those, es animated by it to glorify that God, who is so great in his muchsels and plans, and so wonderful in their execution; the more they discover the traces of this wise Providence, the more shall we be renpelled to commit all our interests into the hands of him who can never want means to turn every thing to the good of his creatures; the more, in fine, shall we be encouraged to raise our affections towards him, to supplicate him to enrich our souls with the gift of wisdom, and to make them grow in grace.

May we, in our moral and intellectual progress, resemble the growth of the trees! As they from year to year put forth new shoots towards heaven, as they extend around them fresh branches, laden with leafy honours, and with the richer burden of nutritious fruits, so may our souls be gradually elevated to more heavenly heights! May they attain a continually increasing light, and in their intercourse with mortals present a succession of virtues which shall for ever augment in brightness and in power! Whilst we are thus internally fortified to bear with firmness the storms of life, and whilst we are taught to receive them with salutary humility, as visitants kindly sent from heaven to loosen us from the world, may we never find an emblem of our state in the ancient tree, which, in proportion to its age, always attaches itself the more strongly to the earth!

SEPTEMBER V.

THE ANT-LION.

No insect is more remarkable for its dexterity than the ant-lion, though its figure announces nothing extraordinary. It nearly resembles the woodlouse; its body, which is composed of several membraneous rings, and terminated in a point, is provided with six feet. Its head, flat and square, is armed with two moveable, crooked horns, whose singular structure shows how admirable nature is, even in the least of her works.

This insect is the most subtle and dangerous enemy the ant has; the plans which he forms to ensnare his prey are very ingenious. He mines a portion of earth in the form of a funnel, at the bottom of which he waits to seize the ants which coming by chance to the edge of the precipice, are thence hurried down to their merciless foe. In order to dig it, he first traces in the sand a circular furrow, whose circumference forms precisely the mouth of the funnel, the diameter of which is always equal to the depth he gives to his ditch. When he has fixed on the size of this opening, and traced the first furrow, he digs a second concentric to the other, in order to throw out all the sand contained in the first circle. He performs all these operations with his head, which serves him instead of a shovel, and its flat and square form admirably adapts it to this purpose. He also takes some sand with one of his fore-feet to throw it beyond the first furrow; and

this work is repeated till the insect has reached a certain depth of sand. Sometimes in digging he meets with grains of sand larger than usual, or with little bits of dry earth, which he will not suffer to remain in his funnel; of these he disencumbers himself by a sudden and well-timed manœuvre of his head. Should he find particles yet larger, he endeavours to push them away with his back, and he is so assiduous in his labour that he repeats it six or seven times.

At length the ant-lion begins to enjoy the fruits of his toil. When his nets are once well laid, he has nothing to do but to put himself on the watch; accordingly, motionless and concealed at the bottom of the ditch which he has dug, he patiently waits for the prey which he cannot pursue. If any ant is inadvertently drawn to the borders of this fatal precipice, it generally rolls down to the bottom, because the brink is made sloping; and thus the sand giving way beneath its feet, the little insect is forced to follow the dangerous declivity till it falls into the power of its destroyer, who, by means of his horns, draws it under the sand and feasts upon its blood. When he has sucked all the juices from the body, he contrives to eject from his habitation the dry and hollow carcass; repairs any damage his trench may have sustained, and puts himself again in ambush. He does not always succeed in seizing his prey at the moment of its fall; it frequently escapes him, and endeavours to remount the funnel; but then the ant-lion works with his head and causes a shower of sand to descend upon his captive, and precipitate it once more to the bottom.

All the actions of this little animal display an art so extraordinary, that we might long examine them without being wearied. The antlion employs itself in preparing trenches even before it has seen the animal which it is to ensnare, and which is to serve for its nourishment; and yet its actions are so well regulated, that they could not be better adapted to accomplish these purposes.

How would an animal, so destitute of agility, have been able to entrap its prey more easily, than by digging in a moveable sand and giving a sloping declivity to the funnel? What better stratagem could it have devised for covering the ants which were on the point of escaping, even from this skilfully constructed snare, than in overwhelming them with showers of sand, and thus cutting off all hopes of a retreat? All its actions have fixed principles by which they are directed. The trench must be dug in the sand, or it could not answer the desired purpose: he must, according to the structure of his body, work backwards, and use his horns like a pair of pincers, in order to throw the sand over the brink of the funnel. The instinct which governs this insect discovers to us a first cause, whose intelligence has foreseen and ordained every thing that was necessary for the preservation and well being of such an animal. The skill, which it evinces is not the fruit of experience and of exercise; it commences with its existence. We must therefore seek its origin in the wisdom, the power, and the goodness of that Supreme Being, who has proportioned the instinct of animals according to their several wants.

These considerations offer a new encouragement to glorify him, who is the Creator of man as well as of the minute insects we have been contemplating! Beneficent source of life, thou lovest to diffuse it abroad, and thou hast formed this humble receptacle of it in such a manner that its existence shall be blessed; thou hast furnished all the means requisite to its enjoyment of life, and by the instinct with which thou hast endowed an animal, otherwise so impotent, it arrives at a skill which approaches to reason, and in some measure even surpasses it! And what has been the design in all this, but to furnish us, even by the most despicable creatures, with opportunities of knowing thee? To this purpose let us devote our studies of nature; and then every branch of them, however insignificant their objects may appear, will elevate our thoughts towards thee, who hast created the small worm as well as the huge elephant, and who extendest thy cares with equal benignity to the one and to the other.

SEPTEMBER VI.

CONFORMITY BETWEEN PLANTS AND ANIMALS.

It is often extremely difficult to determine the precise difference between plants and animals. Nature descends by imperceptible degrees from animal to vegetable existence; and, to distinguish the exact limits of these gradations, nothing short of an angel's penetration would suffice. And we may remark, that, notwithstanding all the differences between these two species of organized bodies, we may still find in them much resemblance.

The seed is to the plant, what the egg is to the animal. From the former springs the stalk which was before concealed under its coats; and this stalk makes an effort to raise itself out of the earth. In like manner, the animal, enclosed in the egg, breaks the shell, in order to breathe the open air. The eye or bud, of the tree is in the vegetable, what the embryo is in the animal kingdom: this eye does not pierce through the bark till it has acquired a certain thickness, and it then remains attached to it in order to receive nourishment from it as well as from the fibres of the plant.

The embryo, at the end of the appointed time, comes forth from the womb; and would soon perish, were it not sustained by its mother. The plant is supported by the alimentary juices which are brought to it from without, and which passing through various channels, are at length changed into its own substance. The nourishment of the animal is affected in a similar manner. It also receives its nourishment from without, and after having passed through different vessels, is transformed into animal substance.

The fecundation of the germ takes place in the vegetable kingdom when the dust of the stamina penetrates into the pistils; and fecundation among animals is produced when the seminal liquor penetrates

into the ovaries or matrix. The multiplication of plants is effected not only by seed and by ingrafting, but also by slips. In like manner animals are propagated, not only by laying eggs, and bringing forth their young alive; but also by slips, as in the case of the polypus.

The diseases of plants arise from causes sometimes external, sometimes internal; and it is the same with those of animals. To conclude, death is common to them both, when old age, having hardened and obstructed the vessels, the circulation of the juices is necessarily stopped. Plants and animals are situated in the same places. The earth, both on its surface and within its bosom, the air, the sea, and the rivers, are alike filled with animals and with plants. Both are extremely numerous, though animal rather than vegetable forms seem to bear the preponderance.

Thus one might be almost tempted to believe that animals and plants were beings of the same class, since nature seems to pass from one to the other by imperceptible degrees, and that even when she has risen by this gradation to the most obvious difference, she still connects the two orders together by a very striking similarity in all her principal operations. Of this at least we are certain, that some general and essential resemblances have been found in the two kingdoms; but that hitherto the truly characteristic differences have never been clearly ascertained. And though some should be discovered which have not yet been observed, we must always acknowledge that nature diversifies her works by gradations so fine and delicate, that the human mind can with difficulty discern them. And who knows what discoveries may be reserved for posterity? Perhaps futurity will bring to light plants whose properties will approach still nearer to those of animals; perhaps some animals may be discovered which, even more closely than the polypus, will be allied to the class of vegetables.

Let us endeavour to make that use of these facts for which all the truths of nature and of revelation are designed, even to draw from them continued incitements to glorify God and to strengthen our minds in virtue. Let the great resemblance which we find between animals and plants, render us sensible to the power and wisdom of that Being who, on all his creatures, has in some measure impressed the character of infinity. But, O man, learn to be humble. Thou participatest in the nature of plants, and in that of animals; to Jesus alone thou art indebted for thy elevation, and a much higher affinity, art lifted up from thy corporeal relation with the beasts that perish to a spiritual union with angels, whose perfections thou art called upon to imitate, with assurances that thy endeavours will be rewarded with a perpetual approximation towards their excellence.

SEPTEMBER VII.

THE NATURE AND PROPERTIES OF SOUND.

Sounds are produced by means of the air; but it is necessary for this purpose that the air should be put into motion. Not that the agitation of the air alone occasions a sound, for in that case all wind would be attended with a noise. To produce sound, the air must be suddenly compressed, that it may afterward dilate and expand itself anew by its own elastic force. Thus a sort of tremulous undulation takes place, something similar to those waves and concentric circles which appear on the water after a stone has been thrown into it. But if this undulatory movement took place only in those particles of air which are compressed, the sound would not reach our ears. It is necessary, therefore, that the sonorous body, after having made its impression on the air contiguous to it, should continue the impression from particle to particle, in a circular direction to all parts.

By means of this propagation, the last vibration is communicated to the air immediately surrounding our ear, and we have then the perception of sound. With such amazing celerity is this chain of successive motions formed in the atmosphere, that sound is known to travel at the rate of a thousand feet in the space of a second, and in consequence, a German league in twenty seconds. This calculation, which has been verified by a multitude of experiments, may be useful in many cases; the knowledge of it contributes to our security in teaching us how far the thunder is distant from us, and consequently in apprizing us of our danger or safety in the place where we hear it soll. We have only to number the seconds, or to count the strokes of our pulse between the flash of lightning and the clap, and we may immediately ascertain the precise distance of the thunderbolt. By the same means we may determine the respective distances of different places; as well as that which separates two ships. It is very remarkable, that a weak sound propagates itself with the same velocity as one that is strong. The agitation of the air is, however, greater in proportion to the strength of the sound, because a larger volume of air is put into motion. Sound is therefore loud when many particles of air are in motion, and weak when it is confined to a few.

But what benefit could we derive from those observations which philosophers have made upon the nature and properties of sound, if our bodies were not so constituted as to enable us to receive the perception of sound? Let us then praise God, who has not only disposed the air in such a manner as to produce sound by its vibrations, but has also given us an organ capable of receiving every sonorous impression, from the deep and awful roar of the tempest which rages over the billowy bosom of the sea, to the gentle whisper of the breeze which refreshes without agitating the fair and delicate forms of vernal

nature.