other of the several planetary orbits, between those of Mars and Jupiter a planet seems wanting to keep up the general regularity of the progression; second,—four very small bodies have been found, quite in modern times, revolving between these two larger planets, and their mean distance would be the required position. The far more probable conjecture, however, is, that some extraordinary violent lunar volcanic eruption has projected a mass so far as to take it into the sphere of the earth's attraction. It would go up so far that going up would become going down. Telescopic observations, too, have often suggested the notion of powerful volcanic action in the moon. Now the composition of the aërolites, which is, in every instance, very similar to that of the rest, furnishes no unknown elements. Those which fell at L'Aigle, in France, 1803, contained, silica, 46 per cent.; iron, 45; magnesia, 10; sulphur, 5; and nickel, 2. All these are found in the composition of our own planet.

P. Have you any other remarks to make on the subject?

T. There is one remarkable substance so universally diffused that the universe itself might almost be said to be united by it,—I refer to light; which, as far as observation has been applied,—and it has been applied both extensively and carefully,- -seems to be everywhere the same, and to be governed by the same laws, whether it be the light procured on earth,— as, for instance, from combustion,—or that flowing from the heavenly bodies. Our own planetary system affords opportunities for investigating its laws of motion, direct and reflected; and all investigation brings us to the same conclusion, that light, whatever it is, and whencesoever it may be derived, is still the same,—that light is light. Science, in point of fact, conducts us to the declaration of Scripture, the solemn sublimity of which the heathen Longinus acknowledged : "And God said, BE LIGHT, AND LIGHT DID BE!"

P. How, then, do you state your conclusions?

T. It appears so highly probable, that we may generally speak of it as a fact, that the vast masses which compose the material universe are made up of the same elements; and that as these elements exist in various combinations, what we call chemistry is a connected system of facts and laws, not to

be restricted to our earth, but belonging to the entire universe. It is one class of the general agency employed in creation at large, one portion of that system of universal law by which God exercises his omnipotent rule over all material existence, and by the instrumentality of which such wonderful effects have been produced, and still are produced, in our own world. Leaving out of sight the vast masses of inorganic matter,— in the composition of which, nevertheless, the chemist discovers such admirable wisdom, such all-effecting power,in organized beings it is the main instrument by which they become what they are. When organic chemistry is before us, we shall very plainly see this. But to afford you only a general illustration, and which shall, at the same time, awaken your curiosity, think of the seed of some plant deposited in the proper soil. We say that it sprouts and grows, and eventually is developed into a plant. I refer not now to the organization of the plant, and I lay aside all consideration of the mechanical laws which, within their own limits, govern its substance, or contribute to its growth. I only look at the substances which the plant contains, and which it has derived from the soil, and the atmosphere, and what may be associated with them. From these it has derived certain of the elements, an account of which I have given you; but it received them simply as elements. Suppose I just refer to one plant, in passing. Here is the lavender. You know the beautiful essential oil, as it is termed, which distillation can obtain, and the chemist resolves it into its constituent parts. But in the plant these are found wonderfully combined into a mechanical whole,―mechanically inseparable, and only reducible to their elementary form by chemical processes. Nevertheless, the plant did not primarily derive them in this their compounded state. It either took up the simple elements, and then life, acting by organization, combined them; or, taking them up in a more composite form, the same life, acting by the same organization, first decompounded them, resolving them into their simple elements, and then, re-arranged them so as to form other compounds, in which we find the characteristic of the plant. So also in man. We take our daily food: but see the chemistry of the human body. Life, acting through

organization, first decomposes our food, and then recombines it into blood. Other elements are received by respiration, and these are combined with the blood in the lungs; and the blood, thus prepared, is then sent to every part of the body; and everywhere, life, like an able chemist, by means of organizations, whose method of proceeding we cannot discern, arranges and fixes the elements thus conveyed, or some of them, so as that just where it is wanted they supply just what is wanted. Here you have, life, the chemist; the organization at any given point, his instruments of working; and blood, formed from food by digestion in the stomach, and prepared for its purposes by pulmonary aëration, as the material with which he is to work. And now look at the chemistry of life in man. Here flesh is produced, and, in various parts, flesh of various kinds; here, bone; here, hair; here, bile; and so on, of all that is found in the human body. It is a chemical laboratory, set up and arranged for certain purposes. And these purposes are answered. By eating and breathing, we take in regular supplies of the requisite materials; and then, to repeat what I have said, life, acting by organization, decomposes the whole, and arranges them under a new form; and then, that form being perfected, by numberless channels sends the supply to every part; and there chemistry is again at work, so as that just what is wanted, and nothing else, is found where it is wanted, and nowhere else. O, it is wonderful beyond expression! If we did this ourselves, knowingly, it would be wonderful. But it is done in us, and yet, in one sense, not by us. So far as our own consciousness is concerned, it is done unconsciously; and yet so perfectly, so unerringly, that we can scarcely help thinking of an intelligent and conscious agent. Not to the mere organization of man should we refer, when we say, "We are fearfully and wonderfully made:" though the organization of man is every way most wonderful. We should also look at the processes that are continually going on, and their results,—that is, at the chemistry of this living and organized framework. In a still more solemn astonishment, in richer and more fervid adoration, shall we then be led to say, "O Lord, I will praise thee; for I am fearfully and wonderfully made!"

P. You consider chemistry, then, as a universal agent? T. Yes; and we thus obtain, as I have just intimated, a distinct class of phenomena, illustrating the divine perfections; for we are never to forget that whatever the particular class of phenomena may be, the examination discloses the same perfections; while the relation which each class bears to all the rest, and the evident existence of all the classes in one system, beautifully illustrates the fact on which the Scripture lays so much stress, and to which nature, when properly examined, bears such decided testimony, that these perfections belong to one Being, and only to one,―himself the independent and eternal Being, and the source of all other beings, -Jehovah, the only living and true God.

In astronomy we see his perfections in the action upon other masses, often at immense distances: in chemistry, we see them in the action upon each other of atoms inconceivably minute, at distances inconceivably minute likewise. It is thus that we see the wonderful combination of ceaseless change, with perpetual stability. Rightly is it said, "Thou establishest the earth, and it abideth." But while "it abideth," the constituents of the mass remain ever the same, and constitute a series of operations continually going on, and producing continual changes in their relative positions, and in the visible character of their results when they come within human cognizance.

P. And of all these changes chemistry is the instrument?

T. Even so. And thus that knowledge which, in a Davy, for instance, seems to us so wonderful, was but an irradiation from that fulness of light which has dwelt from eternity in the Creator. And the next step we take will lead us into mysteries greater, if possible, than those we have already contemplated. We have considered the elements among which chemical changes take place; we must now consider the forces by means of which they are produced. Such are, HEAT, LIGHT, ELECTRICITY,-in connexion with which GALVANISM and MAGNETISM are to be viewed,—and also LIFE.

SINGULAR ILLUSTRATION OF THE POWER OF INSTINCT IN A BIRD.

(From Peabody's "Life of Wilson," the American Ornithologist.)

ONCE, when travelling in Tennessee, he was struck with the manner in which the habits of the pennated grouse are adapted to its natural residence on dry, sandy plains. One of them was kept there in a cage, having been caught alive in a trap. It was observed that the bird never drank, and seemed rather to avoid the water; but a few drops happening one day to fall upon the cage, and to trickle down the bars, the bird drank them with great dexterity, and an eagerness that showed she was suffering from thirst. The experiment was then made whether she would drink under other circumstances; and though she lived entirely on dry Indian corn, the cup of water in the cage was for a whole week untasted and untouched; but the moment water was sprinkled on the bars, she drank it eagerly as before. It occurred to him at once, that in the natural haunts of the bird, the only water it could procure was from the drops of rain and dew.

MONT BLANC FROM THE SUMMIT OF THE
COL DE LA SEIGNE.

It is from this point that the traveller suddenly looks upon the south side of Mont Blanc. No effort of imagination or art can ever convey to the mind any idea of the glorious aspect which the mountain here presents. On the side next Chamouni its giant form is clothed in perpetual snow, and its lower part still affords earth enough for vegetation, except where the glaciers move downwards into the valley; and the whole scene, nothwithstanding its sublimity, still retains some traces of beauty. But the side towards the Allée Blanche, which we are now contemplating, consists only of black naked rock, forming a succession of nearly vertical precipices from eight to ten thousand feet in altitude, and extending for nearly twelve miles in length. The valley runs towards the south-east the right side of it consists of the snow-covered slopes of the Cramont and the left of Mont Blanc and its needles. The mountain itself appears as if it had been split,