of the same material with coal; that water should be chiefly -composed of an inflammable substance; that acids should be almost all formed of different kinds of air; and that one of those acids, whose strength can dissolve almost any of the metals, should be made of the self-same ingredients with the common air we breathe:-these, surely, are things to excite the wonder of any reflecting mind, nay, of any one but little accustomed to reflect. And yet these are trifling when compared to the prodigies which astronomy opens to our view the enormous masses of the heavenly bodies; their immense distances; their countless numbers, and their motions, whose swiftness mocks the uttermost efforts of the imagination.

Akin to this pleasure of contemplating new and extraordinary truths, is the gratification of tracing resemblances and relations between things which, to common apprehension, seem widely different. It is surely a satisfaction, for instance, to know that the same thing which causes the sensation of heat causes also fluidity; that electricity, the light which is seen on the back of a cat when slightly rubbed on a frosty evening, is the same with the lightning of the clouds; that plants breathe like ourselves, but differently, by day and by night; that the air which burns in our lamps enables a balloon to mount. Nothing can at first sight appear less like, or less likely to be caused by the same thing, than the processes of burning and breathing, the rusting of metals and burning,-the influence of a plant on the air it grows in by night, and of an animal on the same air at any time, nay, and of a body burning in that air;—and yet all these operations, so unlike to common eyes, are the same. Nothing can be less like than the working of a vast steam-engine and the crawling of a fly upon the window; yet we find that these two operations are performed by the same means the weight of the atmosphere. Is there, in all the fairy tales that ever were fancied, anything more calculated to arrest the attention, and gratify the mind, than this most unexpected resemblance between things so unlike to the eyes of ordinary beholders? Then, if we raise our views to the structure of the heavens, we are again gratified with

most unexpected resemblances. Is it not in the highest degree interesting to find, that the power which keeps the earth in its path, wheeling round the sun, extends over all the other worlds that compose the universe, and gives to each its proper place and motion; that the same power keeps the moon in her path round the earth; that the same power causes the tides upon our earth, and the peculiar form of the earth itself; and that, after all, it is the same power which makes a stone fall to the ground?

The highest of all our gratifications in the study of science remains. We are raised by science to an understanding of the infinite wisdom and goodness which the Creator has displayed in all his works. Not a step can we take in any direction without perceiving the most extraordinary traces of design; and the skill everywhere conspicuous is calculated in so vast a proportion of instances to promote the happiness of living creatures, and especially of ourselves, that we can feel no hesitation in concluding, that if we knew the whole scheme of Providence, every part would appear to be in harmony with a plan of absolute benevolence. Independently, however, of this most consoling inference, the delight is inexpressible of being able to follow, as it were, with our eyes, the marvellous works of the great Architect of Nature, and to trace the unbounded power and exquisite skill which are exhibited in the most minute as well as in the mightiest parts of his system. BROUGHAM.

GOD IN NATURE.

THERE lives and works

A soul in all things, and that soul is God.
The beauties of the wilderness are His,
That makes so gay the solitary place,
Where no eye sees them. And the fairer forms
That cultivation glories in, are His.

He sets the bright procession on its way,
And marshals all the order of the year;

He marks the bounds which Winter may not pass,
And blunts his pointed fury; in its case,
Russet and rude, folds up the tender germ,

B

Uninjured, with inimitable art;

And, ere one flowery season fades and dies,
Designs the blooming wonders of the next.
The Lord of all, Himself through all diffused,
Sustains, and is the life of all that lives.
Nature is but a name for an effect,

Whose cause is God. One spirit-His,

Who wore the platted thorns with bleeding brows-
Rules universal nature. Not a flower

But shows some touch, in freckle, streak, or stain,
Of His unrivalled pencil. He inspires
Their balmy odours, and imparts their hues,
And bathes their eyes with nectar, and includes,
In grains as countless as the seaside sands,
The forms with which He sprinkles all the earth.
Happy who walks with Him! whom what he finds
Of flavour or of scent in fruit or flower,
Or what he views of beautiful or grand

In Nature, from the broad majestic oak

To the green blade that twinkles in the sun,

Prompts with remembrance of a present God. COWPER.

THOU art, O God! the life and light
Of all this wondrous world we see;
Its glow by day, its smile by night,
Are but reflections caught from Thee:
Where'er we turn, Thy glories shine,
And all things fair and bright are Thine!
When Day, with farewell beam, delays
Among the opening clouds of Even,
And we can almost think we gaze

Through golden vistas into Heaven-
Those hues that mark the sun's decline,
So soft, so radiant, Lord! are Thine.

When Night, with wings of starry gloom,
O'ershadows all the earth and skies,
Like some dark beauteous bird, whose plume
Is sparkling with a thousand eyes—
That sacred gloom, those fires divine,
So grand, so countless, Lord! are Thine.

When youthful Spring around us breathes,
Thy spirit warms her fragrant sigh,

And every flower the Summer wreathes,
Is born beneath that kindling eye:
Where'er we turn, Thy glories shine,

And all things bright and fair are Thine! MOORE.

DIGNITY AND ACHIEVEMENTS OF LABOUR.

It is time that the opprobrium of toil were done away. Ashamed of toil, art thou? Ashamed of thy dingy workshop or dusty labour-field; of thy hard hand, scarred with service more honourable than that of war; of thy soiled and weather-stained garments, on which mother Nature has embroidered, midst sun and rain, midst smoke and steam, her own heraldic honours? Ashamed of these tokens and titles, and envious of the flaunting robes of imbecile idleness and vanity? It is treason to Nature, it is impiety to Heaven. Toil-toil, either of the brain, of the heart, or of the hand— is true nobility. DEWEY.

THE productive classes of the world include those who bless it by their thought as well as those who bless it by their work. He who invents a machine does no less a service than he who toils all day with his hands. Thus the inventors of the plough, the loom, and the ship, have been deservedly placed among those whom society ought to honour. But they also, who teach men moral and religious truth--who instruct them to think, to live together in peace, to love one another, and pass good lives-are benefactors of the world, nay, its greatest benefactors. They speak to the deepest wants of the soul, and give men the true bread from heaven. PARKER.

LABOUR clears the forest and drains the morass. Labour drives the plough, scatters the seed, reaps the harvest, grinds the corn, and converts it into bread, the staff of life. Labour gathers the cotton from the field, and the fleece from the flock, and weaves it into raiment. Labour moulds the brick, splits the slate, quarries the stone, shapes the column, and

rears not only the humble cottage, but the sumptuous

palace. Labour, diving deep into the earth, brings up the long-hidden metals, coins the gold and silver into money, and moulds the iron into a thousand shapes for use and ornament. Labour hews down the gnarled oak, and shapes the timber, and builds the ship, and guides it over the deep. Labour, laughing at difficulties, spans majestic rivers, carries viaducts over marshy swamps, suspends aerial bridges over deep ravines, tunnels the solid mountain, and links together, with its iron but loving grasp, all nations of the earth. Labour draws forth its delicate iron-thread, and stretching it from city to city, and from province to province, constructs a chariot on which speech may outstrip the wind, and compete with the lightning. Labour seizes the thoughts of genius, the discoveries of science, the admonitions of piety, and, with its types impressing the vacant page, perpetuates truth to distant ages, and diffuses it to all mankind. Wherever Labour waves its magic wand, Science arises to explore the universe; Art puts on its beautiful garments; Literature lifts up its voice in oration and song; Humanity rejoices; Piety exults. NEWMAN HALL.

and

LET me consider what I owe to the advanced industry of the present age. I am lodged in a house that affords me conveniences and comforts which even a king could not command some centuries ago. There are ships crossing the seas in every direction, to bring what is useful to me from all parts of the earth. In China, men are gathering the tealeaf for me; in America, they are planting cotton for me; in the West India islands, they are preparing my sugar my coffee; in Italy, they are feeding silk-worms for me; in Saxony, they are shearing the sheep to make me clothing; at home, powerful steam-engines are spinning and weaving for me, and making cutlery for me, and pumping the mines that minerals useful to me may be procured. My patrimony was small, yet I have carriages running day and night to carry my correspondence; I have roads, and canals, and bridges, to bear the coal for my winter fire; nay, I have protecting fleets and armies around my happy country, to secure my enjoyments and repose. Then