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You will not confuse this matter with sophistry, as thus: "New truth and beauty make men happy,—and as the universe is infinite, there is no reason that should prevent the continual passage of beauty and truth before him,—thus making him continually happy, by keeping up with the expansion of the soul."—Upon what do you predicate the soul's capacity to expand, or deny that new truth is constantly presented? Have you found that novelty, either in sight or speed, which will not cease to charm you? Then you have found the philosopher's stone, perpetual motion, and the fountain of youth. The soul would hate a regular expansion. It would be God in a moment, if it could. Say to yourself, happy, happy, happy, a hundred times, and the word will mean nothing. Happiness is nothing absolute; penny happy or pound happy is the same. The child with his new toy, or the king with his new crown, or God with all the universe can but be happy; the soul can but be filled; and the consciousness of fulness can be predicated, (save in the consciousness of infinite fulness,) only on the memory of emptiness; and to be happy, happy, happy, is as useless to the soul as to say it. Say that truth and beauty produce happiness: what is truth? Truth is every thing: truth is as much in pain as it is in pleasure. It is as much in slow expansion as in swift expansion. We must be wretched for truth's sake. What is beauty? it is harmony and law relieved against chaos and deformity. Nothing can you possess, (baring that you possess it to immediate infinity,) that can keep the soul full. The fault is not in our grade, but in our