THERE is nothing of which men are more conscious than of their failure to solve questions which are of the greatest interest to them, a solution of which would be received as an invaluable boon, not only for theory but for practice. There is no necessity of their condition to which they submit more reluctantly, than to this enforced acceptance of that which they cannot understand. It is not too much to say that no thinking man is satisfied: the cherished expectation of knowing more fully in a future world sufficiently proves the feeling of loss and want, which the acquiescence in mysteries does but disguise.

It were an infinite joy if the mystery could be taken away from our life, and we could know the true answers to those earnest questionings, which men from earliest to latest times have addressed to themselves and to all things around them. No heart would not beat high at the prospect, would not purchase it at any sacrifice. The promise rouses now indeed but a feeble interest; for faith has grown weary, and disappointment by long use passes for success. We gild the chains upon our hands; almost we have persuaded ourselves that they bespeak no slavery. But the true heart is not deceived. The fettered limbs are motionless, that the galling be not felt: the frantic struggles to break free have given place to calm; but it is the calmness of despair, that mocks itself with laughter, and hides its writhing agonies with boastful words.