CHAPTER II.. Man's Knowledge of the Qualities of Matter Obtained Through the

MAN'S KNOWLEDGE OF THE QUALITIES OF MATTER OBTAINED THROUGH THE MEDIUM OF THE SENSES.

If we reflect upon man, beginning with the savage, and ending with the philosopher, we shall find, that although the mental difference, or rather the extent of acquired knowledge possessed by each respectively, is very great, that the little the one possesses, and all that the other may boast of, are based upon certain simple principles, seized upon by the mind through the medium of the senses, and made more or less the subjects of consideration and research.

If the philosopher can display a mass of knowledge of which the savage is ignorant, the savage can show to the philosopher that his mind in some things is more ignorant than his own. Both have used their senses; both have examined and reflected; both have accumulated a store of information, which they turn to account: but the savage cares only for that which enables him to enjoy animal existence. He, therefore, investigates the habits of the animals around him, and the nature of the plants; he tames some of the former, he cultivates some of the latter; he stores up provisions, he invents rude weapons; he builds kraals, or huts; he fashions boats, kajaks, or proas; he employs fire; and though he cannot discuss the laws of caloric, he knows many of them practically. In fact, his senses are to him the inlets of ideas, without any abstruse cogitation. He cannot but acquire knowledge through his senses, but he labours to acquire no more than is subservient to his present interest. To the philosopher, the senses are also the inlets of ideas; but then he is thereby led to abstruse cogitation, to experiments, and reiterations upon these, forming theories to be rejected or adopted, as laborious investigation may determine.

And wherefore?--Not contented with the vacuity of mere animal enjoyments, he antedates his spiritual existence, and while yet on earth soars to other worlds, or dives into the profound mysteries of nature. Between the rude savage and the philosopher there are innumerable gradations; yet the rude savage, if cultivated, might become the philosopher--and why?--Because, though mental powers, like bodily powers, differ, the mental anatomy, like the corporeal, is on the same plan; and, figuratively speaking, the muscles of the former may become by exercise as developed as the muscles of the latter. To what fields, then, of knowledge are the senses avenues--and avenues, because they are adapted to the condition of the globe we inhabit, and because the impressions which they receive are seized upon by the mind, being there alone made palpable; and because the mind, by a reflex action, thence derives ideas, and combines and analyzes them.

The higher animals possess the same senses as man; and, it may be asked, Why do they not gain a similar knowledge to that which man acquires? We have already said, that the higher animals possess something which cannot but be termed mind, since they have passions and affections, memory, etc., which are qualities of mind, and not of matter. But, then, their mind is not only inferior in degree to that of man, but different in its anatomical construction. Certain animals, moreover, are inferior to others, and among animals of the same species there are different degrees of mental as well as of bodily force. Here, however, we can only generalize. Let it suffice, then, that we adduce for the purpose of illustration an animal with which we are all familiar--a domesticated animal, capable of a high degree of education, and which man has trained to the most various and opposite purposes--we allude to that attached servant of our race, the dog. Let it stand as a type of the higher quadrupeds.

That the dog remembers, and even to a certain extent reasons, cannot, we think, be contradicted. A shepherd's dog not only obeys its master's directions, but of its own accord will keep the sheep together, prevent them from wandering out of the right track, search for them when buried in the snow, watch over them at night, and defend them against the incursions of the wolf. The sportsman's dog, when he sees his master take down his fowling-piece, examine the locks, and equip himself for the field, is quite aware of the result of these proceedings, and manifests unequivocal symptoms of pleasure. Dogs, moreover, may be taught to beg, to fetch and carry, to feign themselves dead, and continue motionless until the word of command be given, and to take their part in a scenic representation. There are, indeed, numerous authentic instances on record of dogs having acted with astonishing sagacity, and which prove not only memory, but a train of reasoning carried out with singular precision. In such instances, we cannot say that the animals are instinct-directed, because the actions performed are out of the common course of events, and are only occasional; every dog, under the same circumstances, would not act in anything like the same manner.

There are, however, bounds beyond which the most intelligent dog cannot pass; and why?--the anatomy of his mind is different from that of man. His senses, that of touch excepted, are as acute as those of man, some far more so, but his reasoning powers are confined within a small circle. For example, education does not really elevate the dog over the wild packs of his own species--it rather rivets the chain which binds him to man as his lord; it enfeebles his instinct, and renders him at once more dependent and more useful; it places him in many different, and in a certain sense, unnatural spheres of action; it renders him a shepherd, a guard, a hunter, but it adds not positively to his information; he has no ideas of the beautiful or the sublime--of truth, of virtue, and vice--of humanity, pity, charity; he reflects not that death is his doom, even though he sees from time to time his companions expiring around him. It is, in fact, first, because the most elevated ideas or reasonings of the dog are merely simple, and those within a narrow compass; and, secondly, because the dog is utterly incapable of forming any abstract idea that education cannot elevate it above itself. It has not man's mental anatomy. The rudest savage can devise the bow, and the spear, and various other implements; he can fashion them because he has hands, but his hands are only the servants of his mind; had not his mind been what it is, his bodily organization would have been otherwise, but still in just harmony. In the savage lie the dormant germs of lofty intellect, and in his line, at some future generation, may a Milton, a Shakspere, a Newton, arise; sage poets, statesmen, and philanthropists, men of whom England boasts--England, whose children are the descendants of a semi-barbaric horde, which spread ruin in its westward progress.

But what the dog was in the earliest ages, what it was in the times of classic history, that it continues to be; on the contrary, man can emerge from a savage to a civilized state; acquire new wants and supply them; improve upon first principles, and take step after step in the pursuit of knowledge; add improvement to improvement; begin by building a frail coracle, and then launch his steam-ship on the water--begin by erecting a low kraal, and then erect the palace of Cæsar, or the temple of Athens.

Reflex operations of the mind are denied to brutes--even to the dog, an animal which the Almighty evidently created for the special service of man: hence, though the avenues to their minds are the same, reason has but a feeble grasp upon the sensations which there enter; and that mysterious power, quality, or impulse, which we term instinct, rises predominant, and leads to operations which in man could only be the result of reflection and experience. Yet, as we have said, the actions of the dog, and we may add of the elephant, the horse, and other animals, are not all instinctive, neither do all the actions of man proceed from a train of reasoning, for some of his, even, are instinctive: the love of offspring on the part of the mother is entirely instinctive in its source.

It is, then, easy to see how it is that even the highest brute, with a mind limited as we have described, and with instincts which guide in the place of mind, can never improve or add to any store of knowledge, can never conceive one abstract idea--such as eternity, infinity, matter, space, etc.--and can never investigate the laws of creation--can, in fact, be only what it is. The utmost extent of something like knowledge which the most intelligent and sagacious dog acquires, dies with it, and its successor has to learn all for itself. As for language, in the true meaning of the word, of what use would it be to brutes? Among the highest, as far as the necessity of communication extends, cries or modulations of tone and certain actions suffice to convey a distinct meaning; among the lowest, there is no necessity even for utterance, and there is no sense of hearing, nor even of vision. Language supposes a mind constructed like that of man, and as he emerges from a rude to a cultivated state, in like proportion will his language increase in copiousness and perspicuity, if not in force.

Let us here, without bewildering our reader in a maze of metaphysics, just glance at a few of the characteristics or faculties of mind, briefly anatomizing them, in order that we may clearly exhibit the mental distinction between man and the higher orders of beasts, by way of showing what the mind in each case derives from the inlets of the senses.

1. A Knowledge of Self-existence, or Personality.--This knowledge appears to us to be rather instinctive than the result of reflection, as some believe; we know intuitively that we exist, because we feel, because we see and hear, because we move, because we hope and fear; nor will all the arguments which Berkeley or his disciples can adduce, convince any person that he exists only in idea.

That animals of the higher grades, at least, have this knowledge is very evident; gregarious habits, mutual recognition, the watch and ward system, characteristic of so many species both among mammalia and birds--a thousand circumstances which our readers may call to mind, prove it. We need not insist upon the subject. It is a feeling rather than a portion of knowledge; it is intuitive, and experienced alike by the ploughman at his work, by the horses who labour in the furrow, and the busy rooks which follow in their track. Where there is fear, or pleasure, or pain, or desire, there must self-consciousness be--a feeling of self-existence. We have no reason to believe that plants possess this feeling.

2. Memory.--Memory is a mental exercise, or faculty, of the greatest importance to man; it is in constant requisition; without it our intellectual improvement would be confined within very narrow limits. Our acquirement of language, and of the rules of sciences and arts, depend upon this faculty, and it is strengthened by habitual exercise. Between memory and recollection, there is a slight shade of difference. A man may say, "I remember the events of the year 1848"--"I recollect such an event, now that you mention it." Events may be recollected after being forgotten, and often are so in illness--nay, forgotten languages have sometimes been fluently spoken. It often happens--why so, we cannot say--that circumstances or events, long passed from the mind, present themselves suddenly to it with extreme vividness, and are thenceforth remembered; but oftener does it happen, that the sight of some object, or that a sound, a note, a tune, a word, recalls to the mind forgotten events, bygone circumstances, hopes passed away, pleasures long fled, feelings long quiescent. This species of recollection has been called by some writers the "power of association." It certainly depends upon an association of ideas, which, on the key-note being struck, pass involuntarily through the mind; a sight or sound will often call to mind, with singular rapidity, a vision of other years, or of scenes far distant, towards which the heart intently yearns. Witness the effects of the air of the Ranz de Vache upon the Swiss soldiers in Napoleon's army. Recollection is often the result of attention. We remember a certain event, but forget the year in which it occurred; we direct our thoughts to the subject, we compare circumstance with circumstance, date with date, until at last--

"It breaks upon the mind, and all is clear."

That brutes possess memory is indisputable; indeed, we might fill pages with instances of the power of memory in animals, some rather startling; but as common every-day observation enforces the fact upon almost every one, we need not insist upon it. However, by way of adding interest to a disquisition some may deem dry, we will introduce the following anecdote, related by Mr. Corse, in his Observations on the Natural History of the Elephant: "In June, 1787, Fâttra Mungul, a male elephant, taken the year before, was travelling in company with other elephants towards Chittagong, laden with a tent and some baggage for our accommodation on the journey. Having come upon a tiger's track, which elephants discover readily by the smell, he took fright and ran off to the woods, in spite of the efforts of his driver. On entering the wood, the driver saved himself by springing from the elephant, and clinging to the branch of a tree under which he was passing. When the elephant had got rid of his driver, he soon contrived to shake off his load. As soon as he ran away, a trained female was dispatched after him, but could not get up in time to prevent his escape. She, however, brought back his driver, and the load he had thrown off, and we proceeded without any hope of ever seeing him again. Eighteen months after this, when a herd of elephants had been taken, and had remained several days in the inclosure, till they were enticed into the outlet, there tied and led out in the usual manner, one of the drivers, viewing a male elephant very attentively, declared he resembled the one which had run away. This excited the curiosity of every one to go and look at him; but when any person came near, the animal struck at him with his trunk, and in every respect appeared as wild and outrageous as any of the other elephants. At length, an old hunter coming up, and examining him narrowly, declared he was the very elephant that had made his escape about eighteen months before. Confident of this, he boldly rode up to him on a tame elephant, ordering him to lie down, and pulling him by the ear at the same time. The animal seemed quite taken by surprise, and instantly obeyed the word of command, with as much quickness as the ropes with which he was tied permitted; uttering at the same time a peculiar shrill squeak through his trunk, as he had formerly been known to do, by which he was immediately recognised by every person who had ever been acquainted with this peculiarity." The same observer informs us, that another elephant, a female, taken in 1765, was turned loose in 1767, and retaken in 1782. She then recollected the customs and words of command learned during her former bondage; she laid herself down at the command of her driver, he fed her from his seat, gave her his stick to hold, which she took with her trunk, put it into her mouth, and returned it as she was directed, and as she had been accustomed to do.

Phil. Trans., 1799.

3. Attention.--Attention is an abstraction of the mind from a multifarious variety of trifles, or circumstances, and an energetic direction of it to one subject, or object. In attention many, if not all, the senses may be engaged. For example, a botanist gathers a flower; its beauty, the form and substance of its petals, their colour, its aroma, the honey-dew of its nectary, the peculiarity of its calyx, and other qualities, appeal to the mind through the senses of sight, smell, taste, and feeling. He has to describe this flower--he fixes his mind upon it, and puts forth a graphic delineation in apt and concise language. The ploughman is at work, and the sower of grain follows him--both give their whole mind to their duty. The critic (oh, word of fear!) gives his attention to the matter under his revision; and so does the cook, when preparing a recherché dish on the composition of which he prides himself. And does not the tiger, crouching in ambush, give attention to his object, stimulated in the meantime by hope? Who has not observed multitudes of cases, affording examples of attention in brutes? In fact, attention is a faculty displayed by all brutes, especially by those which lead a life of rapine, for upon its exercise depends their daily support. But man alone can direct his attention to things intellectual, abstruse, or religious. The reason is evident--the brute is incapable of abstract ideas, but quite awake to its own present necessities. The high realms of thought belong to man alone, of all terrestrial beings; but in how far higher a degree to those spiritual existences, those angels of light, which surround the throne of God, and who, contemplating with amazement the finished work of salvation, exclaim, "Worthy is the Lamb that was slain to receive power, and riches, and wisdom, and strength, and honour, and glory, and blessing!" nay, till we mingle with these transcendent beings, the powers of our mind will be pressed down beneath a load of clay; then all that was dark shall be made clear, and with angels we shall join in saying, "Amen: blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honour and power and might be unto our God for ever and ever!"

But we are told that there are angels "which kept not their first estate," and which are reserved "unto judgment of the great day;" namely, Satan and his apostate subordinates. Fallen though they be, their brightness "has not lost all its original splendour;" but they exercise their high powers in tempting and seducing to his eternal ruin man, whom Satan by his wiles has already crushed, and robbed of his original innocence. Let us strive against the tempter, the deceiver, who lays luxury, licentiousness, gold, fame, power, before his willing slaves, trying them on every point, and inducing too many to fall irrecoverably. But God's thoughts are higher than our thoughts, or than the thoughts of man's crafty adversary; and in wisdom he devised that mighty scheme, through which rescue and pardon are freely granted to all who accept the invitation of the Redeemer, "Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest;" "All," he says, "that the Father giveth me shall come to me; and him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out," John vi. 37. Jesus is the Conqueror, and death is swallowed up in victory. Flee, then, from the city of destruction; and though the slough of despond or the valley of humiliation be before, press forward, awakened sinner, to the heavenly Jerusalem! on that let your thoughts be placed.

4. Comparison.--The direct comparison of one object with another, with a view towards the acquisition of information, is exercised by man alone of all animals; but that superficial and involuntary comparison which leads to the simple distinction of things, as of land from water, or trees from houses, is common both to animals and man. Choice supposes the exercise of comparison, in a low degree, and this a bird displays in the selection of a spot for its nest, and the beaver in that of a site for its dam and village. In both these cases, however, instinct impels to the labour, and supplies the place of experience.

5. Knowledge of Cause and Effect.--A knowledge of the connexion between cause and effect is the result of experience alone. We thus accumulate a number of facts, and by reasoning upon those facts, can infer with certainty what would be the result under such or such contingencies. That brutes gain information to a certain extent by experience is very plain. We have seen a monkey break nuts by hammering them upon a stone--we have seen the orang try to pick the lock of its door with a bit of stick--we know instances of horses disengaging themselves from their headstall, unbolting the stable door, and making off to the pasture; a cat in our possession was accustomed to leap up and open the latch of the kitchen door, whenever she wished to enjoy a stroll. We might multiply examples, but so many will suggest themselves to the reader's mind, that we may spare ourselves the task.

With a knowledge of the connexion between cause and effect is associated that of power. Give me where to stand, said Archimedes, and I could move the world. Man's natural powers are very limited, but his comprehensive mind enables him to overcome the most formidable obstacles; to bore through the mountain, to uproot it from its base, and scatter its fragments over the plain; to over-arch rivers and arms of the sea with iron pathways; to travel as rapidly as most birds fly; to upheave ponderous masses of stone, and to compress light and flocculent materials until they become solid and heavy. But man accomplishes all this and far more, not by his own bodily powers, but by machinery of various kinds, and of various degrees of simplicity or complexity; nay, he cannot even cultivate the soil, except by the aid of implements, that is, simple machines.

Brutes entirely depend upon their own bodily powers, and gain a knowledge of the extent of those powers by experience. An old hunter will never attempt a leap which he knows he cannot accomplish--a young, fiery horse will make a dash at it, and perhaps fail; if he succeed, his dependence upon himself will be confirmed; on the other hand, should he not succeed, it is more than probable that he will lose all self-confidence, and therefore be henceforward useless for the chase.

The elephant skilfully uses its tusks as levers, in the uprooting of trees; and when the megatherium and mylodon wrestled with the noblest productions of their primeval forests in South America, they applied in the best manner their forces and the means at their command. What is this but a knowledge (limited, we allow) of the relationship between cause and effect? The camel, when overladen, utters loud cries, and refuses to rise at the command of the driver; this was also a peculiarity of the llama, when that animal was exclusively the carrier of the Andes.

With respect to a knowledge of power, as regards ourselves personally, or as displayed by brutes, we cannot help thinking that much depends on an instinctive perception, added to, no doubt, by experience. All animals, from man downwards, apply their force according to their conformation; the horse kicks--the lion strikes with his terrible paw--the hyena seizes with his jaw--man uses his arms; but man also brings art to aid him in his bodily exertions. Hence the strongest man falls under the skill of the trained wrestler; but the contest of brutes is that of force. Hence it is that man invents weapons which render the weak and the strong on a level, and which give to skill the predominance over force. This, too, implies a knowledge of the relationship between cause and effect, but a knowledge which brutes, if we except the chimpanzee, do not display. The chimpanzee, it is asserted, uses a club as a weapon, but we do not advance this as a fact positively established; indeed, we doubt it; we have never seen this animal use a stick, as we should use it in striking.

6. Time.--Man alone can invent artificial methods of measuring time; in an uncivilized condition he avails himself of the sun and moon, of the changes of day and night, of the tides, of the seasons, using them as natural chronometers. The higher brutes evidently possess some knowledge of time, as evidenced by the migration of birds, the relief of each other, as in the case of pigeons, at stated intervals on the nest, and, perhaps we may add, the storing up of food for future consumption. On this latter point, however, we will not insist, for most probably it is the result of an entirely instinctive impulse; we have known a caged squirrel make a hoard. The dog, says M. Ebzéar Blaze, "reasons, calculates, knows how to count the days of the week, and even those of the year. Thus, for example, a dog belonging to M. Roger went every Saturday, at two o'clock precisely, from Locoyarne to Hennebon, (a distance of three kilomètres;) it set off in a straight line to the butcher's, because that was their day for killing, and he was certain of having a good regale upon tripe. He was capable, then, of counting the days, since he never left home except on the Saturday. At the house of the same M. Roger, family prayer was kept up every evening, and the dog listened to the service tranquilly, but, as may be supposed, impatiently, for as soon as the last paternoster was commenced, he rose up and placed himself near the door, in order to make his exit immediately on its being opened."

Histoire du Chien.

We do not pretend to say that all animals calculate time, or that any have the power of calculation which man has; and as for any abstract idea respecting time or eternity, it is out of the question. Hence they neither look back upon time, nor forward into the future. Their measure of knowledge is wisely allotted to them; it is in due accordance with their animal wants, and final destiny; but man, the heir of immortality, destined to exist throughout eternity, is so mentally gifted as to be able to think and reflect upon the past, the present, and the future. Were he not immortal, he would never, perhaps, have been endowed by his Maker with the idea of a future life. However this may be, the Holy Scriptures assure him of a life to come, and for which he must prepare himself only by one way. The hopes of the idolater are false. Oh, then, how desirable it is that a knowledge of the true way of salvation should be spread throughout the world; that error and superstition should be banished; and that the light of the gospel should cast its heavenly radiance over the benighted regions of the earth!

7. Locality.--A knowledge or perception of locality, that is, of one place as distinct from another, is regarded by some as a result of the agency of an exclusive mental power; but for ourselves, we see in it only the exercise of attention, leading to distinction, and involving the aid of memory. To attempt to prove that man is endowed with this capability is useless; so is the dog, so is the cat, so are all our domestic animals. Attention, distinction, and memory, are exercised by the carrier-pigeon; when let free, at a long distance from home, it returns, and rests on its old abode. But what are we to say in the case of other animals, as the dog, the cat, and the horse, travelling back from a great distance to their home, without having gained the experience of the pigeon by soaring aloft, and surveying a wide extent of land below? It is well known that year after year the swallow and the martin, and other migratory birds, return to the same spot, in order to rear their brood. Swallows and martins have been marked, so that there could be no possibility of mistake. These birds take their departure in autumn, journeying southwards; they then traverse Europe, and cross the Mediterranean; they winter in the warmer regions of Africa, and on the return of spring they commence their northern flight. What directs the course of a particular pair of swallows from central Africa, over land and sea, to a particular cottage or barn in Middlesex, Surrey, or Berkshire? Again, with respect to the bee, which wanders miles away from its hive, visiting fields and gardens in quest of honey--how is it guided in its outward and homeward flight? Has it landmarks?--does it know each wall, each hedge-row, each tree, each garden and field over which it passes? If so, how do the bees find their way to and from the floating apiaries on the rivers, through various parts of the European continent, and also in Egypt, the resting-place being continually changed according to the judgment of their owners? In Egypt it is the practice to transport the apiaries to distant places, in order to take advantage of the succession of flowers. "In Lower Egypt, for example, about the end of October, the bee-keepers embark on the Nile, and migrate with them to Upper Egypt, calculating to arrive there when the inundation is rapidly subsiding, and the flowers are beginning to bloom. Having stayed a short time in one place, till they suppose that the bees have collected all the honey and wax of the district, they remove two or three leagues lower down, and so on, as the plants come into bloom. Thus gradually returning homewards, they collect the honey of the adjacent country; and about the beginning of February, having travelled the whole length of Egypt, arrive at the spots whence they had set out, and at their habitations. Niebuhr saw, between Cairo and Damietta, a collection of four thousand hives, in their transit from Upper Egypt to the Delta." How do the bees, their locality being thus changed from time to time, find their way, not only to the boat of hives, but to their own peculiar hives respectively? There are points in the economy of animals which we cannot fathom, and it is better to confess our ignorance than to attempt a puerile theory. To speak truly, we cannot answer the question.

Nat. Cyclop.

8. There are certain qualities of mind, certain principles which, whatever doubt may be held respecting our previous observations, at once distinguish man, and elevate him far above the highest brute. In fact, they take him out of the pale of the brute creation, and isolate him amidst the living creatures by which he is surrounded. He is the only animal being who can form any idea of God and his attributes, of eternity, of virtue and vice, of justice and mercy; in his breast alone are implanted conscience, faith and hope, repentance and spiritual peace. Herein have we an argument, to prove that man is not made to begin and end his career on this world, beautiful as it is, and fitted to meet all his animal powers, senses, and enjoyments. Why, indeed, should these principles be implanted in man--principles immediately bearing upon a future state of existence, if that future state were not ordained? Where in creation can a similar anomaly be demonstrated? Every brute is gifted with vital functions and organization fitted to its destined mode of life, and with a kind and degree of mind (where this is needed) in exact accordance thereunto. Beyond this all is blank; indeed, the most wonderful works which brutes perform, and which in man would argue great thought and experience, are in them the result of instinct alone. The beautiful corals and zoophytes, which we so much admire, are instinct-built tenements. Instinct teaches the bee how to arrange her waxen cells, and load them with honey as a provision for the winter, and the bird how to build her nest. On the contrary, the operations of what may be called mind, in contradistinction to instinct, are displayed only by the higher brutes, and, more over, are limited within narrow bounds.

We have heard persons assert, that a dog manifests the workings of conscience, because it often betrays itself by its timid, irresolute manner after pilfering, as if conscious that it had done wrong. The fact is, that the dog is conscious of no moral guilt; it has been previously punished for a like offence, and fears a repetition of the punishment; this is the solution of the whole affair.

We have so far shown the great superiority of the mind of man above that of even the highest brutes, and not this only, but its essential differences, thereby rendering its possessor, indeed, the paragon of animals. Let us now endeavour to explain what information is gained by him from the exercise of the senses.

In speaking of God, and of celestial beings, we always use, and cannot but use, language drawn from the properties, qualities, and appearances of things around us, or from the passions of our own minds, or from the configuration and actions of our own bodies. We cannot, in fact, conceive of God except figuratively--hence to the limit of our intellect is the language of Scripture adapted. Though written under inspiration, it was written by men, and for men; and, therefore, the personification of the Almighty is unavoidable. It is said, "Thy way is in the sea, and thy path in the great waters, and thy footsteps are not known;" we talk of the "work of his hands," of "the arm of God," etc., and we know that we are speaking figuratively, and it is because we know this, that we turn with disgust from the pictures, however elaborate, which, painted by Roman Catholics, represent the God of heaven and earth under the similitude of an aged man, with a long beard, and white hair, looking down from the clouds. We know that "God is a Spirit," but we have no conception of what a spirit is; we know nothing of spirit--nay, we know nothing of matter essentially; it is only of some of its properties that our senses afford us information, and it may have many properties, for the discernment of which no senses have been bestowed upon us. Well, then, may it be written, "Canst thou by searching find out God? canst thou find out the Almighty unto perfection?" We cannot, however, doubt, that the Almighty has given to us a mind and senses quite adequate, not only to our animal wants, but to our spiritual pilgrimage through this transitory scene, until we arrive at those realms of bliss, where ignorance shall be exchanged for knowledge, and every difficulty cleared away.

Psa. lxxvii. 19.

Job xi. 7.

Considerations like these add interest to the inquiry--What variety and extent of information do we, as intellectual, immortal beings, gain through our senses? A little thought will convince us that, without the reflective agency of our minds on the impressions received by the senses, and the power of conceiving abstract ideas, the simple impressions of colour, solidity, weight, sound, flavour, or odour, would be but meagre sources of knowledge. As it is, they are the broad inlets of knowledge. Let us take them in succession, commencing with a new chapter.