accede or not to this subjugation to opinions which enslave us. But truth and justice have broken these bonds."—But where is the force of the argument which entitles this perfecter of the Newtonian philosophy to exult so much? It all rests on this, That this earth is but as a grain of mustard-seed. Man would be more worth attention had he inhabited Jupiter or the Sun. Thus may a Frenchman look down on the noble creatures who inhabit Orolong or Pelew. But whence arises the absurdity of the intellectual inhabitants of this pepper-corn being a proper object of attention? it is because our shallow comprehensions cannot, at the same glance, see an extensive scene, and perceive its most minute detail.
David, a King, and a soldier, had some notions of this kind. The heavens, it is true, pointed out to him a Maker and Ruler, which is more than they seem to have done to the Gallic philosopher; but David was afraid that he would be forgotten in the crowd, and cries out, "Lord what is man that thou art mindful of him?" But David gets rid of his fears, not by becoming a philosopher, and discovering all this to be absurd,—he would still be forgotten,—he at once thinks of what he is—a noble creature—high in the scale of nature. "But," says he, "I had forgotten myself. Thou hast made man but a little lower than the angels—thou hast crowned him with glory and honour—thou hast put all things under his feet." Here are exalted sentiments, fit for the creature whose ken pierces through the immensity of the visible universe, and who sees his relation to the universe, being nearly allied to its Sovereign, and capable of rising continually in his rank, by cultivating those talents which distinguish and adorn it.
Thousands, I trust, there are, who think that this life is but a preparation for another, in