Herald of the times. [volume] (Newport, R.I.) 1830-1846, 1832-07-12
THE MORALIST.
IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL.
"The only amaranthine flower on earth
il virtue; tn only lasting treasure, truth.

in virtue; tn only lasting treasure, ruin.
IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL.
The doctrine Of future state Of con"
scious being, is one that few have disbe-
lieved, and one that still fewer have not
wished to embrace as an anchor to the
soul. Whatever may be our religious, or
sceptical notions, We all wish for iairer
and better land, into which we may find
admittance, when we bid adieu to the sor-
rows Of this.
When the world first indnlged the hope
Of another life, if indeed, it be not as old as
the human race itself, it is impossible to
determine. No historical monuments
point to an age which had it not; 10 trav-
eller has visited country, however lar
barous or savage, that bas not, in some
shape, wish, hope, OF a belief, in some
future existence for their deceased
friends. However rude, barbarous or
whimsical their notions may be; howev-
er wild and tantasiical the beings with
which they people the regions beyond
the grave; all ages and all countries
have believed, and do believe such re-
gions exist, and have clearer, or less
perfect conviction, that they will there
live again as sentient beings.
What originated this wish, hope or be-
lief, il is impossible to ascertain. There
have never been wanting individuals who
had it not; hence we infer it is not innate.
1t was not tradition, for tradition can on
ly perpetuate; it has no power to origi-
nate. The belief must have existed be-
fore tradition could hand it down. 1t can
hardly be said that nature teaches it.
True we see transmigration from one
state Of being to another, among some of
the insect tribes. The caterpillar winds
itself in its cone, and after few days,
bursts its grave, and sails on cOloured
wings, beautiful butterfly. But be-
cause the insect passes from one state of
being to another, we cannot with GER
tainty infer the same of man. And
should the analogy hold good, in all its
parts, it would not meet our wants. The
butterfly is not immortal. 1t sports in
the sunshine for a. few days, and is no
more. So man would 1--we but again to
die.
Poetry has found in sleep an image OF
death. But the resemblance is slight
In death the vital functions cease; in
sleep they go on. The gloom Of winter
the renovation and JOY OF spring, are ad-
duced as poeticaf emblems Of death and
the resurrection. There is something
beautiful in the thought. The autumna
winds sigh lonely through the forests; the
cold desolations of winter succeed, and
wrap the earth in its winding sheet. The
sun gains the vernal equinox; the warm
south wind blows; the SHOWS melt; a mild
and genial air breathes over the earth
and all start into life. Gladly would we
view this mathematical of mans resur-
rection from the tomb in the spring o
Immortality. But the dead live not
The plant that had withered, the stalk
that was dry, feels no revivifying power
That green blade is from seed newly
germinated.
Man, as viewed by our senses, seem:
only born to propagate his species and
die. The infant was weak, feeble, ir
mind as in body. For a few days il
grows up; fou,ishes with promise; reach.
es its maturity; casts its leaf; withers a
way to second fcebleness-to infancy
to death. The elements which compos.
ed the body, return to their native ele.
ments, form new combinations, to con.
stitute parts Of plants and animals, again
to separate, to be again recombined, and
thus on. In this, man can read 10 flu.
ture conscious being. Nature, so far a:
we can read her language, reverses moi
the degree, "death is an eternal sleep
Whence, then, the universally of man,
belief in future state? Is it the result
ofimaginationl Is it dream? We woulc
not if we could, answer this in the aflir
native. We could not dsbelieve.-
Without the hope of another, this were
indeed, a wretched world. We would
believe, even if in error; for If we err We
secure the bliss Of believing, and car
never feel the pang of disappointment.
Where ignorance is bliss, it's folly to be wise. u
There is something curdling to our
blood in the thought we are to be no more.
There is something too painful to be de-
scribed, almost 10 be endured: to stand
by the newly made grave and see let
down into the cold earth, the one we
have loved, whose soul was commingled
with our own, and to feel that there lies
tho form we have often clasped in trans
port; there are closed the eyes which