which all beauty flows. We are struck with the endless adaptations of the material world, but we do not always raise our thoughts to the great Designer. We analyze and admire the splendid machinery of the heavens, but we recognize not the matchless power of the Mechanist We philosophize, we speculate, we declaim, on the structure of a flower, or the mechanism of a planetary system, but only talk the while of Nature and her works, as if Nature-a mere fashioned mass of inert matterwere the parent of all things, and the grand object of our worship.

Would we read the book of Nature aright, and see God in his works, we must have recourse to the book of Revelation; for these two great volumes, written by the same hand, and for a similar purpose, cast a strong light upon each other. As the book of Nature, by the visible impress of Divinity stamped upon it, is fitted to prepare us for the more glorious display of the Divine perfections contained in the book of Revelation, so is this latter the truest and safest guide to the profitable perusal of the former. In the Bible, the great productions and aspects of nature are always mentioned in connexion with the glory of God. They are introduced, often in strains of the boldest poetry, to teach the infinite power and goodness of Jehovah. We there find the noblest descriptions of natural objects ever penned; and one great moral runs through them all. Every masterly picture of the grand or the beautiful in nature, is but a delineation of God's wondrous attributes.

It is, therefore, a positive duty, sublimely taught us both by precept and example, to cherish a sense of the infinite skill and bounty displayed in creation. We should associate, with all that attracts the eye by its beauty, or excites our admiration by its delicate structure, the liveliest expressions of adoration and gratitude. Every survey of natural scenery, every examination of even the smallest of God's works, should be to us a devotional exercise. To a mind accustomed to consecrate

all its perceptions of beauty and design to the inward worship of God, every mountain and field, every leaf and flower, teems with instruction. The tiny wing of the ephemeral insect, as well as the noblest animal form, affords food for the loftiest admiration. The man of true piety and refined feeling, enjoys the beauties of nature with the keenest relish; for nature is but a pictured volume in which he reads the character of the Divinity. Every object that meets his eye, be it vast or minute, simple or complex, suggests exalted conceptions of Him

"Who gives its lustre to an insect's wing,

And wheels His throne upon the rolling worlds."

All our feelings and intellectual powers should be devoted to the glory of God, their Author and their End. Our purest sympathies, our liveliest sensations, our most exquisite perceptions, are due to His worship, and are all originally fitted to exalt our conception of His character. To behold the wonderful scene in which we are placed with the eye of reason, and with feelings of elevated devotion, is both our duty and our privilege. When we contemplate, therefore, the heavens with the sun, moon, and stars, which God has ordained,—the earth, with all its array of plants and flowers, and animated beings,-the sea, with its multitude of waves and living forms, let us gratefully adore the Almighty Creator, and exclaim with the Psalmist, “O Lord, our Lord, how excellent is thy name in all the earth!"

66

J. D.

SEVENTH WEEK-MONDAY.

REASON IN THE LOWER ANIMALS.

INSTINCT, if the definition which I have given of it in my paper of Saturday be correct, will not account for all the operations of the lower animals. Instinct is uniform.

It belongs to all the species nearly in the same degree. The young possess it as soon as they are produced; or, at least, as soon as their bodily powers will enable them to employ it, in as great perfection as the old. It is not communicated by instruction; it is not learned by experience. The young bee, for instance, the moment it leaves the cell where it has been produced and cradled, cleans its body, smooths its wings, then leaves its hive, and flies, without a guide or teacher, to the nearest flower, where, using its feelers, and inserting its proboscis, it sips the sweet nectar with which the Author of Nature has, for its use, filled so many vegetable cups, and then returns to its native roof, tracing its solitary way through the trackless air, and deposits the gleanings of its industry, to add to the hoarded treasures of the parent swarm. Then, again, it exudes the secreted wax from the rings of its body; and, still without instruction, begins to form those wonderful hexagonal cells, the scientific construction of which the mathematician has found such reason to admire. All this is instinct.

Yet, though there is wisdom here, it is not that of the animal, but of its Creator. It has been guided to these intelligent works by a blind impulse. This, however, is not the case with many of the actions of the inferior creation; and, however difficult it may be to draw the line between reason and instinct, I believe no person who has, without prejudice, studied the character and habits of the living creatures below him, will find it easy to deny them at least some glimpses of that higher faculty to which his own species has the most appropriate claim. A few well authenticated instances will illustrate this remark.

I have the following anecdote from a gentlemen* of undoubted veracity, and acute observation, in the vicinity of Dumfries. A few years ago this gentleman had beautified his residence, by converting a morass in its neighbourhood into an extensive piece of water, which he had * James Lennox, Esq. of Dalscairth.

stocked with fish; and, as places of retreat for these tenants of his lake, he had caused numerous roots of trees to be thrown in here and there, which were usually hid below the surface. In the year 1836, however, the unusually dry spring caused the necessary supply of water unexpectedly to fail, and the pond sank so low, that some of the roots made their appearance, and on one of these, more elevated than the others, a pair of wild ducks constructed their inartificial nest; and the female had already laid some eggs, when the weather changed, and the descending rains having filled the streams by which the lake was fed, the surface gradually rose, and threatened to overwhelm the labours of this luckless pair, and to send their eggs adrift upon the waves. Here instinct had no resource. It was an unexpected occurrence, for which this faculty could not provide; but if any glimmerings of reason belonged to these fond parents, it might be expected to be exerted. And so it was. Both the duck and the drake were observed to be busily employed in collecting and depositing materials; presently the nest, which the rising waters had already reached, was seen to emerge as it were from the flood; more and more straw and grass were added, till several inches of new elevation was gained, and the nest, with its precious contents, appeared to be secure. Here the mother patiently brooded her full time; and one duckling rewarded her care; when, just as it had escaped from the shell, another torrent of rain fell, more sudden and more violent than the first; the water rose higher and higher; the nest, and remaining eggs, were swept away. In this emergency, the whole attention of the parents was given to the living progeny, which was safely conveyed by them to the shore, where another nest was constructed; and thus their sagacity and solicitude were finally crowned with success.

An example, it should seem, of a still higher order of intelligence, is recorded by Mr Jesse, in his "Gleanings in Natural History," which came under his own obser

vation :—“ I was one day," says he, "feeding the poor elephant (who was so barbarously put to death at Exeter Change) with potatoes, which he took out of my hand. One of them, a round one, fell on the floor, just out of the reach of his proboscis. He leaned against his wooden bar, put out his trunk, and could just touch the potato, but could not pick it up. After several ineffectual efforts, he at last blew the potato against the opposite wall, with sufficient force to make it rebound; and he then, without difficulty, secured it." If we can believe that this extraordinary action was any thing but an ebullition of anger which led him to puff away the root which he could not secure,-that this half-reasoning animal, as the elephant has been called, really intended the potato to rebound within his reach, it is impossible to deny the justice of Mr Jesse's conclusion, that it could not be instinct which taught him to procure his food in this manner; and that it must, therefore, have been reason which "enabled him to be so good a judge of cause and effect."

In some of the insect tribes, there seems to be an extraordinary faculty, which, if it can be called instinct, surely approaches to the highest faculty possessed by man,—I mean the power of communicating information by some natural language. Huber affirms, "that nature has given to ants a language of communication, by the contact of their antennæ; and that, with these organs, they are enabled to render mutual assistance in their labours and in their dangers, discover again their route when they have lost it, and make each other acquainted with their necessities." This power seems to be confirmed by what occurred to Dr Franklin. Upon discovering a number of ants regaling themselves with some treacle in one of his cupboards, he put them to the rout, and then suspended the pot of treacle by a string from the ceiling. He imagined that he had put the whole army to flight, but was surprised to see a single ant quit the pot, climb up the string, cross the ceiling, and regain