But a far more refined and varied pleasure, arising from the sense of taste, is enjoyed by man. The lower animals, indeed, show preferences in the choice of their food; and the greediness with which they devour one kind of vegetable production rather than another, proves that they are capable of degrees of enjoyment, according to the peculiar flavor of their food. But this exists only to a limited extent, and seems to be bestowed chiefly, if not exclusively, as an instinct distinguishing between what is more or less salubrious. In the human species, it is different. It is not so much instinct as experience and habit which regulates the choice of his food; and among articles of subsistence equally wholesome, there are great diversities as to what is palatable or otherwise. The truth is, that his taste, as I have already hinted, is obviously intended as a stimulus to his active powers, as well as a source of varied enjoyment; and to accomplish this double purpose, he is furnished with a palate delicately alive to the perception of differences in flavor and pungency. Adapted to this palate are the various vegetable productions with which he is surrounded, or with which he can furnish himself, so diversified in their qualities and modes of existence, as well as in their manner of affecting his taste, and in the degree of enjoyment which they afford. It is striking to run over the numerous productions even of our common gardens and orchards with these considerations in our view, and to think of the roots, the tubers, the bulbs, the broad juicy leaves, the farinaceous seeds, the fleshy and succulent fruits, with their almost interminable varieties of fragrance and flavor, of sweetness and acidity, of mellowness and pungency, all so wonderfully suited to gratify the taste, and stimulate the appetite. If we look beyond our own country, and think of the vegetable produce of other climes, we find the catalogue wonderfully increased, and discover still more reason to admire the diversified resources of Nature, and the peculiar sensitiveness of the human palate, which can so accurately distinguish, and with so much relish appreciate, all that is exquisite in these diversities. The east, the west, the north, and the south, all furnish new and agreeable means for the gratification of our sense of

taste; and in the varied sensations to which these varieties give rise, new departments are opened of commercial activity, discrimination, and enterprise.

That this extensive and curiously varied system of edible vegetation has been constructed for wise purposes, we might, à priori, be entitled to conclude from considering the wisdom which appears in every other department of nature. That its effects are practically useful, and admirably adapted to the circumstances and character of man, will be obvious if we consider what the effect would be of a different system. Let any man, for a moment, imagine to himself what consequences would arise from the human palate being formed with the obtuseness of that of the brutes. I do not speak of the sensual enjoyment which we would thus lose, for that, to a rightly-constituted mind, is little. The cottager, in his frugal repast of potatoes or of prepared corn, may feel as much real content, and as substantial a pleasure, as the gourmand, surrounded with all the luxuries of the table. But I refer to the effect that would be produced on the human community. Those who are aware of the workings of society, will scarcely think it too much to say, that had not the nice perceptions of the human palate been bestowed, a vast stimulus to mental and bodily exertion would have been wanting, which, to say the least, must have most materially interfered with the advancement of mankind in the race of civilization.

The recent transportation of fruits from one region to another, has been very happily employed by Hume to prove the comparatively late origin of the human race, and may certainly serve, though he meant it not, as a collateral argument in favor of the Mosaic history of our globe.

"Lucullus was the first," observes he, "who brought cherry-trees from Asia into Europe; though that tree thrives so well in many European climates, that it grows in the woods without any culture. Is it possible, that, throughout a whole eternity, no European had ever passed into Asia, and thought of transplanting so delicious a fruit into his own country? Or if the tree was once transplanted

and propagated, how could it ever afterwards perish ?" He makes a similar remark as to the vines of France, and the corn and animals which have been transplanted within these three centuries to America; and then he adds, "all these seem convincing proofs of the youth, or rather infancy, of the world; as being founded on the operation of principles more constant and steady than those by which human society is governed and directed. Nothing less than a total convulsion of the elements will ever destroy all the European animals and vegetables which are now to be found in the western world."

This subject cannot be presented with the same precision as the geological inquiries of Cuvier; but, assuredly, the circumstances alluded to have a tendency to confirm his argument in favor of the fact, that the present surface of the earth is not of more ancient origin than the period assigned in the Inspired Volume to the Deluge; and thus, the vegetable and animal productions of our globe speak the same language as the soil on which they grow, and raise their united voices to confute the skeptical arguments of the infidel.

FOURTH WEEK-SUNDAY.

SPIRITUAL SOIL.

LEAVING Out of consideration the influence of climate, the growth of vegetables depends, partly on the quality of the seed, and partly also on the nature of the soil, and its state of cultivation. The same thing may be said of the growth of spiritual life in our hearts; and our Saviour, in his beautiful parable of the Sower, has very strikingly described the different reception of Divine truth in the minds of hearers of different characters, by alluding to this analogy. The preacher of the Gospel is represented It is preas a sower scattering the seed of God's word.

cisely the same seed which is sown, possessing in itself the same living qualities; but the soil is various, both as regards natural fertility, and careful preparation.

Those who hear the message of salvation without any emotion, are compared to a way-side, hardened by the treading of many feet. First have moved, unresisted, over the heart, a host of evil inclinations, to indurate the soil; then, crowding in the same track, have passed a long train of wicked examples; and then comes habit, with its stiffening influence, to complete the evil, and to render the labor of the spiritual husbandman vain. The seed is sown, but it penetrates not that beaten soil. It lies uselessly on the surface, till "the fowls of the air come and devour it up." It is impossible to look abroad over the face of the Christian world, and not to be sensible that there are many who thus receive a preached Gospel. They join a congregation with hearts which the world has rendered callous and hard, and they listen to the truths of the Gospel without any desire to profit by them. To them the Sacred Volume unfolds its treasures of Divine knowledge in vain. It speaks of human guilt, but it moves them not, although their own bosoms echo back the awful truth; it whispers mercy to the believing and trembling sinner, but them it moves not. It speaks of an offended Judge; it speaks also of a reconciled Father; but neither by hope nor by fear, by awe nor by affection, are they moved. They are told of the wonders of redeeming love, and the unspeakable grace of a crucified Saviour; yet they hear it all as an often-repeated and tiresome tale, in which they have no personal interest; and with closed eyes, and shut ears, and consciences seared, they run recklessly to destruction. It is the god of this world who catches away the seed as it falls; and thus the very means of grace,—the very ordinances of the Gospel, -become a snare to their souls.

These are the totally careless and indifferent; but there are others, whose situation is scarcely less hopeless, and yet they are religious professors. These are, in the parable, compared to the stony places, on which the seed falls from the hand of the sower. Here the young blade

springs up suddenly, because there is no deepness of earth; "but when the sun is up, it is scorched, and because it has no root, it withereth away." This forcibly describes those sentimental hearers, whose feelings, being susceptible, receive hasty and ardent, but fleeting impressions of religion. Their hearts overflow, and their eyes weep, when they think of their Saviour's sufferings. They tremble under the terrors of offended justice, and they exult in the hope of salvation, as the preacher sets before them alternately the threatenings and the promises of the Gospel. But there is no depth in their feelings; there is no solid foundation in their religious character. With the very same levity with which they were incited by the eloquence of the preacher, to weep and to rejoice, they are induced, under other circumstances, to neglect their religious duties, or even to abandon their religious principles. These "have no root in themselves," and hence they only "endure for a while."

It is a frequent and fatal mistake to separate religion from the duties of active life. The test by which we ought to examine the genuineness of our faith, by which we should try the strength and stability of our religious principles, is the effect produced on our conduct in the intercourse of society. In the day of trial, have these principles sustained us? In our combats with an evil world, have they brought us off victorious? Amidst the seductions of passion, and the temptations of evil example, and the ridicule of the profane, have we stood firm as a rock, looking to Jesus, trusting in God, triumphing in the hope of immortality? These are questions, by which we may discover how far we are removed from the character of those whom the parable describes under the figure of stony ground, in which the seed springs up and dies,whose religious feelings, lying too near the surface of their character, prove to be nothing more than a hasty, vain, and deceitful show.

But there is still a more common character among hearers in a Christian congregation, those whom our Saviour compares to a soil overgrown with thorns, which, though cut down, have not been rooted out, and therefore spring