LECTURE IV. Ir was said by a very learned man, in by-gone days, that "to the reflecting portion of mankind the desire of knowledge is as natural as reason, it exerts itself with force and vivacity through every stage of life; and we might receive all the benefits this happy disposition is able to produce, did we employ it upon objects equally qualified to engage the mind by pleasure, and fill it with clear and instructive ideas." Now this double advantage is to be attained, in full perfection, by the study of nature; whether we consider the structure and assemblage in general, or take a survey of her beauties in particular. Through all her works she is qualified to please and instruct, because they are all full of harmony and contriv ances. All the bodies that surround us, the least as well as the largest, acquaint us with some truth; they have all a language, in which they address themselves to us, and to us alone. We learn something from their particular constitution, and their determination to a certain end points out the intention of the Creator. The relations they bear to one another, as well as to us, are so many distinct voices that call for our attention, and which, by the counsels they give us, replenish our lives with accommodations, enrich our minds with truth, and warm our hearts with gratitude. The mighty Architect of nature is as conspicuous in the structure of a fly's paw, as He is F in the bright globe of the sun himself. In a word, we may say, that nature is the most learned and complete of all books; she comprehends at once the objects of every science, and never confines her instructions to any particular language, or to any particular people. But to my first musing. The scenes we are daily permitted to behold are truly magnificent, but that which our view cannot take in at once we may divide, and enjoy by parts. I am about to speak of insects, so much despised by many. I assure you, they are infinitely calculated to delight by their variety, their dispositions, their policy, and the wonderful proportions of their organs, as well by a hundred curiosities to be observed in them. If the Deity did not think it unworthy of Himself to create them, it cannot surely be beneath us to consider them! When we examine them by a nearer view (through the microscope), they cannot fail to afford us infinite matter of astonishment. Judge then, by what is most obvious and familiar to our observation, how much of that which is concealed from our eyes and reason would surprise us were it divested of its veil. Every insect, whether it flies or creeps, is a little animal, composed either of several rings which shrink from, or approach one another in a common membrane that collects them; or else of several distinct scales, that slide over one another; or lastly, of two or three principal parts, connected by a thread they call a ligature. Of the first sort are worms, as well those which have feet as those which are without them. When they would pass from one place to another, they dilate the musculous skin that separates the first ring from the next. They advance the first ring, whether it be near the head or tail, to a certain distance; and then, by contracting and expanding the skin of that part, they move the second ring, the same effort draws the third, and so the whole body marches in succession. In this manner these little animals, even without feet, move and transfer themselves where they please; rise out of the earth, and retire into it, at the appearance of the least danger, and advance and retreat as need requires. Of the second sort are flies, and maybirds, besides an infinite variety of others, whose body is an assemblage of many little scales, which dilate by unfolding themselves, or contract by sliding over one another, like brassets in our old suits of armour. Of the third sort are ants, spiders, and several others, that you see divided into two or three parts which hardly appear to be connected with each other. It should seem that the term insect, which is appropriated to all these separate parts, sections, and moving rings, is derived from a Latin word which signifies to cut, and is applied in general to all these little creatures. Their minuteness seems, at first view, to justify the contempt generally entertained of them; but in reality it affords us fresh reason to admire the art and mechanism of their structure, which associates so many vessels, fluids, and movements, in a point that is frequently imperceptible to unassisted sight. Vulgar prejudice considers them as the effects of chance, or the refuse of nature, but the attentive discover in them a wisdom which, far from neglecting them, has been particularly careful to clothe, arm, and accommodate them with all the instruments necessary to their condition. This wisdom has arrayed them, even to a degree of complaisance, by laying out such a profusion of azure, green, and vermilion, gold, silver, and diamonds, fringe, and plumage, upon their robes, their wings, and the ornaments of their heads. I say plumage, because that on the wings of the butterfly, which appears nothing but dust when rubbed off, is in reality beautiful little feathers perfectly formed. We need only behold the Spanish dragon, and butter |