<l INTELLECTUAL PLEASURES. 



or the various arts to which science and imagination are 

 subservient, every one will readily admit, to whom these 

 operations are familiar. But the great masters in science 

 and art are few, and the pleasure which they feel in their 

 noblest inventions, therefore, would be but a slight element 

 in the sum of human happiness. The joy, however, is not 

 confined to those, who have the pride of contemplating these 

 great results as their oivn. It exists to all who have the 

 humbler capacity of contemplating them merely as results 

 of human genius. It is delightful to ham, though another 

 may have been the discoverer ; and perhaps the pleasure 

 which a mind truly ardent for knowledge, feels in those early 

 years, in which the new world of science is opened, as it 

 were to its view, and every step, and almost every glance 

 affords some new accession of admiration and power, may 

 not be surpassed even by the pleasure which it is afterwards 

 to feel, when it is not to be the receiver of the wisdom of 

 others, but itself the enlightener of the wise. — Brown. 



Call now to mind what high, capacious powers 



Lie folded up in man ; how far beyond 



The praise of mortals, may the eternal growth 



Of nature to perfection half divine, 



Expand the blooming soul : what pity then 



Should sloth's unkindly fogs depress to earth 



Her tender blossom ; choke the streams of life. 



And blast her spring ! far otherwise designed 



Almighty wisdom ; nature's happy cares 



The obedient heart far otherwise incline. 



Witness the sprightly joy when aught unknown 



Strikes the quick sense, and wakes each active power 



To brisker measures ; witness the neglect 



Of all familiar objects, though beheld 



With transport once ; the fond attentive gaze 



Of young astonishment ; the sober zeal 



Of age, commenting on prodigious things. 



For such the bounteous providence of heaven, 



In every breast implanting this desire 



Of objects new and strange, to urge us on 



With unremitted labour to pursue 



Those sacred stores that wait the ripening soul. 



In truth's exhaustless bosom, Akensios. 



