Turn over the pages of history and philosophy--study the record of human events, and the laws of the mind, and we gather as their united testimony, the truth, that in all ages of the world, whatever has carried with it the impress of intellect, has commanded the homage of men. Even among rude and barbarous nations, he who distinguishes himself by some act of superior sagacity or valor, gains the ascendancy over his rivals, and is worshiped as Chief. The meed of honor in this case, is the result of a blind, but still a controlling admiration for the effect, unattended by a recognition of the cause. In more civilized communities, it is an enlightened and intelligent tribute to the offspring of mind. To the man of imagination there is a powerful charm in the spectacle of a great mind throwing off the grave clothes of inactivity, and arousing itself for some mighty effort. There is almost a fearful grandeur in its movements, as it calls up one after another its slumbering energies, and girds itself for the struggle. And when it goes forth in its power to achieve the purposes which it has formed, it treads with a sternness and majesty which fling around it an irresistible spell. It is not simply the exhibition of vast strength which it presents, like the exertion of mere brute force, or the plunge of a falling avalanche, that awakens in the beholder these emotions of interest and delight. There is, it is true, in all such exhibitions, much to inspire sublimity of feeling. But the appeal which we speak of now, owes its effect to other associations of thought. It is the soul, the living, moving principle within, directing and controlling the whole, bending the will and purposes of others into subservience to its own ‘ruling passion,’ like the earth born giant of old, rising with fresh strength from every grapple with opposition, and pressing right onward to the goal of its wishes, with a progress that resembles the sure march of destiny--it is this which gives to the sublimity of intellect its distinguishing characteristics. With such a mind, the man of imagination cherishes a fellow feeling, entering into its aspirations with kindred ardor, watching with intense interest its struggles against difficulties, sharing its gloom in the hour of trial, and its exultation at success. This thrill of sympathy is with him the vibration of the chord which binds him to the universe, and to his fellow man. Shut him out from such a kindred with his race; seal up the fountain of ever-flowing sensibility within his bosom, bid him gaze upon the sublime achievements of intellect, with a stoic’s indifference, and you have cut off from him a source of happiness of the purest and most exalted character, and left him a blank on creation’s page.