out and apply the evidence, to develop and enforce the truth with clearness and energy,-which ought to have been throughout the specific object of the treatise,-seems frequently either to be forgotten, or thought unnecessary. Too much is left to the intelligence and sagacity of the reader. In short, this Bridgewater Treatise is made up too exclusively of natural history, and not sufficiently of natural theology.

The deficiencies above alluded to, (if such deficiencies be allowed to exist,) or rather, the sort of incongruity which exists between the object and execution of the work in question, have their origin, doubtless, in the professional and scientific habits of the author. Devoted assiduously, during a long life, to the sciences of obserration and experiment, to wit, anatomy and physiology, he has been too intent on the composition and mutual relations of animated beings, and the laws which regulate their movements, to bestow much time on the higher and more abstract, and somewhat foreign truths of natural theology. To the writer's almost exclusively professional pursuits, too, we feel disposed to ascribe the immethodical and rather desultory character of his book. We search it in vain for that luminous order, that joining together of naturally related parts, that ingenious linking of propositions which we delight to see, and which serves so much to give continuity, and cohesion, and beauty, and effect to discourse. Doubtless, Sir Charles thinks his life has been more profitably spent than in the study of dialectics, and the graces of composition; but that he would have acquitted himself better, in this instance, by a greater and more early familiarity with the art of writing, (an art which men of science are too apt to neglect,) we are not allowed to question.

Notwithstanding these defects in the work before us, we have derived great pleasure and instruction from its perusal. It is well worthy of a careful reading, as we intend to demonstrate to the reader, as far as possible, by the extracts which we shall make. In the remarks which follow, we shall take a wide range, somewhat in the manner that Bell has done, without confining ourselves to the mechanism and relations of the hand merely. For the purof illustrating our argument, we shall avail ourselves of whatever facts may come in our way, whether in the endowments of men or brutes.

pose

Nothing can afford a more palpable and unanswerable demonstration of the power, wisdom and goodness of God, than the human body. In it, we see these attributes illustrated with such copiousness and variety, as to convince the most incredulous. What a wonderful, what an exquisitely formed piece of mechanism! How splendid the conception, and how perfect the execution! How many intricate and distinct contrivances, all harmoniously conspiring to produce one complex and beautiful whole! Where

can the great argument for design, and for a benevolent Design be more triumphantly sustained, than by a reference to our orga constitution, and its vital endowments? Where can the athe tical doctrine of chance, that climax of all absurdity, be so easi met and refuted? And yet, how few, even of the religious publi have paid any particular attention to the argument of an overruli providence, as it really exists within their own frames ? Eve those who think themselves tolerably conversant with natural th ology, but who have not made the science of organized beings distinct study, know little of the sort of evidence which they bea around with them,-its amount of overwhelming force. The strang neglect of this most interesting and useful department of know ledge, we have to deplore on very many accounts, for the sak of religion, philosophy, education and all the practical concerns o life. On this subject, Sir Charles Bell remarks:

*

There is inconsistency, and something of the child's propensities still in mankind. A piece of mechanism, as a watch, a barometer, or a dial, will fix attention; a man will make journeys to see an engine stamp a coin or turn a block; yet the organs through which he has a thousand sources of enjoyment, and which are themselves more exquisite in design, and more curious in contrivance and in mechanism, do not enter his thoughts and if he admire a living action, that admiration will

* Were correct physiology generally understood among the learned, many questions, not only of practical interest, but of abstract metaphysical inquiry, which have been warmly, sometimes intemperately, agitated, time out of mind, would be conclusively, and finally, and satisfactorily settled. The conclusions of President Edwards, relating to moral liberty and necessity,-conclusions which be has established in a most masterly and unanswerable manner, on the ground of pure metaphysical reasoning, are perceived at a glance by the well informed physiologist. No extended linking of syllogisms, no ostentatious parade of logic is necessary. What has cost Edwards a whole volume of subtle argument, might be attained by immediate inference from a few fundamental principles of physiological science. And not only would opposition be silenced, (the most which has been done by this acute reasoner,) but the practical assent would be forced and confessed. The chief error of Arminianism would be seen and acknowledged. Its foundation-principle would be overthrown. When every mental affection is known to have, for its uniform and invariable antecedent, a particular organic state, the question which regards the moral necessity of buman actions, is of course settled. Were this much vexed question thus finally disposed of, men would be driven to place morality on its true and proper basis. All would be forced to give their assent to the self-evident proposition, that the moral character of an act depends, not on its antecedent, or something which went before it, or something besides itself, but upon its own intrinsic nature or attributes. An act would be judged to be free and worthy of praise or blame, because it was felt to be so, and could not be felt to be otherwise; not because it was determined, or contingent; not because of the existence or character of some foregoing act, (whether of self or some other being,) which leaves its nature unchanged,-which has no relation to it except the relation of priority. Did the moral character of an act consist, not in its own nature, but in some quality or circumstance belonging to its cause or antecedent, we should be driven to the necessity and absurdity, of supposing an infinite series of causes, to arrive at a single virtuous or vicious action.

probably be more excited by what is uncommon and monstrous, than by what is natural and perfectly adjusted in its office,-by the elephant's trunk, than by the human hand.' p. 23.

This indifference is probably the effect of habit. A long contiqued familiarity with an object or contrivance, particularly if there is no recollection of the time when an acquaintance with it began, renders the majority of mankind perfectly insensible to all that is curious or beautiful in its mechanism or office. The motion of the hand, so simple and so easy, rendering instant obedience to our very wish, (the very circumstance which should most raise our Fonder,) excites no emotion in the mind of the man. He has forgotten the long and painful process by which he learned what now requires no effort to perform. He always seems to have known what he does not remember to have acquired. The power of motion seems an integral part of himself, born with him like his head and shoulders; and a person of ordinary curiosity, no more thinks of instituting an inquiry into its origin, than into that of his own mind; much less does he feel any surprise on account of it. Probably, much of the pleasure which the infant evidently derives, from the first successful attempts to move its little limbs, is the result of a sort of admiration of the movement. Witness the countenance of the child alternately beaming with delight, and fixed in astonishment, as it repeats again and again the motion which it has yet imperfectly learned. What manhood is accustomed to view as a ludicrous mixture of feebleness and awkwardness, he doubtless regards (and justly too,) as an astonishing exhibition of power. And how much more rational, how much less wonderful, are the sometimes boisterous emotions of the nursery, when the young observer begins to exercise the faculties with which God has endowed him, than the general apathy of the mature mind, in relation to bodily movements the most exquisitely graceful and perfect?

In instruments of natural defense, man, of all animals, is the most destitute. But there is good reason for this. Galen has well said, "Did man possess the natural armor of the brutes, he would no longer work as an artificer, nor protect himself with a breastplate, nor fashion a sword or spear, nor invent a bridle to mount the horse and hunt the lion. Neither could he follow the arts of peace, construct the pipe and lyre, erect houses, place altars, inscribe laws, and, through letters, hold communion with the wisdom of antiquity."

Though the human being has not the wings, nor the claws, nor the extraordinary strength, nor the covering of some brutes, he has what serves him far better,-a mind that can conceive, and contrive, and invent; and instruments well fitted to execute its commands. All the parts of his nature have a strict relation and correspondVOL. VI.

8

ence to each other. In other words, he is a system, complete i itself, a machine, in which every part is fashioned with a direc reference to every other part, and with a view to the production o one harmonious and combined result. Nothing can be added nothing can be taken away, no substitution can be made, withou destroying the beauty and harmony of the whole. Take out o this system one of its elements, whether it be an instrument, or a function, or a faculty, or alter in the slightest degree any of the relations which these elements sustain to one another, and this orderly machine, like one of the planetary bodies displaced from its orbit, would rush headlong to destruction. Had man been created insusceptible of that state of the body which we call hunger, or, had the desire of continued existence a much less important place among the principles of his nature, (a very conceivable case,) human existence could hardly have been protracted for a day. Had he other and more powerful weapons for attack and defense, (the impossibility of the thing, without a corresponding change in all his organization and instincts, out of the account,) not only would the danger of sudden passion be increased, and the world filled with violence and murder, but the stimulus to invention, which is the source of all his power over matter and brute force, would be removed. Had the means of gratifying all our desires been placed within our immediate reach; had there been necessary no intermediate steps, or mental process, between the desire and its gratification, our race would never have risen above the level of irrational creatures. It is the excess of man's wants over his direct means to satisfy them, that is the impellent to action,-the parent of his energies, and the moving cause of all the wonders which he is able to produce. On coming into the world, he finds himself hungry, and cold, and naked, and defenseless. Destitute of the instinct which is the guide of the brute; refused the protection of nature, so prodigal of favors to the lower animals, he is driven in upon his own resources, and is obliged to tax his ingenuity, to provide for his situation. Here reason more than compensates for his weakness and deprivations. Instruments to accomplish his designs, present themselves on every side. All nature becomes subservient to his purposes. The very elements, he is able to convert into the most powerful and manageable agents. Thus, from a state of helpless want and dependence, he becomes the lord of creation. His faculties give him a strength and a power, which no mere physical or instinctive endowment could secure. Thus we may see the presumption and folly of those superficial observers, who would perfect this system by giving it certain other forms, or by superadding to it certain of the more perfect instruments of brutes.

There is in all living beings, a precise and beautiful adaptation of

the bodily organs to the intelligence, instincts, and wants of the individual. Do we meet with a carnivorous appetite, and a san guinary disposition? We find, at the same time, an animal whose whole frame is molded in exact relationship to such a constitution; we have all the apparatus for catching and devouring prey,claws to seize and hold it, long and sharp teeth to tear and divide it, strong jaws to crush it, and digestive organs fitted for the assimilation of flesh. We never find an instinct, without corresponding instruments to enable it to attain its specific object or end. The young duck, for instance, which plunges into the water the first time that it comes near it, has a flat body to sustain it upon its new element, webbed feet like paddles for swimming, a long and broad bill fitted for searching the mud in quest of food. Its legs are placed far back on the body, so that walking is difficult, but swimming the easier. It does not seek the water, because of an antecedent knowledge of the peculiarities of its external organization, but because of an irresistible internal impulse. It would hasten to bathe itself in the adjacent pool, (the properties of its nervous system continuing as at present,) though it had the outward form of any other animal, and though inevitable death were the consequence. Of the actual correspondence between its propensity and its bodily conformation, and the safety of yielding itself up to the direction of the former, it does not think, does not even know. Its conduct supposes such a correspondence, but only because its Author is known to be wise and good. Nor, on the contrary, do we meet with instruments suited for particular purposes or habits, without a corresponding provision in the brain, a faculty instinctive or intelligent, to secure those acts and that mode of life for which they are adapted. Had the dog, with his present propensities and endowments, been furnished with wings or horns, there would have been some reason to charge the Deity with a want of wisdom and benevolence; for then we should have had an instance of instruments given without the capacity to use them. Let the dog have his present brain, and attach to him wings the most perfectly adapted to fly, (a thing which would require the new modeling of his entire frame,) and he would never acquire a knowledge of their use. They could only serve to embarrass and incumber. Were it consistent with the present form of the sheep, that he be provided with the paw of the bear, this latter could be but an awkward and inconvenient appendage. There would be no power to wield it, no propensity to apply it to any of the purposes for which it is fitted. In such a strange connection, it would afford a notable instance of incongruity of design. Such an absurd association, the joining together of things so discordant, would at once convict the Creator of weakness or malevolence, would prove him capable of a blunder, for which even foolish and short-sighted man would have