ignorance, overlook some important element; but undoubtedly a chief part of our enjoyment arises from a secret sentiment of sympathy. A concerted movement implies a common will; and this, of itself, excites an agreeable sensation in the mind, when that will is directed to some useful object. The pleasure, too, arising from a scheme of utility successfully completed, is another moral eleinent that enters into the feeling. The farmer has sown in hope, he is now reaping in joy, and we feel a sentiment of congratulation, even where we have no opportunity of expressing it. We place ourselves in his situation, and shadow forth to our imaginations what he must feel at this consummation of his labours and anxieties. That this is a very principal part of our enjoyment, will appear obvious, if we only consider, that the feeling is much enhanced by the luxuriance of the crop, and the favourable nature of the weather. Let any man fancy to himself, what would be his sensations, were he to see the very same operation going forward in a field overgrown with weeds, or where the hay was stinted in its growth, or withered by the drought; or if he saw the mowers plying their task, for some cause or other, in the midst of a storm; yet the movements are the same; the associations only are changed.

The very same observations may be applied to the other labours of the hay field. It is the pleasure of sympathy, an excitement of the benevolent feeling in our breast; and it is a wise arrangement of our Creator, that all rural occupations, prosperously carried on, are attended with a similar feeling. It not only increases the sum of our enjoyments, but, in a very salutary manner, exercises the social virtues.

Mr. Alison, in his work on the 'Principles of Taste,' extends this view even to rural scenery. 'A common English landscape,' says he, 'green meadows, with cattle, canals, or navigable rivers; well fenced, well cultivated fields; neat, clean, scattered cottages; humble antique churches, with church-yard elms, and crossing hedge-rows, all seen under bright skies, and in good weather;-there is much beauty, as every one will allow, in such a scene. But in what does

the beauty consist? Not certainly in the mere mixture of colours and forms; for colours more pleasing, and lines more graceful (according to any theory of grace that may be preferred), might be spread upon a board or a painter's pallet, without engaging the eye to a second glance, or raising the least emotion in the mind; but, in the picture of human happiness that is presented to our imaginations and affections, in the visible and unequivocal signs of comfort, and cheerful and peaceful enjoyment, and of that secure and successful industry which insures its continuance, and of the piety with which it is exalted, and the simplicity by which it is contrasted with the guilt and the fever of a city life; in the images of health, and temperance, and plenty which it exhibits to every eye, and the glimpses which it affords to warmer imaginations, of those primitive or fabulous times, when man was uncorrupted by luxury and ambition, and of those humble retreats in which we still delight to imagine that love and philosophy may find an unpolluted asylum.'

There is much good feeling as well as sound philosophy in this view, although there may perhaps be a somewhat undue but excusable leaning to the author's own peculiar theory. The beauty and general truth of the sentiment that follows, cannot fail to strike every mind, whether the philosophical view which it is intended to establish be adopted or not. 'At all events, however, it is human feeling that excites our sympathy, and forms the object of our emotions. It is man that we see in the beauties of the earth which he inhabits; or, if a more sensitive and extensive sympathy connect us with the lower families of animated nature, and make us rejoice with the lambs that bleat on the uplands, or the cattle that ruminate in the valley, or even with the living plants that drink the bright sun and the balmy air, it is still the idea of enjoyment,-of feelings that animate the existence of sentient beings, that calls forth all our emotions, and is the parent of all that beauty with which we invest the objects of the inanimate creation around us'

Without determining whether or not there may be too

much exclusiveness in this view of the origin of a sense of the beautiful, I shall add that there is here a foundation for a deep and enlightened devotional sentiment. While our sympathies go forth towards our fellow mortals, in the contemplation of the objects with which we are surrounded, we have but to take another step to connect this feeling with the the Author of all that interests our affections, and calls forth our emotions. Such, indeed, is the habitual feeling of the pious mind. He sees God in every thing; and, whenever his heart overflows with pleasure, it rises in gratitude and admiration to the Source of all pleasure, his taste acquiring new expansion, his sentiments additional force and elevation, and his enjoyments a warmer and brighter glow.

THIRTEENTH WEEK-WEDNESDAY.

THE VARIETY, BEAUTY, AND UTILITY OF ORGANIZED EXISTENCES.

THE variety which characterizes nature is very striking, and never appears so remarkable as during the full flush of summer, when organized life is in its greatest vigour. The beautiful undulations on the surface of the earth, which exhibit every where new scenery, and delight us with their graceful outline and contrasted figure and shades, form a fitting groundwork for the varied productions which that surface contains. If we turn our eye to the vegetable kingdom, how numerous and how varied in form and qualities are the plants with which we are surrounded, and what diversities in their colours, their size, and their odours! From the humble moss to the stately oak there is a continual change of properties and of shapes, which seems to indicate variety as one of the prime intentions of the Creator; and yet, along with this variety, there is a constant reference to a general type. Although in every order and class these are specific differences, and in the various species of each class these differences are prodigiously multiplied, yet among them all there

is a peculiar character which marks vegetable nature, and from that character there are no deviations.

The very same thing may be said of animal life. There are not fewer varieties in this department than in the former; and here, too, there is a particular type from which nature does not deviate. There may, in truth, be said to be only two types among organized beings, the vegetable and the animal; and even these have their analogies and correspondences which invest them with a similar character, and mark them with the impress of the same Almighty hand. But, within the limits which the Creator has assigned to himself, the variety is indeed amazing. It seems as if all forms, all properties, and all modes of existence were exhausted. Not only is there an immense diversity in the orders and families, but that diversity extends to individuals, so that it has been said, with great probability, that in the myriads of leaves belonging to the same tree, or to all the trees of the forest, it is impossible to find two in all particulars perfectly alike.

There is much wisdom and goodness in this sameness, combined with diversity. It is in fact the foundation of our knowledge of natural objects. Were there no plan in nature, there could be no generalization; were there no diversity, there could be no individual distinctions. It cannot be said

that this arrangement was necessary. It is easy to conceive a world formed altogether on a different scheme, or even without any scheme at all. That there is a distinct and harmonious system, implies intelligence; that it is diversified, implies some specific intention. What that intention is may be inferred from other considerations.

There is beauty in this diversity. That is to say, the human mind is so constituted as to derive enjoyment from the particular forms and combinatious which nature exhibits. It may be difficult to determine in what the idea of beauty consists. This is a subject which has occupied the ingenuity of speculative minds, and given rise to different theories of taste: but on whatever principles of our nature it depends, the fact is the same.

There is nothing in the general aspect

or circumstances of the objects with which we are surrounded to excite disagreeable sensations. Sometimes, indeed, the eye may be shocked, or the ear grated, or the sense of touch, of smell, or of taste offended; but these are rare exceptions, just sufficient to show us how miserable we might have been rendered had nature been constituted otherwise. The adaptation of our perception of beauty to actual appearances is therefore a most beneficent provision.

The nature and extent of this adaptation are under no circumstances more observable than during the revolution of the summer months. What loveliness is abroad in the earth, the sea, and the sky! The morning-dawn bursting from the womb of darkness, the full splendour of noon, the softened charms of sunset and the evening twilight, and the glories of night which lights its thousand lamps,-what are these but so many indications of Divine beneficence? The balmy softness of the air, the ever-changing curtain of the floating clouds gracefully drawn over the sky to mitigate the excessive fervour, with the refreshing coolness of the shade and the gentle breeze, speak the same language. The flowers that enamel the meadows, graceful in their form, lovely in their harmonizing hues, and grateful in the sweetness of their perfume; the herbage in its various kinds; the bushy shrubs; the majestic trees, differing in size, in shape, and in shade; the living world in all its diversities-the trout leaping from the pool, the busy insect fluttering in the sunbeam or moving across our path, the bird with its painted wing and sweet song, the domestic herds and flocks quietly grazing on hill or dale, the beasts of the forest which occasionally start from bush or brake,-each and all seem formed to fill the mind with agreeable sensations, and to raise it in adoration to the Giver of all good.

'Everywhere,' says the pious Sturm, nature works to procure us new enjoyments-even the smallest insects, leaves, and grains of sand, offer subjects of admiration. The same brook that waters the valleys, murmurs sweet music to our ear, invites us to soft repose, and refreshes the parched tongue.