From page 182 in the “Edi­tors Table” sec­tion of The Knicker­bocker, New-​​York Monthly Mag­a­zine of Feb­ru­ary, 1844.

The man whose heart is capa­ble of any patri­otic emo­tion, who feels his pulse quicken when the idea of his coun­try is brought home to him, must desire that coun­try to pos­sess a voice more majes­tic than the roar of party, and more potent than the whine of sects; a voice which should breathe energy and awaken hope where-​​ever its kin­dling tones are heard. The life of our native land; the inner spirit which ani­mates its insti­tu­tions; the new ideas and prin­ci­ples, of which it is the rep­re­sen­ta­tive; these every patriot must wish to behold reflected from the broad mir­ror of a com­pre­hen­sive and soul-​​animating lit­er­a­ture. The true vital­ity of a nation is not seen in the tri­umphs of its indus­try, the extent of its con­quests, or the reach of its empire; but in its intel­lec­tual domin­ion. Pos­ter­ity passes over sta­tis­ti­cal tables of trade and pop­u­la­tion, to search for the records of the mind and heart. It is of lit­tle moment how many mil­lions of men were included at any time under the name of one peo­ple, if they have left no intel­lec­tual tes­ti­mo­ni­als of their mode and man­ner of exis­tence, no ‘foot-​​prints on the sands of time.’ The heart refuses to glow at the most astound­ing array of fig­ures. A nation lives only through its lit­er­a­ture, and its men­tal life is immortal. …

This is not gen­er­ally taken to be true in our era. Nowa­days, it’s empire, con­quests, and indus­try win­ning hands down.

And thus are we ren­dered merely mor­tal. Damn them.