"For _enjoyment_ you said also. That means, we received the palate and appetite of a god, with the food for an animal. That portion of us which is of earth, and creeps on worm-folds, may and can, like the earthworm, be fed and fattened on earth. Exertion, bodily pain, the burning hunger of necessity, and the tumult of our senses exclude and choke the spiritual autumn bloom of humanity in nations and classes. All these conditions of terrestrial existence must be fulfilled ere the soul may claim its due. To the unhappy, therefore, who must be the business men and carriers of their bodily wants, the whole inner world seems but as an imaginary gilt cobweb, like the man who, breathing only the electrical _atmosphere_, instead of feeling the spark, thinks to grasp an invisible web. But when our necessary _animal servitude_ is over, when the barking inner dog-kennel is fed, and the dog-fight finished, then the inner man demands his nectar and ambrosia, and if he is turned off with earth-food only, he changes to an angel of Death, and a Hellfiend, driving himself to suicide, or makes of him a poison-mixer who destroys all joy.[26] The eternal hunger _in_ man, the insatiability of his heart, wants not a _richer_, but a _different_ food, fruit, not grass. If our wants referred but to the degree, not to the quality, then the imagination, at least, might paint a _degree of satiety_. But imagination cannot make us happy, by showing us innumerable heaps of treasures, if they be other than _Virtue_, _Truth_, and _Beauty_." "But the more beautiful soul?" asked Nadine. I answered, "This discrepancy between our wishes and our circumstances, the heart and the earth, will remain, an _enigma_, if we are immortal, and would be a blasphemy if we decay. Ah! how could the beautiful soul be happy? Strangers, born on mountains and living in lowland places, pine in an incurable homesickness. We belong to a higher place, and therefore an eternal longing consumes us, and every music is our soul's Swiss _ranz des vaches_. In the morning of life, the joys which hearken to the anxious wishes of our hearts are seen blooming for us in later years. When we have attained these years, we turn on the deceitful spot, and see behind us, pleasure blooming in the strong hopeful youth, and we enjoy instead of our _hopes_, the _recollections of our hopes_. Joy in this also resembles the rainbow, which in the morning shines over evening, and in the evening arches over the east. The _eye_ may reach the _light_, but the arm is short, and holds but the fruit of the soil." "And this proves?" asked the Chaplain.