at distances beyond the power of numbers to compute. Thus, step by step, we extend our views; and, although long before we have reached the nearest star, we find our mental powers begin to flag, and, in tracing these discoveries to their farthest limit, are forced to confess that even imagination is bewildered and lost, yet in such an exercise we certainly do gain much to aid our conceptions of unbounded space.

The practical conclusion to which we come is, that, if nature be so unspeakably and inconceivably immense, the God of Nature must be absolutely infinite; and although, after all, we can form no distinct idea of this attribute, we comprehend enough to affect the mind with highly exalted and salutary impressions.

Infinity implies omnipresence. The Almighty is an infinitely extended Mind. Wherever He exists, He is conscious. His knowledge is, therefore, as infinite as His existence. The universe lies open to his inspection. The earth, with all its productions, animate and inanimate, the rocks and minerals in its bowels,—the plants, so varied in their form and qualities, from the microscopic parasite to the mighty oak of the forest, which are spread profusely over its surface, the insects, the reptiles, the birds and beasts with which it teems,—and man, the lord of them all, every one of them, individually, is continually in His view. He pervades every atom of matter, and surveys every movement of the living principle, and of the mental powers, with which He has respectively endowed the various orders of organic beings. Let this view be extended to other worlds. Whatever exists, either of matter, of vegetable and animal life, or of rational powers, in the sun and in the planets, and, beyond their wide orbit, in the suns, and systems, and interminable groups of suns and systems of which the universe is composed, is penetrated, beheld, recognized, and individually distinguished, by the All-pervading Mind.

How beautifully and feelingly does the Psalmist ex

press the sentiment to which this view of the Divine Being gives rise in the devout heart ::-"Whither shall

I

go from thy Spirit? or whither shall I flee from thy presence? If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there; if I make my bed in hell, behold thou art there. If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me. If I say, surely

the darkness shall cover me; even the night shall be light about me." This sense of the Divine presence, if deeply and habitually cherished, must produce a salutary effect on the character. When we know and feel that the eye of the holy God is upon us, our mind is struck with solemn awe; and should unhallowed thoughts intrude, we are sensible that they are unworthy of the presence in which we stand, and inconsistent with those aspirations after the Divine favour, which our relation to him inspires. Should the temptation become, notwithstanding, so strong as to incline us to some action of moral turpitude, the half-formed design is checked, by the conviction, that the All-seeing eye is upon us, and with just indignation we cast the thought away from us, inwardly exclaiming, "How can I do this great wickedness, and sin against God."

This salutary effect of a belief in the Divine omnipresence, is but too seldom realized in actual practice. It is held, almost universally, as a speculative doctrine; but how few really adopt it as a rule of life. Melancholy experience assures us, that the heart does not often receive very deep impressions from abstract views, and is not easily awakened and animated by the speculations of the closet. It will be our wisdom to make use of the various means, which Providence has bestowed on us, for counteracting this unhappy propensity to separate speculation from practice; and among these there is none so effectual as frequent and fervent prayer. An apostle exhorts us to "pray without ceasing;" by which he doubtless means, not that we should be constantly on

our knees, but that we should cultivate a continual sense of the presence of our heavenly Father in the ordinary affairs of life, and begin, carry on, and end every thing, by casting ourselves on His protection and blessing. By this prayerful spirit, we shall learn to see God in every thing. If we walk abroad, whether in the full blaze of day, or when, through the curtain of night, we behold the hosts of heaven shining in their brightness, we shall turn our thoughts to that Eternal Being who clothed the earth in beauty, and "ever busy, wheels the rolling spheres.” If we retire to the bosom of our families, and in the kind attentions and soothing endearments of domestic life, feel our hearts overflowing with a tender delight, we shall not fail to remember from whose hand we derived the blessing, and to whose paternal care we are indebted for its continuance. If, in the duties of active life, we find our labours of love crowned with success, and our bosom expand with the glow of gratified benevolence, we shall not forget that it is the hand of our unseen Father which has directed and blessed our efforts; and a Father's smile which cheers and elevates our soul. And when the rod of affliction is upon us,-when the loss of worldly possessions oppresses our spirits, or a more cruel calamity has visited us, in the death of some beloved relative or friend; or when we ourselves are stretched upon our death-bed, with our weeping family around us, even then the consolations of religion will lend their balm; and casting our care on Him who careth for us, and finding refuge in the Rock of Ages, we shall learn to bless the hand which inflicts the wound.

THIRD WEEK-MONDAY.

ADAPTATION OF ORGANIZED EXISTENCES TO THE TROPICAL

REGIONS.

ALMOST every country has its winter, as well as the other seasons of the year, differing materially, however,

in different parts, and influenced not merely by its position in respect of latitude, but by various other circumstances which affect the climate generally,—such as elevation above the level of the sea, the neighbourhood of mountains, of forests, or of the ocean, the prevalence of periodical or constant winds, and other topical causes. Now, the observation which applies to climate, taken on the average, applies with equal truth to this uninviting season, namely, that there is, even during its rigours, a remarkable adaptation of the weather to the condition of animal and vegetable life; and, on the other hand, of animal and vegetable life to the weather. The temperature is admirably modified, and the various meteorological changes are wisely regulated, so as to correspond with the other seasons, and to be suited to the kind of organized existences which are to be found within the range of these natural operations; or, what comes to the same thing, these organized existences have been so framed, as to correspond in their nature and habits with the qualities of the weather.

In tropical climates, there can scarcely be said to be any winter, in the sense in which that word is understood, with reference to the other divisions of the earth; yet, even here, there is a period which possesses some of its distinctive characteristics. Under the equator, indeed, and in the adjoining regions, there may be said to be, in respect of temperature, two winters in the year,—the one, when the sun visits the tropic of Capricorn; and the other, when he looks down on our temperate climes with the smiles of summer, from the tropic of Cancer. Within the vast zone, bounded by the tropics, the climate is peculiar, not only on account of the extreme heat, but on account of the trade-winds, the monsoons, and periodical droughts by which it is distinguished. These phenomena, which are very various in their periods and extent, being much affected by the particular circumstances of their geographical position, wonderfully harmonize during the various seasons of the year, so as to render them,

in each region, speaking generally, conducive to the salubrity of the climate; and the plants and animals which exist in these regions, are, at the same time, with surprising nicety, adapted to their respective peculiarities. This, would our space admit, might be interestingly exemplified by a detail of particulars; but, at present, I must be content to state, in general, that there are contrivances and adaptations which secure both plants and animals from the hurtful effects of the changes of temperature, of moisture, of violent and incessant rain, and of the direct rays of the sun,- —so striking and obvious, as to challenge attention from the most careless observer. In this fervid climate, the soil requires no lengthened rest to recruit its powers; nor do its vegetable products need to sleep for months in the bud or in the root. Under a long drought, indeed, they languish and decay; and this may, in fact, be considered as their period of winter, although it does not correspond with ours as regards the season of the year, or various other particulars; but no sooner does the equinoctial monsoon or the solstitial rain pour its refreshing streams on the surface of the parched earth, than all nature revives. Mr Elphinstone, in his account of Cabul, after graphically describing the appearances at the commencement of the monsoon in India, consisting of an incessant pouring of rain, amidst constant peals of thunder, and the most vivid flashes of lightning, attended with violent blasts of wind, proceeds to say,- "This lasts for some days, after which the sky clears, and discovers the face of nature changed as by enchantment. Before the storm, the fields were parched up; and, except in the beds of the rivers, scarce a blade of vegetation was to be seen; the clearness of the sky was not interrupted by a single cloud, but the atmosphere was loaded with dust, which was sufficient to render distant objects dim as in a mist, and to make the sun appear dull and discoloured till he attained a considerable elevation; a parching wind blew like a blast from a furnace, and heated wood, iron, and