Delaware inquirer. (Wilmington, Del.) 1859-18??, 1860-02-04
why thus Longing, thus Forever


in times Of suffering, flor then the soul has no
power TO expand-it only asks removal OF pres
ent pressure,) but in Joy, and that only in joy
of a certain kind. The enjoyment Of food, of
drink, of warmth, and refreshing GOODNESS of
motion, of rest, call for nothing beyond the
highest degree of that enioyment--it asks no
ascending into the infinite on the contrary,
rather falling back into contraction. But in
the enjoyment of the suns noon-tide radiance
of the crimson splendors of its setting, and
of the moons silver beams--in the contempla-
tion of the sublime in nature and the sublime
in art-in the giving way to tender sensibility
lin the sweet tears of happy emotion-in all,
and through all this, is to be traced the yearn-
ing after something higher; and the overflow
ing heart overaows, and yet is not filed. The
heart in joy resembles those birds of passage,
which, though Gagged in warm apartments, still,
the season when their fellows migrate, pine
for, and pant to wing their flight TO the distant
land of genial warmth and yernal beauty.
This indefnable feeling in human nature is
especially developed by the power OF an art,
the peculiar properties of which, and superb
GRITTY to all other arts, we know not rightly yet.
| speak not of poetry, or of painting, Int Of
music. Why do we forget, while acknowl-
edging that music heightens joyous and sad
emotions--yea, itself produces them-that the
soul loses tselfin the magic of its sweet sounds,
as in labyrinth-that more nightly more
powerfully, than any other art, il makes us ex-
perience, momentarily, rapid transitions from
joy to sorrow-why, while conscious ofall this,
do we forget its still higher property-its pow
er of making us pine for some other land, and
of drawing from the soul sigh, full of paint
ings for the future, which yet do but seem
yearnings for some familiar long-loved home
of the spirit?
Why music should thus, above all other arts,
thrill upon the inner man, is beyond my power
to explain. Singularly do its material move
ments erect themselves into certain regular
forms Of sounds which are carried forward to
| finely-fashoned nerves but from these, to the
souls depths which music stirs so powerfully,
we have still a vast interval.
But to what end is it that man, while grow
ing at the root which draws him down, and is
fully satisfied in the earth, must also be grow
ing at the stalk, which presses upwards to
heavens air and light? To what end serves
this double direction in man? Manifestly not
merely to his earthly happiness. Would Heay-
en- do that which is forbidden to us, subject
the higher to the service of the lower, and
plant flowers only to strew them upon the
dunghill? Can the instinct which we feel so
strongly within sigh after a higherworld, "a deep
re loye-can the idea ofthe divine of the moral,
be implanted within us, only to enhance the
pleasures of earthly life, and, like topic fruits
and spices, to give more relish to the Joys of
sense2 Bnt no, it is exactly the contrary
The sharpest and deepest sorrows are the lot
of the nobler spirits; and the iinely-fashoned
nerve that most quickly thrills to the breath of
heaven, is most alive to the touch of pain
But surely these indistinct and undesirable
apprehensons of more noble brthright were
not given us in vain; and yet, if disappointed
hereafter, they avail us little here below. What
instinct of the millions of different animals has
been suffered by Infinite Goodness to fall short
Of its promise, even to the unconscious and nm
expectant? and shall the divine instinct of the
soul be suffered to be objectless and aimless
by Him who shapeth all things to their uses
Then, too, what distinction is there between
the mere instinct OF the animal, and that plan
of future world that is drawn upon the soul
of mani The animal instinct has more feelers,
the human more antenns. Animal instinct
utters its prophetic promises, and its requisi-
tons, what dim vagueness, and draws and
inpels to the end it has in view, in the dark,
with an invisible hand as for instance, in the
secret powerful impulse to build the nest, and
lay up store for the insect brood, for unknown
and totally dissimilay offspring. In man, on
the contrary, the instinct of Immortality has
its fulhlment, even here below, for what we
call hope of it, and desire after it, is but the
development of that immortality. Our pure
Joys are but the commencement of that happi-
ness for which we pant and, though the heart
lie low upon this eart1ls horizon, like the mass
Of cloud that, with its varied c1oring, does hut
portcnd rain, and gives no presage OF fine
earthly days, yet is this very cloud the begin
ming of the rainbow which spreads itself over
the dark earth, and the glowing tints Of which
are the bright beams of that very sun, Whose
future undimmed glores it is the promise.
More truths than we look for are to be found
in the old comparison between the develop
ment of the soul and that of the butterfly for
in the caterpillar, instinct finds the plan of the
future fabric which it has to work out. In the
caterpillar lies hid, according to Swammerdam,
the chrysaLis; and this, again, contains the
butterfly, with its folded wings and antennr.
And this pale imprisoned form goes through
It's successive labors, casting its skin, spinning
for itself ew bonds, and immuring itself in
the cocoon, only that it may, at length, break
forth to fir eedom, and, leaving behind it its
slough and renouncng forever its coarse diet
Of leaves, port henceforth amid the flowers,
feed upon Honey, and live for love Oh I how
do these shmilitudes speak the desires of the |
soul How gladly would it, in its pupa state,
be permit ted to burst the chrysalis, and widely, |
July exp ind those soft, tender wings that are
bruised in its dungeon-tenementl For is not
his the consummation for which it bears a |
thousand sufferings-for which it undergoes
'rivation and pain? Surely, it were waste
IT energies, harsh contradiction, if the but
ertiy, AFTER its long Imprisonment in the I'M
lightly larsa, after all its painful casting off of
ts skin, its narrow swathing- bands the dark
Iungeon OF an almost torpid pupa, should /
ONE forth nothing; or come forth in cor
upton, with its foul slough hanging arond
as shfoud
But meIl can believe all this-rcady to be-
ny N go 1