly render to self-sacrifice and worth, we could less easily forget those whose labor it is directly to fit mankind for a higher nobleness, and for higher appreciation of it when enacted in their behalf! * * * * * GUERDON. Every life has been a battle That has won a noble guerdon-- Every soul that furls its pinions In proud Fame's serene dominions, Wearily has borne its burden. Through long years of toil and darkness, Years of trial and of sorrow-- Days of longing, nigh to madness, Nights of such deep, rayless sadness, Hope herself scarce dared to-morrow. Therefore bear up, O brave toiler In the world's benighted places! Though Truth's glory light your forehead, Purer souls than yours have sorrowed, Tears have flowed on angel-faces. Therefore, bear up, O ye toilers! Teachers of the earth's dull millions. _Keep_ Truth's glory on each forehead, And the way so blank and sorrowed Shall lead on to heaven's pavilions. * * * * * LITERARY NOTICES LEISURE HOURS IN TOWN. By the Author of 'The Recreations of a Country Parson.' Boston: Ticknor and Fields. 1862.