The subsequent remarks will be entirely confined to the last particular-our being "fearfully made," because it is the most af fecting topic. It was so as it regarded our first progenitors; but it is more especially so with us in our present condition. We are, indeed, in all respects less wonderfully made now, than we were originally constituted, because, in consequence of sin, our bodies are enfeebled, deformed, and diseased; and, for the same reason, our intellectual powers and moral sensibilities are greatly impaired, and that finely balanced influence which the soul and body had on each other is lost. The glory of our primeval state is departed from us. And while we are now less wonderfully, we are more fearfully made, because we are not only fallible, but actually fallen. This fallen state of our nature, which is inseparably connected with our very existence, constitutes us an easier prey to our spiritual enemies, and renders our being destined for eternity the more alarming and awful. Not only has "the crown fallen from our head," but "wo is unto us," because we "have sinned!" In attempting more particularly to explain the phrase, fearfully made, it should be observ- | ed, that, while the word fearful, in its common acceptation, designates an individual of a timid, suspicious cast of mind, it sometimes, though not often, denotes those qualities of a person or thing which excite fear and painful apprehension in the breast of others. The former may be called its subjective, the latter its objective import. Thus the term, according to the sense in which it is used, may be applied to a coward, or a ruffian; an infant, or a fiend. It occurs adverbially in our version of the Scriptures, only in the passage under consideration; but it very frequently appears, in its adjective form, in both the senses just noticed. An instance of each shall be cited. When our Saviour had "rebuked the wind, and said unto the sea, Peace, be still," he said unto his disciples, Why are ye so fearful"-so timorous? "How is it that ye have no faith"-no confidence? Here the word must be understood subjectively. The other instance is also supplied by our Saviour, who, in enumerating some of the calamities which should come to pass at the destruction of Jerusalem, said there shall be "fearful sights." Here the term is used objectively, and is expressive of events which should produce fear and alarm in the minds of those who should behold them. It is obviously in this latter sense that we are said to be "fearfully made." But though the term is employed objectively, yet its signification does not exactly accord with that which it generally has, when used in this manner; for man is not considered an object of fear in the same sense as a lion or a bear. Though, when viewed in connexion with his conduct, and character, and final destination, he produces fear in the minds of serious and discerning spectators, it is not the fear or apprehension that he will injure them, but that he will ruin himself. As, however, the subject seems more easily * Mark iv. 40. Luke xxi. 11. to admit of a familiar illustration, than of a correct definition, two or three supposed cases shall be adduced for this purpose. See, then, a thoughtless, playful, tottering infant too near the fire or the water; observe a blind person without a guide, walking on a dangerous road; or behold an intoxicated man on horseback galloping along the very edge of a tremendous precipice; we are instantly and greatly alarmed; we tremble for their safety. The next moment they may be irretrievably lost! In pursuing and completing the intended illustration, it should be observed, that the fear excited in each of the preceding cases, and in all similar ones, is always in exact proportion to the value of the object on one hand, in connexion with the degree of its danger on the other. For instance, see an empty boat pushed off in a high sea-there is danger; but, as the boat is, comparatively speaking, of no value, there is no anxiety about its fate. On the other hand: see a boat full of passengers in a calm sea-there is value; but, as they are not apparently exposed to danger, no fear is excited. But, see a boat full of people in a rough seathere is both value and danger. Then we are deeply interested in the scene-then we are unspeakably alarmed for their welfare; the next wave, we say, with an intensity of feeling not to be described, oh! the next wave may overwhelm them! Now, if we were brought into existence in circumstances similar to these, or if the properties of our nature and our station resembled them, we should say, we are "fearfully made." And this was the case. Danger and value attached to man in his original state, and they still attach to us. The former consists in our being made fallible -fallen-exposed to temptation-and accountable; the latter in being made the heirs of immortality, possessing at the same time, vast and ever-increasing susceptibilities of happiness or misery. If, then, as individuals, we are so fearfully constituted, it should teach us to guard against the folly of leaning to our own understanding, or trusting to our own heart, or in any way making flesh our arm. When we reflect on our weakness, in connexion with the duties we have to perform, and the enemies we have to contend with and to vanquish, and particularly when we take into the account our final and everlasting destiny, the character of which depends on our present predominant choice and our prevailing habits and pursuits-for, Man is the maker of immortal fates, we should forever renounce all self-dependance. "If we call on the Father, who, without respect of persons, judgeth according to every man's work," we should "pass the time of our sojourning here in fear;" a duty which is enforced upon us both by the character of the being on whom we call our final and impartial Judge, and by our own needy, helpless, and dangerous circumstances, which are acknowledged by our calling upon him. Let it be our daily care, in the exercise of faith and humility, to confide in his paternal keeping; believing that we shall eventually realize the truth of the declaration, that "happy is the man that feareth always." SIMPLEX. From the Winter's Wreath. ON THE STUDY OF NATURAL HIS- BY WILLIAM SWAINSON. Ir has ever been the custom of mankind, in estimating knowledge, to set the highest value upon that which may be practically applied to their temporal advantage, their convenience, their wants, or their luxuries; and to estimate science in proportion as it leads to academic honours, popular applause, or lucrative reward. The day has not yet passed when every pursuit beyond this range is met by the question of "cui bono?" and unless the inquirer is told that some tangible good will be the result, he turns in silent pity from the man who is so unprofitably employed. It No science has suffered more from this mode of reasoning than Zoology. Its application to the wants of man is slight, and generally so remote as not immediately to be perceptible. It has not, like Chemistry, been employed to the improvement of manufactories; nor can it furnish much to assist the never failing invention of man. It cannot, like Mineralogy, direct us to the discovery of subterraneous wealth, or assist Astronomy in giving power and increased confidence to the mariner. cannot contend with Botany, either in adding to the luxuries of the palate, or to the elegancies of taste. Neither in conclusion does it lead, as all these kindred pursuits do lead, to pecuniary recompense or public professorships. Great as these disadvantages undoubtedly are, there is another which is infinitely greater. This arises from the erroneous idea so generally prevalent, as to the real objects of this study. Nor is this ignorance confined to the many; for even naturalists who enjoy no small popularity have fallen into a similar error. By these it has been constantly inculcated, that the true object of Natural History is to acquire a knowledge of the species, and to make that knowledge subservient to the benefits of mankind. That this definition has been most prejudicial to the cause of truth, can admit of no doubt. It has taught the student to believe, that when he had examined an animal or plant, ascertained its name, and arranged it in his collection, it could teach him nothing more, and that the true end of Natural History, in this instance, had been accomplished. On the other hand this mistaken view of the subject has strengthened the popular prejudice. It was seen that collectors aimed at nothing higher than the possession of a museum labelled with hard names; and that those whose pursuits led them to expound the works of Divinity, dwindled into compilers of systems, or collectors of beetles. as an intellectual pursuit would not be very high. It would, in fact, derive all its importance from a selfish or interested consideration, and would inculcate the principle, that a knowledge of the works of God was only desirable, when it could be applied to the artificial wants of man. To adopt therefore, either of the preceding views as definitions of Natural History, is to mistake the means for the end, and to leave off at that point, where, in fact, we should begin. Such expounders of Nature view her works through a medium the most contracted: they examine with microscopic eye the seve ral parts of a complicated machine, without bestowing a thought upon the principles by which these parts are reciprocally connected, the power by which the whole is regulated, or the effect it is intended to produce. I mean not, by these remarks, to diminish the force of those arguments which have been employed, with great truth and eloquence, to show the advantages of Natural History to the mind, when it is merely limited to a consideration of an individual object. The plumage of a bird, the tints of an insect, even "the poor beetle that we tread upon," are of themselves calculated to excite admiration, and to raise the thoughts to Him who made them. But what I wish to inculcate, is, that the study of nature has higher, immeasurably higher demands on our attention: that beyond all this, which speaks only to the eye, there is, as it were, an invisible world of order, harmony, and connexion the most wonderful: and that it is only when we look beyond the individual, and enter into this intellectual region, that the true object of the study takes its commencement. It is then that we begin to perceive, that the Book of Nature, no less than that of Revelation, is throughout a volume of types and symbols. The one teaches us, in part, the mysteries of God in the redemption of mankind. The other is opened to us, that we may gain some insight into the wonders which every where surround us-wonders which all indeed can see and admire, but which few can comprehend-and even these most imperfectly. It is only when the mind takes a higher range, and seeks to obtain a glimpse of the vast plan of creative Wisdom, that we can have the least conception of those mysteries which can never, in this world, be fully comprehended. Sufficient however will be revealed, both to the eye and the understanding, to give us the most sublime ideas of the whole: and while we trace the wisdom of God in earthly things, which we ourselves can see, our faith will be strengthened in heavenly things, which are at present hid from our sight. It may further be remarked, that Natural History, as professing to expound the works of Other naturalists, again, have rested the Omnipotence, becomes from that very cause importance of these studies on their connexion one of the most dignified that can employ the with the self-interests of man, and appeal to human mind. It seems, in short, to be that pethe discovery of the silk-worm, the cochineal culiar study, which above all others, has been insect, and the pearl oyster. They insist, with designed for giving us the greatest insight reason, on the intimate connexion between into His ways. In this respect it is even supeNatural History and Agriculture. This is un-rior to Astronomy. The grandeur of the hea doubtedly true; but had this science no higher venly bodies may speak more immediately to object, whatever might be its utility, its claims our senses, and their periodical movements disposition will be found; each of these secondary groups will form their own circles of affinity; these again are found to contain smaller circles, till at last the inquiry becomes limited to the individual species. But the discoveries of those few, who have pursued this line of inquiry, have not ended here. It is found, notwithstanding this complicated system of circles, that each is connect more readily excite our wonder. But all inquiry into their nature is futile. We know not whether those distant worlds are inhabited by mortals or by spirits, or whether they are the abodes of happiness or misery: all this is hidden from human research. But with Natural History the case is different. The myriads of organized beings that cover the surface of our globe, are continually before our eyes: we can distinguish their races, examine their struc-ed to another, and to all, either by direct affiture, and even explore their habits and economy. And if our knowledge of the system of their creation, will bear no comparison with that which is known on the general laws which regulate the planets, it is only because the minds of most men have dwelt on details, instead of grasping at general principles. There may be some who think, that even to attempt such a discovery, as the plan which the Almighty has pursued in creation, is altogether vain, if not bordering upon impiety. Might not the same argument be used against Astronomy? And was it not actually used in the infancy of science? In regard to spiritual things, we not only know that the human mind is limited, but we also know the extent of those limits. But in natural science, although we feel the impossibility of even comprehending the nature of things in perfection, we are utterly ignorant of those limits which invisibly circumscribe our understanding. The discoveries of this age, in every branch of science, would no doubt have appeared perfectly visionary to those who lived in the last; while that knowledge upon which we may now pride ourselves, will no doubt, in the estimation of future ages, appear as comparative ignorance. In Astronomy, indeed, we feel how hopeless it is to gain any information on the true nature of the heavenly bodies; yet we have been permitted to understand the great principles by which they are regulated. We know to a certainty that our own planet daily and annually revolves in two descriptions of circles, and that numerous others move in all directions on the same principles. Now, however unintelligible such a complicated system may at first appear, yet the discoveries of science have made it both plain and undeniable: and that an assemblage of stars, which to the uninformed observer seem promiscuously scattered in the firmament, are nevertheless regulated by a plan the most beautiful and wondrous that can possibly be conceived. Now there is incontestable evidence to prove, that the same system which is found to govern the heavenly bodies--a system plainly circular -is typically represented on earth, and is that upon which the whole of organized matter has originally been planned. If either the animal or the vegetable kingdom be attentively considered, they will each present a certain number of primary divisions, following each other in a series of affinity. They will also have this remarkable peculiarity, that the last will so intimately resemble the first, that the sories returns again to the point from which the investigation commenced; and thus by the union of the first division with the last, the whole can only be represented under the form of a circle. Again, if any one of these primary divisions be examined singly, the same nity or relative analogy. An example may explain this part of the subject more fully, and I shall give one which the most philosophic naturalist of the age has pointed out. There is a particular group of beetles, characterized by feeding upon living vegetables only: these exhibit five variations of form, very distinct in the typical examples, but in those insects which constitute the intermediate links, these variations are so diminished that one form insensibly blends into the next. On the other hand, there is another group of beetles, all of which derive their sustenance from decayed vegetables, their construction, no less than their food, is strikingly different from the former race: these likewise are composed of five subordinate families, and like the others, are connected among themselves by a circular series of affinity. Now upon comparing the two races, they present such a wonderful resemblance in respect to analogy, that not only the five principal families in each agree in one or more striking peculiarities, but it may even be said that every insect in one race finds its representative in the other. In short, not only in this instance, but throughout nature, there reigns a symbolical relationship, from the highest to the lowest of created beings. Their very forms and colours are not only important to their peculiar habits or economy, but are employed as types and symbols to designate something more. Thus, whether our attention be directed to the animal or vegetable kingdom, to the terrestrial or celestial world, one plan alone is discernible; and that itself is typical of ETERNITY—an attribute which proceeds alone from the Great Architect of all.t It is only under this view that Natural History assumes her true dignity, and detaching herself from all those pursuits which point to earthly advantages, takes her station by the side of Religion; and like her, directs mankind to the contemplation of Omnipotence. Well therefore may it excite surprise, that in a science so peculiarly connected with Christianity, a neighbouring kingdom should hitherto have taken precedence over a nation incomparably more religious. The truth is, that to this day there are few who have any definite notions on the matter, or who are in the least aware of the station which Zoology is now assuming. These causes can alone account for not a single professorship of Natural History existing at either of our Universities; when they are to be found in every petty city on the Continent; and for the remarkable fact, that the greatest Naturalists of this country are living either ined to see him die. Others have sung of Death, retirement or obscurity. Like the Poet in Rasselas, "they are only known or valued but by men like themselves." The French Philosophers of the present age have acquired great and deserved fame by their splendid discoveries in Physiology, Geology, and comparative Anatomy; but as regards the Natural System, or that which is to develop the plan of Creation, it is not too much to say, that the book of nature to them has been hermetically sealed. Their discoveries will indeed remain; for these regard things which are immutable; but their systems and theories, formed either without any reference to religion, or in direct opposition to its greatest truths, are even now fast tumbling to decay. They may indeed be remembered, but only as lamentable instances of the infirmity of our nature, which taking not God for its guide, perverts His works to inculcate the baneful principles of materialism and infidelity. See! Lucifer falling, son of the morning! Demons to caverns of darkness retire; They cannot endure the "Spirit of burning"They cannot withstand Omnipotent ire. Now is the ensign of mercy displaying! Now is the banner of Jesus unfurl'd; And thousands of souls this moment are praying, His kingdom may spread all over the world. Bright Sun of righteousness! clad in thy glory, Rise on the nations benighted, and shine; Disperse all the clouds and darkness before thee, Diffuse all around thy splendour divine. From the Eclectic Review. J. M. 1. THE COURSE OF TIME; a Poem in ten Books. By Robert Pollok, A. M. In two Volumes. 12mo. pp. 520. Edinburgh. 1827. 2. PALINGENESIA. The World to Come. *roy. 8vo. pp. 276 and 30. Paris. 1824. THE World before the Fall, the World before the Flood, have each found an historian in the poet, and have been as it were revealed to us in the visions raised by a creative fancy. The first man has been sung, in his glory and his fall; and we have been a second time summon the Grave, the Last Man, the Last Day. But we have now before us an attempt bolder than all these such as might seem to require a combination of the varied powers of imagination exhibited by all preceding bards: it is an attempt to pass, in a direction opposite to that which Milton took, "The flaming bounds of time and space." Nor would success in the daring enterprise be too dearly purchased by the same penalty. "My eye unscale; me what is substance teach, And shadow what, while I of things to come, As past, rehearsing, sing the Course of Time, The second Birth, and final Doom of man." These lines, taken from the invocation, will give a general idea of the theme which Mr. Pollok has chosen, and of the serious spirit in which he has undertaken his task. Of the Author himself, we are unable to give our readers any account. He comes before us without any previous notice or introduction; and, for any thing that appears to the contrary, this may be his first effort, his maiden production. The poem presents itself without apology, proem, argument, or table of contents;-we cannot say whether this be owing to inexperience, modesty, or the pride of conscious genius. And we think it not unlikely that, on the bare mention or first discovery of the plan and subject of a poem which commences with the end of time, and the first volume of which carries the retrospective narrative beyond the Millennium, the last five books being occupied with the course of events subsequent to that period, -the reader will be ready to resent the presumptuous and almost profane temerity of such an undertaking. It is not, indeed, in every mood, that either the critic or the casual reader will be qualified to do justice to such a poem. Yet, a very slight inspection may satisfy him, that the Author has powers which must rescue even failure from contempt, and that his purpose has been befitting "argument so high." Palingenesia," which we have understood to be from the pen of the Rev. Lewis Way, is a poem of a very different order. It is in fact, as it professes to be, a "didactic essay," upon the Millennium. The subjects of the two poems are to a certain extent so far similar, that we have deemed this a proper occasion for noticing a work which it would be injustice to pass over; but it will claim to be reviewed as an essay, rather than as a poem; and with regard to the views and sentiments only which it advocates, would it be fair, perhaps, to bring it into close comparison with Mr. Pollok's more efficient production. As we wish our readers to form their own judgment of the latter, before we venture any observations of our own, we cannot do better than submit the general plan of the poem to the test of analysis, making the Author describe his argument as far as possible in his own words, and reserving any critical remarks for the conclusion. "Long was the day, so long expected, past, Of the eternal doom, that gave to each Of all the human race his due reward. The sun-earth's sun, and moon, and stars, had ceased To number seasons, days, and months, and years To mortal man; hope was forgotten, and fear; And Time, with all its chance and change, and smiles, And frequent tears, and deeds of villany, Or righteousness,-once talked of much as things Of great renown,-was now but ill-remembered; In dim and shadowy vision of the past, From pilgrimage, and war, and weeping, long "Thus far the years had rolled, which none but God Doth number, when two sons, two youthful sons Of paradise, in conversation sweet, (For thus the heavenly muse instructs me, wooed At midnight hour with offering sincere Of heaven, walked, casting oft their eye far through The pure serene, observant if, returned The celestial citizens welcome the stranger, whose face betrays a sad concern, occasioned, as he proceeds to explain, by his having wandered far into the region of eternal, uncreated night, where, suddenly, he came in view of the adamantine confines of the den of perdition; and he asks their " elder knowledge" to explain the origin and purpose of that dreadful place. They reply, that they had indeed heard of its existence, but required to be themselves further taught on the mysterious subject. "For we ourselves, tho' here, are but With truth and melody delighted both. "So saying, they linked hand in hand, spread out Their golden wings, by living breezes fanned, And over Heaven's broad champaign sailed serene. O'er hill and valley clothed with verdure green That never fades; and tree, and herb, and flower, That never fades; and many a river, rich Pleasure, due only when all duty's done. spot, The sacred bower of that renowned bard; A laurel tree, of lustieth, eldest growth, And out before him opened, in prospect long, To this ancient of Adam's race, who cannot be mistaken, the two their new companion introduce. He repeats his story, and puts a series of questions bearing upon the awful mystery. He receives for answer, that the place he saw is hell. "But whence or why they came to dwell in wo, Why they curse God, what means the glorious morn Of Resurrection.-these a longer tale |