round upon her children when they are assembled before her like a flock, and say which she could spare from among them! But the demand is, 66 take thine only son"-in whom the life of both parents is bound up. To part with an only child for a season, opens the fountain of a mother's tears, and adds to the grey hairs of his father. To lose him by death, is to cause them to go bitterly in the anguish of their soul all their days. What was it, then, to offer an only son as a sacrifice, and to be himself the priest who should plunge the knife into his bosom? But he obeys-obeys without a murmur! He rises early in the morning to immolate his child, and to offer, on the altar of God, all that he held most dear in this world. On the third day, the destined mountain marks its elevation along the line of the horizon, and meets the eye of the afflicted parent. The servants are not permitted to witness the awful scene, the solemnity of which they might disturb by lamentations—or the execution of which they might prevent by force— or, wanting their master's faith, might draw from it inferences unfavourable to religion. At this moment, to awaken in his bosom extreme torture, "Isaac spake unto Abraham his father, and said, My father and he said, here am I, my son. And he said, Behold, the fire and the wood; but where is the lamb for a burnt offering? And Abraham said, My son, God shall provide himself a lamb for a burnt offering: so they went both of them together," But we will no longer attempt to scent

the violet, and to paint the rainbow. We must draw a veil over the scene; for who can enter into a father's anguish, as he raised his hand against his child? and who shall be bold enough to attempt a description of his rapture, when Heaven, which had put his faith to so severe a trial, commanded him to forbear, and indeed provided itself a victim?

THE ORPHAN BOY.

How interesting he appears to every feeling mind! A child robbed of his mother, excites universal commiseration, and commands affection from every bosom. We look forwards with anxiety to

every future period of his life; and our prayers and our hopes attend every step of his journey. We mingle our tears with his, on the grave of her, whose maternal heart has ceased to beat; for we feel that he is bereaved of the friend and guide of his youth! His father would, but cannot, supply her loss. In vain the whole circle of his friendships blend their efforts to alleviate his sorrows, and to fill the place occupied by departed worth: a mother must be missed every moment, by a child who has ever known, and rightly valued one, when she sleeps in the grave. No hand feels so soft as her's-no voice sounds so sweet-no smile is so pleasant! Never shall he find again, in this wide wilderness, such sympathy, such fondness, such fidelity, such tenderness, as he experienced from

his mother! The whole world are moved with compassion for that motherless child: but the whole world cannot supply her place to him!

THE GOD OF NATURE.

WHY does my heart beat with pulsations of rapture, when my eye measures yonder heavens, or glides over hills and vallies along the surface of this beautiful world? When the dew sparkles upon the ground, a kindred tear glitters upon my countenance: but it is not the tear of sorrow; it springs from a well of unspeakable pleasure which I feel flowing within my bosom! Is it merely the softness or the grandeur of the scenery by which I am surrounded, that affects me? No! but my spirit meets a Parent walking invisibly on the globe that he formed, and working manifestly on my right hand and on my left. All these lovely objects are the productions of his skill, the result of his wisdom, the tokens of his benevolence, the imperfect images of his greatness. Every thing demonstrates the being and perfections of Deity. I see him empurpling the east before the sun in the morning, and wheeling the orb on which I live round upon its axis. I behold him throwing the mantle of darkness over me in the evening, and kindling the skies into radiance by unveiling suns and worlds without number and without end. I gather a flower, and am revived by its fragrance; I see shade melting into shade infinitely above any com

bination of colours, which art can produce. To aid the organ of vision, I inspect, through the microscope, an insect. I see it painted into a thousand brilliances, and displaying a thousand beauties, imperceptible to the naked eye. I stand convinced that no mortal pencil could delineate the loveliness of its form. I perceive a grain of corn peeping above the earth. It scarcely rears its light green head over the ground. I visit it day after day, and month after month. It gradually increases. It is an inch-it is a foot in height. Now it assumes a new shape. It vegetates afresh. The ear begins to form-to expand-to fill. Now it has attained its growth-it ripens-it is matured. I have narrowly watched the progress of vegetation; and have seen its advancement. I beheld every day adding something to its height, and to its perfection: but the hand which raised it from "the blade to the ear, and to the "full corn in the ear," escaped my researches. I find a crysalis, and watch the secret movements of nature. The insect is shrouded in a living tomb. It begins to stir —it increases in strength—and the butterfly breaks from its confinement. Meeting with ten thousand such wonderful productions every day—I recognise in them the great Spirit that animates all created nature, and I am compelled to acknowledge, "O Lord our Governor! how excellent is thy name in all the earth; and thou hast set thy glory above the heavens,"

per

I pass on to the animal creation. There I ceive other operations, and am overwhelmed with

new wonders. The principle on which they act, and which is termed instinct, is the gift of God; and it appears to differ from the immortal principle in man, in its confinement to a certain inferior standard, and in its direction to one particular pursuit, adapted to the peculiar nature and exigencies of its possessor. I see the timid acquiring courage while they have a maternal part to perform; and, forgetting to measure the disproportion between their own strength and that of their antagonist, boldly assaulting those superior animals, which designedly or unintentionally, disturb the repose of their young. Their instinct enables them to perform those things to which it is particularly adapted, with more order and facility than man, with his superior understanding can accomplish; and, with the simple tools of nature, they effect that which the complex machinery of art cannot produce. All the animate creation, from the elephant, and "that great leviathan," among animals, to the bee, and the ant, among insects, still conduct us to the invisible God; and we say "The earth is full of thy riches; so is this great and wide sea, wherein are things creeping innumerable, both small and great beasts. O Lord, how manifold are thy works! in wisdom hast thou made them all."