without arriving at the first elements of matter-if odoriferous bodies can exhale a sufficiency of odorous particles, so as to be perceived at a great distance, without any sensible diminution of weight, it would require an eternity for the human mind to calculate the number of particles which exist in those bodies. If we pass next to the animal kingdom, the scene will be incalculably extended. In summer, the air is full of living creatures. Every person has seen those innumerable swarms of flies, gnats, and other insects, which gather together in a small space. What prodigious hosts must there be of them, that live and sport over the whole earth, and in the immense extent of the atmosphere ! How many millions of still smaller insects and worms are there, which crawl on the earth, or in the entrails of animals! With what splendor, does the power of God manifest itself to the mind, when we reflect on the multitude of parts of which these creatures are composed, of whose very existence most men are ignorant! Were we not, at any time, able to prove it by experiment, could we imagine there were animals a million of times less than a grain of sand, with organs of nutrition, motion, &c.? There are shellfish so small, that, even viewed through the microscope, they appear scarcely so large as a grain of barley; and yet they are real animals, with durable dwelling places, the foldings and recesses of which, form so many different apartments. How exceedingly small is a mite; nevertheless, this almost imperceptible point, seen through a microscope, is a hairy animal, perfect in all its members, of a regular figure, full of life and sensibility, and provided with every necessary organ. though this animal is scarcely visible to us, yet it has a multitude of still smaller parts; and, what is yet more admirable, the glasses which show us so many faults and imperfections in the most finished works of man, can observe nothing but regularity and perfection in these microscopic objects! How inconceivably thin and tender are the threads of a spider! It has been calculated that it would take 36,000 of them to make the thickness of a thread of common sewing silk! Each of the six Al papillæ from which the spider draws that glutinous liquor of which it forms its web, is composed of a thousand insensible pores, which give passage to so many threads; so that, however fine the spider's thread may appear, it is composed of 6000 smaller ones! You are struck with astonishment: but, suppose we had microscopes which could magnify some thousands of times more than those glasses do, through which a mite appears no larger than a grain of barley, what wonders should we then see! And, even then, should we reach the limits of creation in these inconceivably small productions? Certainly not: and it would be presumption and extravagance to believe it. Each creature has a kind of infinity; and the more we contemplate the works of God, the more the wonders of His power shall be multiplied in our sight. Our imagination is confounded in the two extremes of Nature, the great and the small; and we know not whether we should admire the Divine power more in those enormous masses which roll over our heads, or in those microscopic objects which are invisible to the naked eyes. Should not the contemplation of the works of God be our most pleasing occupation? The trouble of study would be amply compensated by the pure and innocent pleasures which it would afford. It would, at least, awaken in us an ardent desire to arrive in those blessed regions where we should require neither microscopes nor telescopes to enable us to discover the wondrous works of God. There, all His works shall be so unveiled to our eyes, that we shall be able to distinguish the destination, structure, and relations of each object. There, immortal songs of praise shall resound to the honor of the Creator of the universe. There, all distinction of great and small shall be entirely done away; for every thing shall appear great in our sight, and fill our souls with admiration and joy! EIGHTH WEEK-MONDAY. HYBERNATION.-MIGRATION OF BIRDS, THE migration of birds, before winter deprives thern of their natural food, or diminishes the temperature of the atmosphere below what their constitution is able to bear, is not only one of the familiar, but one of the most remarkable operations of this interesting class of the animal creation. No person of observation can reside long in a rural district, without being struck with the change which takes place in its feathered inhabitants about the commencement of this less genial season. While hardier races of birds, unknown to us in spring and summer, begin to appear, we lose sight of many of those tenants of our hedges and groves, which cheered us with their music, or pleased our eye by the variety and brilliancy of their plumage. They had long since almost ceased to afford us agreeable notice of their presence, by the distinctive variety of their music; but we had, only a few days or weeks before, seen them flitting gayly across our path, or perched quietly or peeringly on some neighboring bough; yet now, neither to the eye nor ear, do they any longer give indications of their existence. What has become of these interesting attendants on our summer walks ? The solicitude to which reflections on their fate, during the vicissitudes of our rude winter climate, give rise, is beautifully and feelingly expressed by the Scottish poet :* “ Ilk happing bird, wee, helpless thing, What comes o' thee? Were we, indeed, for the first time, and without the correction of experience, to witness the arrival of winter, when the bountiful hand of Nature seems suddenly to be withdrawn, it would appear to us impossible that the myriads, not only of the races of insects we have been considering, but of quadrupeds, birds, and reptiles, which swarm on the surface of the earth in the more genial months of summer and autumn, should be able, during the privations of this season, to preserve their comforts, or even their very existence. There is something appalling in the idea, that such multitudes of creatures should be called into being, only to fall victims to an inevitable and cruel fate; and it would seem to reflect on the wisdom or goodness of Providence, were such anticipations to be realized. But it is not so; and the beneficent contrivances by which such a calamity is averted, tend, in no slight degree, to intimate the presence and operation of an intelligent Creator. With regard to those animals which are actually exposed to the storms of winter, let it be observed, that this season of scarcity and privation, is immediately preceded by a period of peculiar plenty, when the edible seeds and plants are in greatest abundance; and that these, although they cease to vegetate, do not, in many instances, cease to exist as articles of food. The seeds and debris of plants lie scattered about the ground in great profusion; and, though unnoticed by us, are easily discovered by the microscopic eye of many of the inferior animals. The grass, too, which forms at once the soft carpet, and the favorite food, of so many living creatures, although faded, is still spread over our hills and valleys, and affords to the larger classes of graminivorous animals, a more scanty indeed, but yet a considerable supply of succulent food. The roots of once luxuriant plants and flowers, the fruit of the bramble, the hawthorn, and the eglantine, [or wild rose,] the acorn, the beechmast, and even the decaying leaves of the forest, all contribute their varied nourishment to different tribes of animated beings. But to this subject we shall afterwards have occasion e; more particularly to advert; and, with reference to the winged creation, we have at present to remark, that He, without whose permission "not even a sparrow falleth to the ground," and who "feedeth the ravens which have neither storehouse nor barn," deals in another manner with those tribes, to which subsistence could not now be afforded in the place of their summer residence and, by means of a secret impulse, not less wonderful than beneficent, bears them beyond the reach of coming want, and the chilling breath of a wintry sky. The Creator, as He has furnished this class of His living creatures with wings to travel through the air, where there are neither rivers nor seas to arrest their progress, and where they can readily overtop even the obtruding mountains, has also bestowed on them that mysterious instinct, which leads them to migrate to southern climes, where the food on which they subsist is still abundant, and the arrival of winter has only mitigated the intensity of the heat, and rendered it to them little else than a continuance of the blessings of summer. A continental writer has attempted to define the impulse which induces birds to migrate; but he has been forced to do so, after minute attention, more by negatives than by any positive and very intelligible assertion of a principle. It is not want of nourishment," says M. Brehm, "for most of them commence their migration while there is still abundance in the country they are leaving. Atmospherical currents are not the cause, nor do the changes of season explain it, as the greatest number set off while the weather is yet fine; and others, as the larks and starlings, arrive while the season is bad. Atmospherical influences can only hasten the migration in autumn, but must rather retard or derange it in spring. It is the presentiment of what is to happen, which determines birds to begin their journey. It is an instinct which urges them, and which initiates them into the meteoric changes that are preparing. They have a particular faculty of foreseeing the rigors of the coming season; an exquisite sensibility to the perception of atmospherical changes which are not yet arrived, but are approaching." |