5

8

from its predecessor by an interval or angular distance equal to one half the circumference of the stem.. We have here, then, a spiral expressed by the fraction. The complete series of fractions, therefore, is the following: 1, 3, 3, 3, 13, 21, etc. Now let it be borne in mind that these values are obtained by actual observation, and that there are plants whose leaf-arrangements are known to correspond to each of these fractions severally, as well as others in the series farther continued. But notice the relation which subsists between the successive fractions in the series. Each numerator is equal to the sum of the two preceding numerators, and each denominator to the sum of the two preceding denominators. Knowing this law, we may continue the series to any extent; and it has been so continued, and fractions obtained to which plants have subsequently been found to correspond, though we hardly know how at present to interpret the unrealized possibilities indicated by the higher terms of the series. Is all this the result of chance? Is it not rather mathematics, law, intelligence?

We turn now our attention to the "infinite meadows of heaven," where

"Blossom the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels."

Neptune, the remotest planet, revolves about the sun in 60,000 days-speaking in round numbers-Uranus, the next, in 30,000 days, which is one half the preceding number; Saturn, the next, in 10,000 days, which is one third the period of Uranus; Jupiter revolves in 4000 days, which is two fifths of the period of Saturn. And so we go on through the system, and find the law expressing the relations of the revolutions of the planets identical with that which determines the arrangement of the leaves upon the humble stem of a plant.

A little difficulty was at first experienced in applying the law to the group of asteroids; but this difficulty no longer exists, and we now know this wonderful law to be so exact and uniform in its application that, before the discovery of the planet Neptune, the botanist in his garden could have predicted its existence and its place in the heavens with greater precision than the French astronomer in his observatory. Moreover, an examination of this series of fractions renders it impossible that any planet should exist exterior to Neptune, as his periodic revolution corresponds to the beginning of the series; though an indefinite number of planets may exist within the orbit of Mercury, inasmuch as the planets lying in that direction correspond to the indefinite continuation of the series. This correspondence also harmonizes beautifully with the cosmical theory of La Place and Sir William Herschel, which has been explained in the fourth chapter of this work. Astronomers will therefore take notice, and not be found planet-hunting in the deserts of space beyond the orbit of Neptune. In the other direction, the future discovery of an intra-mercurial planet is both possible and probable. Certain it is that presumption sides with Lescarbault in his claim to such a discovery.

Who shall explain what mysterious virtue belongs to the succession of values furnished by the leaf-arrangements of the plant, that exactly the same succession of values should be inscribed upon its humble stem and entered among the ordinations of planetary systems? How many millions of chances against the supposition of a blind coincidence through a series of terms so extended! Premeditated atheism alone could fail to read the sentiment so written at once in the soft bloom of the rose and the supernal light of the stars-"These are the works of one Omnipresent Intelligence."

T

CHAPTER XXX.

ANTICIPATIONS OF MAN IN NATURE.

AKING advantage of a midsummer holiday, suppose we visit the country seat of a friend possessed of ample wealth and cultivated tastes. Arriving at the premises, we find the owner called unexpectedly to the city, but the porter, in obedience to the instructions of the proprietor, proffers us a greeting, and bids us in to the enjoyment of the spacious park. We find the grounds laid out and adorned under the guidance of an educated and generous taste. The graveled carriage-road winds under the leafy umbrage of the ancient oaks, or creeps along beneath the dark shadows of a frowning cliff; and ever and anon a sunny opening in the overhanging foliage lets in the golden light upon the quiet-loving Rhododendron and Azalea. Here a modest footpath saunters down a mimic vale, and leads us, worn and weary, to a rustic summer-house all overarched with honey-breathing Loniceras intertwined with the scandent Cobea and woodland-loving Bignonia. Here are seats provided for the languid visitor; and from the roots of the thirsty beech, whose overreaching branches rib the leafy arch, bursts forth a laughing fountain, while a goblet standing by seems to say, "Here the visitor will be thirsty and warm, and will eagerly refresh himself at the cooling spring." The proprietor of the grounds, though not here in his visible presence, has left here the evidences of his thoughtfulness and expectation of a wearied visitor. Then for the first time we spy what is equally welcome with the cool fountain—a basket of ripe and luscious fruit,

revealing itself, like Heaven's blessings, just at the moment when nothing could be more desired. How well the owner of the premises knows how to minister to the wants and pleasures of his guests! Refreshed, we wander on through a darkly-shaded copse, when a sudden elbow in the footpath brings us to the rock-built doorway of a rustic grotto. The cool lintels are hung with brown and emerald fringes of dew-dripping mosses, and the leaf-strewn portal of the dusky hall reminds us of the cave of the Cumaan Sibyl. The desire to enter this enchanted grotto has been foreseen by the care which provided a flight of half a dozen steps, down which we descend to the damp, chill floor of the Sibylline abode. The long, dim hall before us fades into indistinctness in the distance, like the line of memories receding toward childhood's years; and just as our timid steps are about to be reversed, we espy some matches and a taper resting on a shelf of rock, and, with the light so opportunely provided, explore the length of the charming little cavern.

Emerging from our subterranean exploitation, we visit, in succession, all the remaining nooks and surprises of the well-plotted grounds, and find that every where the thoughtfulness of the proprietor has preceded us, and ushered our coming with the most intelligent preparation. Not the least admirable of the arrangements of his shrewd forecasting is his occasional combination of geometrical figures cut in the turf of a growing grass-plot, or traced in the airy edgings of the most exquisite flower-beds, themselves the achievements of geometrical skill, and adapted specially to please the mind and fancy trained in mathematical forms. The work itself bespeaks a skillful mind, and equally proclaims an expectation of educated guests. This lavishment of learned conceptions is not the mere gamboling of genius for its own amusement. What we

see, and enjoy, and comprehend declares in plainest language not only that the contriver of these grounds possessed superior intelligence, but that he expected intelligent guests to visit, admire, and enjoy them.

This admirably plotted park is the domain of Nature. These dark, umbrageous shades and quiet dells are hers. These winding highways and meandering footpaths are her navigable streams, and lakes, and ocean tides. The rhododendron and azalea were first planted by the hand of Nature, and her fingers taught the honeysuckle to climb. the rustic trellis of oaken boughs. Her providence drew forth the crystal fountain beneath the beechen shade, and her foresight laid by the store of coal with which we warm and light our dwelliugs.

To be more specific, let the reader imagine that the history of the world had been a scene of never-ending quiet. Suppose a fear of inflicting animal suffering had laid its restraining hand on the volcano and the earthquake; suppose the rocks had not been plowed up, and the deep subsoil of the earth's crust laid over in mountain ridges. I do not ask whether, in the midst of scenes of such monotony, the occasion could ever have arrived for the deposition of the coal. We will assume that it would. I do not ask whether, without eruptions and terrestrial distresses, the precious and the useful metals would ever have been reduced from their ores; we may assume that they would. But where would lie our coal? Buried ten thousand feet from view, man would never have learned of its existence, much less would he have known how to raise it to the surface. See the provision of Nature in breaking up the coal-bearing strata and tilting them on edge, as much as to say, "Lo! here is your desire;. search not in vain; dig, and be satisfied with warmth; drive forth the hidden energy of the abundant water, and bid the servants furnished to your