In surveying the system of nature with a Christian and a philosophic eye, it may be considered in different points of view. It may be viewed either as displaying the power and magnificence of the Deity in the immense quantity of materials of which it is composed, and in the august machinery and movements by which its economy is directed;—or, as manifesting his Wisdom in the nice adaptation of every minute circumstance to the end it was intended to accomplish;—or, as illustrating his unbounded beneficence in the provision which is made for the accommodation and happiness of the numerous tribes of sentient and intelligent beings it contains. Having, in the preceding section, endeavored to exhibit some of those objects which evince the Omnipotence of Deity, and the pious emotions they are calculated to excite, I shall now offer a few popular illustrations of Divine Wisdom, as displayed in the arrangements of the material world—which shall chiefly be confined to those objects which are most prominent and obvious to the vulgar eye.

Wisdom is that perfection of an intelligent agent, by which he is enabled to select and employ the most proper means in order to accomplish a good and important end. It includes the idea of knowledge or intelligence, but may be distinguished from it. Knowledge is opposed to ignorance, Wisdom is opposed to folly or error in conduct. As applied to God, it may be considered as comprehending the operations of his Omniscience and Benevolence; or, in other words, his knowledge to discern, and his disposition to choose those means and ends which are calculated to promote the order and the happiness of the universe.

The Wisdom of God is, doubtless, displayed in every arrangement he has made throughout all the provinces of his immense and eternal kingdom, however far they may be removed from the sphere of human observation. But it is only in those parts of the system of nature which lie open to our particular investigation, that the traces of this perfection can be distinctly perceived. The heavens declare the glory of God's Wisdom, as well as of his Power. The planetary system—that portion of the heavens with which we are best acquainted—displays both the magnificence and the skill of its Divine Author,—in the magnitudes, distances, revolutions, proportions, and uses of the various globes of which it is composed, and in the diversified apparatus by which light and darkness are alternately distributed. The sun, an immense luminous world, by far the largest body in the system, is placed in the center. No other position would have suited for an equable distribution of illumination and heat through the different parts of the system. Around him, at different distances, eleven primary planets revolve, accompanied with eighteen secondaries or moons,—all in majestic order and harmony, no one interrupting the movements of another, but invariably keeping the paths prescribed them, and performing their revolutions in their appointed times. To all these revolving globes, the sun dispenses motion, light; heat, fertility, and other unceasing energies, for the comfort and happiness of their respective inhabitants—without which, perpetual sterility, eternal winter, and eternal night, would reign over every region of our globe, and throughout surrounding worlds.

The distance at which the heavenly bodies, particularly the sun, are placed from the earth, is a manifest evidence of Divine Wisdom. If the sun were much nearer us than he is at present, the earth, as now constituted, would be wasted and parched with excessive heat; the waters would be page 28 turned into vapor, and the rivers, seas, and oceans, would soon disappear, leaving nothing behind them but frightful barren dells and gloomy caverns; vegetation would completely cease, and the tribes of animated nature languish and die. On the other hand, were the sun much farther distant than he now, is, or were his bulk, or the influence of his rays diminished one half of what they now are, the land and the ocean would soon become one frozen mass, and universal desolation and sterility would overspread the fair face of nature; and instead of a pleasant and comfortable abode, our globe would become a frightful desert, a state of misery and perpetual punishment.^* But herein is the wisdom of God displayed, that he has formed the sun of such a determinate size, and placed it at such a convenient distance, as not to annoy, but to refresh and cheer us, and to enliven the soil with its genial influence; so that we plainly perceive, to use the language of the prophet, that “He hath established the world by his wisdom, and stretched out the heavens by his understanding.”

The rotation of the several planetary globes around their axes, to produce the alternate succession of day and night, strikingly demonstrates the wisdom and benevolence of their great Author. Were the earth and the other planetary worlds destitute of a diurnal motion, only one half of their surfaces could be inhabited, and the other half would remain a dark and cheerless desert. The sun would be the only heavenly orb which would be recognized by the inhabitants of each respective world, as existing in the universe, and that scene of grandeur which night unfolds in the boundless expanse of the sky would be forever vailed from their view. For, it appears to be one grand design of the Creator, in giving these bodies a diurnal motion, not only to cheer their inhabitants with light and warmth, and the gay coloring produced by the solar rays; but also to open to them a prospect of other portions of his vast dominions, which are dispersed in endless variety throughout the illimitable regions of space, in order that they may acquire a more sublime impression of the glory of his kingdom, and of his eternal Power and Godhead. But were perpetual day to irradiate the planets, it would throw an eternal and impenetrable vail over the glories of the sky, behind which the magnificent operations of Jehovah's power would be in a great measure concealed. It is this circumstance which we should consider as the principal reason why a rotatory motion has been impressed on the planetary globes; and not merely that a curtain of darkness might be thrown around their inhabitants during the repose of sleep, as in the world in which we dwell. For, in some of the other planetary worlds belonging to our system, the intelligent beings with which they are peopled may stand in no need of that nocturnal repose which is necessary for man; their physical powers may be incapable of being impaired, and their mental energies may be in perpetual exercise. And in some of those bodies which are surrounded with an assemblage of rings and moons, as the planet Saturn, the diversified grandeur of their celestial phenomena, in the absence of the sun, may present a scene of contemplation and enjoyment far more interesting than all the splendors of their noon-day. Beside, had the planets no motion round their axes, and were both their hemispheres supposed to be peopled with inhabitants, their physical state and enjoyments would be as opposite to each other, as if they lived under the government of two distinct independent beings. While the one class was basking under the splendors of perpetual day, the other would be involved in all the horrors of an everlasting night. While the one hemisphere would be parched with excessive heat, the other would be bound in the fetters of eternal ice; and in such a globe as ours, the motion of the tides, the ascent of the vapors, the currents of the atmosphere, the course of the winds, the benign influences of the rains and dews, and a thousand other movements, which produce so many salutary and beneficial effects, would be completely deranged. Hence we find, that in all the planetary bodies on which spots have been discovered, a rotatory motion actually exists,^* in the secondary as well as in the primary planets, and even in the sun itself, the center and the mover of the whole: in which arrangement of the Almighty Creator, the evidences of wisdom and design are strikingly apparent.

But, after all, whatever evidences of contrivance and design the celestial globes may exhibit, it is not in the heavens that the most striking displays of Divine wisdom can be traced by the inhabitants of our world. It is only a few general relations and adaptations that can be distinctly perceived among the orbs of the firmament; though, in so far as we are able to trace the purposes which they subserve, the marks of beauty, order, and design, are uniformly apparent. But we are placed at too great a distance from the orbs of heaven, to be able to investigate the particular arrangements which enter into the physical And moral economy of the celestial worlds. Were we transported to the surface of the planet Jupiter, and had an opportunity of surveying, at leisure, the regions of that vast globe, and the tribes of sensitive and intellectual existence which compose its population—of contemplating the relations of its moons to the pleasure and comfort of its inhabitants—the constitution of its atmosphere as to its reflective and refractive powers, in producing a degree of illumination to compensate for the great distance of that planet from the sun—its adaptation to the functions of animal life—the construction of the visual organs of its inhabitants, and the degree of sensibility they possess, corresponding to the quantity of light received from the sun—the temperature of the surface and atmosphere of this globe, corresponding to its distance from the central source of heat, and to the physical constitution of sensitive beings—in short, could we investigate the relations which inanimate nature, in all its varieties and sublimities, bears to the necessities and the happiness of the animated existences that traverse its different regions, we should, doubtless, behold a scene of Divine wisdom and intelligence, far more admirable and astonishing than even that which is exhibited in our sublunary world.—But since it is impossible for us to investigate the economy of other worlds, while we are chained down to this terrestrial sphere, we must direct our attention to those arangements and contrivances in the constitution of our own globe, which lie open to our particlar inspection, in order to perceive more distinctly the benevolent designs of Him “in whom we live, and, move and have our being.” And here an attentive observer will find, in almost every object, when minutely examined, a display of goodness and intelligence, which will constrain him to exclaim, “O the depth of the riches, both of the wisdom and the knowledge of God!”

Wisdom, considered as consisting in contrivance, or the selection of the most proper means in order to accomplish an important end, may be exemplified and illustrated in a variety of familiar objects in the scene of nature.

The earth on which we tread was evidently intended by the Creator to support man and other animals, along with their habitations, and to furnish those vegetable productions which are necessary for their subsistence; and, accordingly, he has given it that exact degree of consistency which is requisite for these purposes. Were it much harder than it now is—were it, for example, as dense as a rock, it would be incapable of cultivation, and vegetables could not be produced from its surface. Were it softer it would be insufficient to support us, and we should sink at every step, like a person walking in a quagmire. No buildings such as those we now construct could have been supported, and no conveyances such as coaches and steam-carriages could have moved along its surface. Had this circumstance not been attended to in its formation, the earth would have been rendered useless as a habitable world for all those animated beings which now traverse its different regions. The exact adjustments of the solid parts of the globe to the nature and necessities of the beings which inhabit it, is therefore an instance and an evidence of wisdom.

The diversity of surface which it everywhere presents, in the mountains and vales with which it is variegated, indicates the same benevolent contrivance and design. If the earth were divested of its mountains, and its surface were every where uniformly smooth, there would be no rivers, springs, or fountains; for water can flow only from a higher to a lower place; the vegetable tribes would droop and languish; man and other animals would be deprived of what is necessary for their existence and comfort; we should be destitute of many useful stones, minerals, plants, and trees, which are now produced on the surface and in the interior of mountains; the sea itself would become a stagnant marsh, or overflow the land; and the whole surface of nature in our terrestrial sphere would present an unvaried scene of dull uniformity. Those picturesque and subline scenes which fire the imagination of the poet, and which render mountainous districts so pleasing to the philosophic traveler, would be completely withdrawn; and all around, when compared with such diversified landscapes, would appear as fatiguing to the eye as the vast solitudes of the Arabian deserts, or the dull monotony of the ocean. But, in consequence of the admirable distribution of hills and mountains over the surface of our globe, a variety of useful and ornamental effects is produced. Their lofty summits are destined by Providence to arrest the vapors which float in the regions of the air; their internal cavities form so many spacious basins for the reception of water distilled from the clouds; they are the original sources of springs and rivers, which water and fertilize the earth; they form immense magazines, in which are deposited stones, metals, and minerals, which are of so essential service in the arts that promote the comfort of human life; they serve for the production of a vast variety of herbs and trees; they arrest the progress of storms and tempests; they afford shelter and entertainment to various animals which minister to the wants of mankind: in a word, they adorn and embellish the face of nature—they form thousands of sublime and beautiful landscapes, and afford from their summits the most delightful prospects of the plains below. All these circumstances demonstrate the consummate wisdom of the Great Architect of nature, and lead us to conclude, that mountains, so far from being rude excrescences of nature, as some have asserted, form an essential part of the constitution, not only of our globe, but of all habitable worlds—And this conclusion is confirmed, so far as our observation extends, with regard to the moon, and several of the planetary bodies which belong to our system, whose surfaces are found to be diversified by sublime ramifications of mountain scenery; which circumstance forms one collateral proof, among many others that they are the abodes of sentient and intellectual beings.

Again, the coloring which is spread over the face of nature indicates the wisdom of the Deity. It is essential to the present mode of our existence, and it was evidently intended by the Creator, that we should be enabled easily to recognize the forms and properties of the various objects with which we are surrounded. But were the objects of nature destitute of color, or were the same unvaried hue spread over the face of creation, we should be destitute of all the entertainments of vision, and be at a loss to distinguish one object from another. We should be unable to distinguish rugged precipices from fruitful hills—naked rocks from human habitations—the trees from the hills that bear them—and the tilled from the untilled lands. “We should hesitate to pronounce whether an adjacent inclosure contains a piece of pasturage, a plot of arable land, or a field of corn; and it would require a little journey, and a minute investigation, to determine such a point. We could not determine whether the first person we met were a soldier in his regimentals, or a swain in his Sunday suit; a bride in her ornaments, or a widow in her weeds.” Such would have been the aspect of nature, and such the inconveniences to which we should have been subjected, had God allowed us light, without the distinction of colors. We could have distinguished objects only by intricate trains of reasoning, and by circumstances of time, place, and relative position. And to what delays and perplexities should we have been reduced, had we been obliged every moment to distinguish one thing from another by reasoning? Our whole life must then have been employed rather in study than in action; and after all, we must have remained in eternal uncertainty as to many things which are now quite obvious to every one as soon as he opens his eyes. We could neither have communicated our thoughts by writing, nor have derived instruction from others through the medium of books; for it is the contrast of different colors which enables us to distinguish the letters, words, and sentences, in a written or printed book—so that we should now have been almost as ignorant of the transactions of past ages, as we are of the events which; are passing in the planetary worlds; and, consequently, we could never have enjoyed a written revelation from Heaven, nor any other infallible guide to direct us in the path to happiness, if the Almighty had not distinguished the rays of light, and painted the objects around us with a diversity of colors,—so essentially connected are the minutest and the most magnificent works of Deity. But now, in the present constitution of things, color characterizes the class to which every individual belongs, and indicates, upon the first inspection, its respective quality. Every object wears its peculiar livery, and has a distinguishing mark by which it is characterized.

The different hues which are spread over the scenery of the world are also highly ornamental to the face of nature, and afford a variety of pleasures to the eye and the imagination. It is this circumstance which adds a charm to the fields, the valleys, and the hills, the lofty mountain, the winding river, and the expansive lake; and which gives a splendor and sublimity to the capacious vault of heaven. Color is therefore an essential requisite to every world inhabited by sensitive beings; and we know, that provision has been made for diffusing it throughout all the globes which may exist in the distant regions which our telescopes have penetrated; for the light which radiates from the most distant stars is capable of being separated into the prismatic colors, similar to those which are produced by the solar rays; which furnishes a presumptive proof, that they are intended to accomplish designs, in their respective spheres, analogous to those which light subserves in our terrestrial habitation,—or, in other words, that they are destined to convey to the minds of sentient beings, impressions of light and color; and consequently, beings susceptible of such impressions must reside within the sphere or more immediate influence of these far distant orbs.

The same benevolent design is apparent in the general color which prevails throughout the scene of sublunary nature. Had the fields been clothed with hues of a deep red, or a brilliant white, the eye would have been dazzled with the splendor of their aspect. Had a dark blue or a black color generally prevailed, it would have cast a universal gloom over the face of nature. But an agreeable green holds the medium between these two extremes, equally remote from a dismal gloom and excessive splendor, and bears such a relation to the structure of the eye, that it refreshes instead of tiring it, and supports instead of diminishing its force. At the same time, though one general color prevails over the landscape of the earth, it is diversified by an admirable variety of shades, so that every individual object in the vegetable world can be accurately distinguished from another; thus producing a beautiful and variegated appearance over the whole scenery of nature.—“Who sees not, in all these things, that the hand of the Lord hath wrought this?”

If from the earth we turn our attention to the waters, we shall perceive similar traces of the exquisite wisdom and skill of the Author of nature. Water is one of the most essential elementary parts in the constitution of our globe, without which the various tribes of beings which now people it could not exist. It supplies a necessary beverage to man, and to all the animals that people the earth and the air. It forms a solvent for a great variety of solid bodies; it is the element in which an infinitude of organized beings pass their existence; it acts an important part in conveying life and nourishment to all the tribes of the vegetable kingdom, and gives salubrity to the atmospherical regions. Collected in immense masses in the basins of the sea, it serves as a vehicle for ships, and as a medium of communication between people of the most distant lands.—Carried along with a progressive motion over the beds of streams and of rivers, it gives a brisk impulse to the air, and prevents the unwholesome stagnation of vapors; it receives the filth of populous cities, and rids them of a thousand nuisances. By its impulsion, it becomes the mover of a multitude of machines; and, when rarified into steam, it is transformed into one of the most powerful and useful agents under the dominion of man.—All which beneficial effects entirely depend on the exact degree of density, or specific gravity, which, the Creator has given to its constituent parts. Had it been much more rarified than it is, it would have been altogether unfit to answer the purposes now specified; the whole face of the earth would have been a dry and barren waste; vegetable nature could not have been nourished; our floating edifices could not have been supported; the lightest bodies would have sunk, and all regular intercourse with distant nations would have been prevented. On the other hand, had its parts been much denser than they are,—for example, had they been of the consistency of a thin jelly, similar disastrous effects would have page 31 Inevitably followed; [gap — reason: unclear] ships could have plowed the ocean — no refreshing beverage would have been supplied to the animal tribes—the absorbent vessels of trees, herbs, and flowers, would have been unable to imbibe the moisture requisite for their nourishment, and we should thus have been deprived of all the beneficial effects we now derive from the use of that liquid element, and of all the diversified scenery of the vegetable world. But the configuration and consistency of its parts are so nicely adjusted to the constitution of the other elements, and to the wants of the sensitive and vegetable tribes, as exactly to subserve the ends intended in the system of nature.

Water has been ascertained to be a compound body, formed by the union of two different kinds of air—oxygen and hydrogen. It has the property of becoming, in certain cases, much lighter than air; though, in its natural liquid state, it is 800 times heavier than that fluid; and has also the property of afterward resuming its natural weight. Were it not for this property, evaporation could not be produced; and, consequently, no clouds, rein, nor dew could be formed, to water and fertilize the different regions of the earth. But in consequence of this wonderful property, the ocean becomes an inexhaustible cistern to our world. From its expansive surface are exhaled those vapors which supply the rivers and nourish the vegetable productions of every land. “The air and the sun,” says an elegant writer, “constitute the mighty engine which works without intermission to raise the liquid treasure; while the clouds serve as so many aqueducts to convey them along the atmosphere, and distribute them at seasonable periods, and in regular proportions, through all the regions of the globe.”

Notwithstanding the properties now stated, motion was still requisite, to insure all the advantages we now derive from the liquid element. Had the whole mass of waters been in a stagnant state, a thousand inconveniences and disastrous consequences would have inevitably ensued. But the All-wise Creator has impressed upon its various masses a circulating motion, which preserves its purity and widely extends its beneficial influence. The rills pour their liquid stores into the rivers; the rivers roll their watery treasures into the ocean; the waters of the ocean, by a libratory motion, roll backward and forward every twelve hours, and by means of currents and the force of winds, are kept in constant agitation. By the solar heat, a portion of these waters is carried up into the atmosphere, and, in the form of clouds, is conveyed by the winds over various regions; until at last it descends in rain and dew, to supply the springs “which run among the hills.” So that there is a constant motion and circulation of the watery element, that it may serve as an agent for carrying forward the various processes of nature, and for ministering to the wants of man and beast.

In fine, were the waters in a state of perpetual stagnation, the filth of populous cities would be accumulated to a most unwholesome degree; the air would be filled with putrid exhalations, and the vegetable tribes would languish and die. Were they deprived of the property of being evaporated (in which state they occupy a space 1600 times greater than in their liquid state), rain and dew could never be produced, and the earth would be turned into “a dry and parched wilderness;” neither grass nor corn could be sufficiently dried to lay up for use; our clothes, when washed, could never be dried; and a variety of common operations which now conduce to our convenience and comfort, could never be carried on. But the infinite wisdom of the Creator, foreseeing all the effects which can possibly arise from these principles of nature, has effectually provided against such disasters, by arranging all things in number, weight, and measure, to subserve the beneficial ends for which they were ordained. “He causeth the vapors to ascend from the ends of the earth;” “he sendeth the springs into the valleys, which run among the hills. They give drink to every beast of the field; the wild asses quench their thirst. By them the fowls of heaven have their habitation, which sing among the branches. He watereth the hills from his chambers: the earth is satisfied with the fruit of his works.'

Let us now attend to the atmosphere, in the constitution of which the wisdom of God is no less conspicuous than in the other departments of nature.

The atmosphere is now ascertained to be a compound substance, formed of two very different ingredients, termed oxygen gas and nitrogen gas. Of 100 measures of atmospheric air, 21 are oxygen, and 79 nitrogen. The one, namely, oxygen, is the principle of combustion and the vehicle of heat, and is absolutely necessary for the support of animal life, and is the most powerful and energetic agent in nature; the other is altogether incapable of supporting either flame or animal life. Were we to breathe oxygen air, without any mixture or alloy, our animal spirits would be raised, and the fluids in our bodies would circulate with greater rapidity; but we would soon infallibly perish by the rapid and unnatural accumulation of heat in the animal frame. If the nitrogen were extracted from the air, and the whole atmosphere contained nothing but oxygen or vital air, combustion would not proceed in that gradual manner which it now does, but with the most dreadful and irresistible rapidity: not only wood and coals, and other substances now used for fuel, but even stones, iron, and other metallic substances, would blaze with a rapidity which would carry destruction through the whole expanse of nature. If even the proportions of the two airs were materially altered, a variety of pernieious effects would instantly be produced. If the oxygen were less in quantity than it now is, fire would lose its strength, candles would not diffuse a sufficient light, and animals would perform their vital functions with the utmost difficulty and pain. On the other hand, were the nitrogen diminished and the oxygen increased, the air taken in by respiration would be more stimulant, and the circulation of the animal fluids would become accelerated; but the tone of the vessels thus stimulated to increased action, would be destroyed by too great an excitement, and the body would inevitably waste and decay. Again, were the oxygen completely extracted from the atmosphere, and nothing but nitrogen to remain, fire and flame would be extinguished, and instant destruction would be carried throughout all the departments of vegetable and animated nature. For a lighted taper will not burn for a single moment in nitrogen gas, and if an animal be plunged into it, it is instantly suffocated.

Again, not only the extraction of any one of the component parts of the atmosphere, or the alteration of their respective proportions, but even the slightest increase or diminution of their specific gravity, would be attended with the most disastrous effects. The nitrogen is found to be a little lighter than common air, which enables it to rise toward the higher regions of the atmosphere. In breathing, the air which is evolved from the lungs, at every expiration, consists chiefly of nitrogen, which is entirely unfit to be breathed again, and therefore rises above our heads before the next inspiration. Now, had nitrogen, instead of being a little lighter, been a slight degree heavier than common air, or of the same specific gravity, it would have accumulated on the surface of the earth, and particularly in our apartments, to such a degree as to have produced diseases, pestilence, and death, in rapid succession. But being a little lighter than the surrounding air, it flies upward, and we never breathe it again, until it enters into new and salutary combinations. Such is the benevolent skill which the Author of Nature has displayed, for promoting the comfort and preservation “of everything that lives.”^*

Further, were the air colored, or were its particles much larger than they are, we could never obtain a distinct view of any other object. The exhalations which rise from the earth, being rendered visible, would disfigure the rich landscape of the universe, and render life disagreeable. But the Almighty by rendering the air invisible, has enabled us not only to take a delightful and distinct survey of the objects that surround us, but has vailed from our view the gross humors incessantly perspired from animal bodies, the filth exhaled from kitchens, streets, and sewers, and every other object that would excite disgust. Again, were the different portions of the atmosphere completely stationary, and not susceptible of agitation, all nature would soon be thrown into confusion. The vapors which are exhaled from the sea by the heat of the sun, would be suspended, and remain forever fixed over those places from whence they arose. For want of this agitation of the air, which now scatters and disperses the clouds over every region, the sun would constantly scorch some districts, and be forever hid from others; the balance of nature would be destroyed; navigation, as it has hitherto been carried on by the agency of winds, would be useless, and we could no longer enjoy the productions of different climates. In fine, were the atmosphere capable of being frozen, or converted into a solid mass, as all other fluids are (and we know no reason why it should not be subject to congelation but the will of the Creator), the lives of every animal in the air, the waters, and the earth, would, in a few moments, be completely extinguished. But the admirable adjustment of every circumstance, in relation to this useful element, produces all the beneficial effects which we now experience, and strikingly demonstrates, that the Intelligent Contriver of all things is “wonderful in counsel, and excellent in working.”

A great variety of other admirable properties is possessed by the atmosphere, of which I shall briefly notice only the following:—It is the vehicle of smells, by which we become acquainted with the qualities of the food which is set before us, and learn to avoid those places which are damp, unwholesome, and dangerous. It is the medium of sounds, by means of which knowledge is conveyed to our minds. Its undulations, like so many couriers, run forever backward and forward, to convey our thoughts to others, and theirs to us; and to bring news of transactions which frequently occur at a considerable distance. A few strokes on a large bell, through the ministration of the air, will convey signals of distress, or of joy, in a quarter of a minute, to the population of a city containing a hundred thousand inhabitants. So that the air may be considered as the conveyer of the thoughts of mankind, which are the cement of society. It transmits to our ears all the harmonies of music, and expresses every passion of the soul; it swells the notes of the nightingale, and distributes alike to every ear the pleasures which arise from the harmonious sounds of a concert. It produces the blue color of the sky, and is the cause of the morning and evening twilight, by its property of bending the rays of light, and reflecting them in all directions. It forms an essential requisite for carrying on all the processes of the vegetable kingdom, and serves for the production of clouds, rain, and dew, which nourish and fertilize the earth. In short, it would be impossible to enumerate all the advantages we derive from this noble appendage to our world. Were the earth divested of its atmosphere, or were only two or three of its properties changed or destroyed, it would be left altogether unfit for the habitation of sentient beings. Were it divested of its undulating quality, we should be deprived of all the advantages of speech and conversation—of all the melody of the feathered songsters, and of all the pleasures of music: and, like the deaf and dumb, we could have no power of communicating our thoughts but by visible signs. Were it deprived of its reflective powers, the sun would appear in one part of the sky in dazzling brightness, while all around would appear as dark as midnight, and the stars would be visible at noon-day. Were it deprived of its refractive powers, instead of the gradual approach of the day and the night, which we now experience—at sunrise, we should be transported all at once from midnight darkness to the splendor of noon-day: and, at sunset, should make as sudden a transition from the splendors of day to all the horrors of midnight, which would bewilder the traveler in his journey, and strike the creation with amazement. In fine, were the oxygen of the atmosphere completely extracted, destruction would seize on all the tribes of the living world throughout every region of earth, air, and sea.

Omitting, at present, the consideration of an indefinite variety of other particulars, which suggest themselves on this subject, I shall just notice one circumstance more, which has a relation both to the waters and to the atmosphere. It is a well known law of nature, that all bodies are expanded by heat, and contracted by cold. There is only one exception to this law which exists in the economy of our globe, and that is, the expansion of water in the act of freezing. While the parts of every other body are reduced in bulk, and their specific gravity increased by the application of cold, water, on the contrary, when congealed into ice, is increased in bulk, and becomes of a less specific gravity than the surrounding water and, therefore, swims upon its surface. Now had the case been otherwise; had water, when deprived of a portion of its heat, followed the general law of nature, and, like all other bodies, become specifically heavier than it was before, the present constitution of nature would have been materially deranged, and many of our present comforts and even our very existence, would have been endangered. At whatever time the temperature of the atmosphere became reduced to 320 of the common thermometer, or to what is called the freezing point, the water on the surface of our rivers and lakes would have been converted into a layer of ice; this layer would have sunk to the bottom as it froze; another layer of ice would have been immediately produced, which would also have sunk to the former layer, and so on in succession, until in the course of time all our rivers from the surface to the bottom, and every other portion of water capable of being frozen, would have been converted into solid masses of ice, which all the heat of summer could never have melted. We should have been deprived of most of the advantages we now derive from the liquid element, and in a short time, the face of nature would have been transformed into a frozen chaos. But in the existing constitution of things, all such dismal effects are prevented, in consequence of the Creator having subjected the waters to a law contrary to that of other fluids, by means of which the frozen water swims upon the surface, and preserves the cold from penetrating to any great depth in the subjacent fluid; and when the heat of the atmosphere is increased, it is exposed to its genial influence, and is quickly changed into its former liquid state. How admirably, then, does this exception to the general law of nature display the infinite intelligence of the Great Contriver of all things, and his providential care for the comfort of his creatures, when he arranged and established the economy of nature.