watch, similar to itself; and not only so, but we perceive in it a system of organization, separately calculated for that purpose. What effect would this discovery have, or ought it to have, upon our former inference? What, as hath already been said, but to increase, beyond measure, our admiration of the skill which had been employed in the formation of such a machine? Or shall it, instead of this, all at once turn us round to an opposite conclusion, viz. that no art or skill whatever has been concerned in the business, although all other evidences of art and skill remain as they were, and this last and supreme piece of art be now added to the rest? Can this be maintained without absurdity? Yet this is atheism: for every indication of contrivance, every manifestation of design, which existed in the watch, exists in the works of nature; with the difference, on the side of nature, of being greater and more, and that in a degree which exceeds all computation. I mean that the contrivances of nature surpass the contrivances of art, in the complexity, subtilty, and curiosity of the mechanism; and still more, if possible, do they go beyond them in number and variety; yet, in a multitude of cases, are not less evidently mechanical, not less evidently contrivances, not less evidently accommodated to their end, or suited to their office, than are the most perfect productions of human ingenuity. OF DIVINE PROVIDENCE. (From Owen Felltham's Resolves.) A EVERY thing that man can look upon is both a miracle for the creation of it, and a wonder for the apt contrivance, in fitting it to its parts and province, wherein it is set to move. So that the world is but God's great cabinet of rarities; which he hath opened to astonish man, who shall but well consider them. If man reflect upon himself, he will easily find how very wonderfully he is made, beyond all other creatures. None but he, by reflective acts of understanding, is able to argue, to consider, and to judge of himself. Who is it but he, can hope or fear the future? can curb, encourage, accuse, or commend himself? or can apprehend or reverence, either the Deity or eternity? And to magnify the goodness of this great Creator, we shall find that every natural action man is capable of doing affords him pleasure in the execution. To eat, to drink, to sleep, to fast, to wake, to forbear; to speak, to be silent; to move, to rest; to be warm, and to be cool; to be in company, and to retire: they are all in themselves pleasing acts; whereas, the things that vex and trouble him, either come from without, or happen by our own disorder. So that a man may live at ease if he will; and if he does not, it is by his own default. In the frame of his body, (not to descend to all particulars, which are full of admiration,) how exquisite, and how well adapted ware they for all occasions which, at any time, may befal him! In his ears and nostrils, the one relating to the head, the other to the lungs those slender hairs are not in vain placed there, but are as nets to catch the dust and motes which, with our breath, we should else draw in, and dry up all our lungs, which are the engines of life; or, mixed with wax, would, as pellets, stop our sense of hearing. In the world, what we complain of as inconveniences, if rightly we examine we shall find to be quite the contrary. The unevenness of the earth is clearly providential. The hills and valleys have all their special use. One helps in wet, and soaking inundations; the other aids in droughts, in heats, and scorching seasons. And the feet and legs of men, having nerves and sinews, to rise and to descend, to recede and proceed, are, by the unevenness of the earth, more exercised and refreshed, than if it were all a level walk. That weeds, without a tillage, voluntarily spring, surely has a double benefit;-one, that man may have some thing wherewith to exercise his industry, without which he would settle into corruption; another, that by these the earth itself does breed its own manure, and beasts and birds, by them, have tables ready spread. Even venomous creatures have their proper use; not only to gather what to man might be noisome, but to qualify other creatures, that they may be physical and salutary to the several constitutions of man. It is also undoubtedly a great benefit to man, that beasts want understanding: if they were gifted with the faculty of reason, their strength could never be kept subjected to the service of man; whose cruel usage nothing rational could ever long endure. Would the horse be curbed, and brought to champ on steel? Would he suffer his lazy rider to bestride his patient back, with his hands and whip to wheal his flesh, and with his heels to dig into his hungry bowels? Would he be brought, in hempen chains, to draw beyond his breath and strength? Would he be tied up to the staved wood, or walk the round all day, in rolling ponderous stones? or wear his life away under the pressure of a heavy burthen? We see it full as necessary that there should be poor as rich; for one could not live without the other. We see both fruits and wines retain their flavour and their beauty until the new appear; God having, in his providence, made them to last till he provides us more ;and yet, not so long as for us to be idle, or trusting to our lasting store, grow wanton, and forget the Author and ourselves. Those things of common use which we, in common, have among us; what we need, and will not last, in our own climate grows: our spices and our drugs, that we must fetch from far, are freed so from corruption, that they several years endure. In common corn, what wonders may we find! How one small grain springs up to several hundreds; how it gives a sustentation by its several parts, both unto man and beast; and being so useful, only see how carefully nature does preserve it. It grows up in a corselet, an inward coat, which does from dews defend it; and on the outside, a stand of pikes in bearded ranges upright do appear, to fence it from the birds, and catch the falling rain, and by degrees convey it into the grains within, to swell and ripen it; but, when it is ripe, this moisture is not useful; and it downward turns its loaded head, and gently draws it off, that it may not hurt nor rot it. And because (being weak), if from one grain, one single stalk alone should shoot and grow, each easy wind would break it to unfruitfulness; there spring up many from every several kernel, that getting strength by multitude, it may withstand the assaults of storm and rain. And, whereas other fruits from trees and such large plants, last but their year about, or not so long; this, as more useful, several winters keeps from all decay, that when there is a plenty (as once in Egypt) to help against dearth, it may be kept in store. Even the enmity of creatures, one against another, is for the advantage of man; in fear of one another, they are kept from trespassing on him; and by their mutual antipathies, we make use of one to take the other;-and so serve ourselves of both. By these, and millions of other examples, and indeed, by all we can, see or comprehend, we may conclude as does the Psalmist, “O Lord, how wonderful are thy works, in wisdom hast thou made them all!” And if we should complain, that God might have ordered many things better, in the creation of the world, than he hath done; well return that grave and sober answer of St. Augustine: if we complain of defect in the works of creation, it is because we do not consider them in their proper spheres and uses. we may Surely, the infinitely wise manner in which all things are ordered by a superintending and all-sufficient God, might tutor us to be less out of humour at any thing that happens. It was an excellent remark of the wise philosopher, in discoursing of this matter, when he said, "If all the misfortunes of all the men in the world were crowded together in one man; and then every man, out of this heap, were to take but an equal share; he did believe every man' would rather resume his own, than after a proportionate rate, take what should then befal him." Why then should any grumble at their condition? Who wisely made the world, as wisely does preserve and govern it. And he who showed his power and wisdom in every worm, in every fly, and smaller atom that he did at first create; does, in his providence, attend to order and rightly dispose of every little particle of this great main, the world. Who makes a watch, does look as well to every pin and nick in every wheel, as to the spring itself, that guides and steers the whole. As it is maximed of the elements, nothing is heavy in its proper place; so nothing is a burthen, as God did first design it. And, as by contemplation of God's glorious works we never can want cause to admire his providence, to magnify his wisdom, to adore his goodness, and find a rest for all our warring thoughts: so by our weak complaining we unloose our hold of the Deity that supports us, we proclaim our own defects, and detract from what is due to his great glory. REFLECTIONS ON MAN. (From the Night Thoughts, by Dr. Young.) [Edward Young, the celebrated author of the "Night Thoughts," was born at Upham, near Winchester, in 1681. His father was the rector of the parish; and was afterwards promoted to the deanery of Salisbury. The subject of this notice was educated at Winchester, and completed his studies at Oxford. Until he was 46 years of age he appears to have been governed by hopes of political advancement;he wrote some satires and tragedies, of great merit. At that period he determined upon taking orders ;-his life was ever afterwards strictly regulated by the sanctity of his profession. He married in 1731;his wife died in 1741. This loss made a deep impression upon his mind; and by awakening his attention to the uncertainty of human enjoyments, taught him to look with more than usual earnestness at the prospects of immortality. His habitual contemplations became the subjects of the "Night Thoughts; -a poem which, however depreciated by a gloom which Christianity neither recommends or enforces, will last as long as our language, for the vigour of its style, the sublimity of its descriptions, and the fervour of its piety. Dr. Young died at his living of Welwyn, in 1765, aged 84.] THE bell strikes One. We take no note of time I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright, It is the knell of my departed hours: Where are they? With the years beyond the flood. How much is to be done? My hopes and fears How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, A worm! a god!-I tremble at myself, And in myself am lost! at home a stranger, Thought wanders up and down, surprised, aghast, Triumphantly distress'd! what joy, what dread! VOL. 1. Alternately transported, and alarm'd! What can preserve my life! or what destroy! 'Tis past conjecture; all things rise in proof: Her ceaseless flight, though devious, speaks her nature For human weal, heaven husbands all events; Slumbers, rak'd up in dust, ethereal fire? They live! they greatly live a life on earth On me, more justly number'd with the dead. Yet man, fool man! here buries all his thoughts; Prisoner of earth, and pent beneath the moon, Where seraphs gather immortality, On life's fair tree, fast by the throne of God. What golden joys ambrosial clustering glow, In His full beam, and ripen for the just, Where momentary ages are no more! Where time, and pain, and chance, and death expire ! To push eternity from human thought, |