new organ of communication, drew sufficient nourishment from this source to supply all the wants of its nature.

All facts of this kind, and many more that might be mentioned, may, in my opinion, be clearly attributed to the prin ciple of instinct.

Of instinct in animals, Dr. Good gives the following curious notices: All the different species of birds, in constructing their nests, not only adhere to a peculiar plan, but, whenever they can obtain them, to peculiar kinds of materials; but, if these materials be not to be procured, the accommodating power of the instinctive principle directs them to others, and suggests the best substitutes. Thus, the red-breast uniformly prefers oak leaves as a lining for her nest, wherever she can acquire them; but, if these are not to be had, she supplies the want by moss and hair. So, when the bird is of a small size, and the eggs are naturally numerous, the nest is always made proportionally warm, that the nestlings may all equally partake of the vivifying heat. Thus, the wren, who lays from ten to eighteen eggs, constructs her little edifice with the greatest care, and of the ⚫ warmest materials; while the plover and the eagle, whose eggs are so few, that the body may easily cover them, build with little solicitude, and sometimes content themselves with the naked cleft of a rock. And thus, too, in very cold winters in Lapland, the fond water-fowl will occasionally strip the down off its breast, to line its nest and protect its progeny. When a wasp, in attempting to transport a dead companion from the nest, finds the load too heavy, he cuts off its head, and carries it out in two portions.'

These illustrations may suffice for the present, especially as by far the greater part of the facts relative to the animal creation, which I am about to adduce, must be referred to the same principle. Instinct, I may add, as in some of the above instances, does not unfrequently resemble reason, and it may be united with, and modified by, this quality; but it may be distinguished from it by this, that its operations are generally perfect of their kind; that its powers are precisely the same

in all generations; that they belong, nearly in an equal degree, to all individuals of the same species; and that its functions proceed blindly towards the attainment of an important object, the use and tendency of which is not per ceived by the creature itself.

I have said, that this principle is probably calculated, better than any other natural phenomenon, to lead the mind to an acknowledgment of a Divine hand. Let us revert, for a few moments, to this view.

In examining the general structure of the universe, we observe a few simple, though vast and comprehensive, powers inherent in matter, which, by their universal and uniform operation, move Nature with the same regularity as if it were a mighty machine impelled by brute force; and hence the indolent or sceptical may be inclined to rest in the existence of these powers as an ultimate fact, without seeking for an intelligent Creator, from whom they emanated, and by whom they have been adjusted and regulated. The same thing may take place in contemplating the structure of organized bodies. So much of mere mechanical power enters into every process of their formation, growth, and preservation, that, although it does seem to be the blindness of utter stupidity to deny to these productions unequivocal marks of wise and beneficent design, it is possible to conceive, that, in tracing the mere physical laws by which their various properties are governed, the cold calculations of a contracted mind may proceed no farther. On turning from these appearances of external nature, to the operations of rational creatures, such minds may be led to admire the wisdom which contrives, and the power and skill which executes, the various plans of life, without directing one serious thought beyond the intelligence of the immediate agent. But it requires a still greater degree of obtuseness and of obstinacy, to resist the evidence of a designing and bountiful Creator, in the wonders of instinct. These are altogether independent of reasoning powers, and impel organized beings by a sagacity, obviously not their own, to compass important ends,

which, though essential to the welfare, and even to the very existence, not only of the individual, but of the species, could not, by any possibility, be within their contemplation, being far beyond the range of their limited faculties. Here, then, there is a designing cause, distinct from, and superior to, the agent; and this is the more clearly discernible, because its operations are governed by other than mere mechanical powers. 'I look upon instinct,' says Addison,' as upon the principle of gravitation in bodies, which is not to be explained by any known qualities inherent in the bodies themselves, nor upon any laws of mechanism; but, according to the best notions of the greatest philosophers, is an immediate impression from the First Mover, and the Divine energy acting in the creatures; such an operation of the Supreme Being as that which determines all the portions of matter to their proper centre.'

SEVENTH WEEK-SUNDAY.

ON SEEING GOD IN HIS WORKS.

ALMOST all men, not in the lowest stage of barbarism or degradation, are capable of admiring the beauties of Nature. Even the dullest and most unreflecting mind is, at times, more or less vividly impressed with the wonderful skill and beauty so profusely scattered over all creation. But the intelligent eye is always delighted, and frequently kindled into rapture, by the rich and splendid scenery that on every side solicits its attention. Our susceptibility of impressions of grandeur or beauty, deserves to be ranked among our original faculties; for it is observable in all classes of the human family,—refined and exalted in the bosom of the enlightened European, and not unfelt by the savage tenant of the African or American desert. A love of Nature appears to be implanted in man, to feed the flame of religion in his soul,

to assist in leading him from the wonderfully contrived objects around him to a belief in an intelligent and bountiful Creator. We are told in Holy Scripture, that God never left himself without a witness to the human race, inasmuch as his power and goodness may be always clearly known from the exuberant plenty and beauty scattered over the earth, their magnificent abode. As they had hearts to feel a senti ment of gratitude for bounty lavishly bestowed, and understandings to reason from effects to causes, the ancient heathen were altogether inexcusable in not knowing the true God, the great First Cause of all, and the source of 'every good and perfect gift.' They wandered from the right way, only because they were heedless or wilfully perverse. Their feelings and powers became the instruments of their self-delusion; and, instead of seeing in nature a supreme and infinite God, they saw a thousand grovelling divinities; and fancy lent all the fascinations of poetry to their corrupt and irrational mythology.

But if the heathen, who lived in times of rudeness and ignorance, were subject to condemnation for abusing their faculties and opportunities, how much more guilty are we in not seeing God in all his works? How much more worthy of punishment are we, if we turn not into their proper and legitimate channel that sympathy with external nature, and that instinctive admiration of the grand and the beautiful, with which we are endowed? The question is not,-do we, like the heathen of ancient or modern times, believe in a polytheism, and people, with the vain creatures of our imagination, the regions of the land and the sea? for we at once, unintelligently, perhaps, and, as it were, mechanically assent to the received truth, there is one God; and we also readily acquiesce in the grave lessons that may be read us by some pious student of the book of Nature. But the inquiry to be made at our own hearts is, Do we habitually see the Creator in His works, and associate His glorious perfections with every witnessed specimen of His skill? We luxuriate in the glowing summer landscape; we there admire the univer

sal flush of inanimate nature; we listen, with delight, to the sweet singing of birds, and the mingling murmurs of winds and streams: but do we straightway lift up our eyes to heaven in adoring gratitude, and own a God around us? or do all our feelings but minister to a luxurious sensibility, and evaporate in some poetic dream? When we survey, by night, the starry heaven, and direct our telescope to those countless worlds that there crowd upon the vision, are we lost in devout admiration of the wondrous universe of God? or do we merely resign ourselves to those emotions of sublimity that such a magnificent scene is so well fitted to awaken? We are too apt, and too habituated to behold the glories of creation, without looking farther. We are satisfied with a vague sentimental feeling of beauty, and think not of that Hand from which all beauty flows.

We are struck with the end

less 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 matter-were 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 Revelauon,—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