YOUTH'S BOOK 



NATURAL THEOLOGY; 



ILLUSTRATED 



IN FAMILIAR DIALOGUES, 



NUMEROUS ENGRAVINGS 



BY REV. T. H. GALLAUDET, 



O Lord, how manifold are thy works ' m wisdom hast thou mauie them 
all."— Psalm 104 : 24. 



PUBLISHED BY THE 

AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY 

150 NASSAU-STREET, NEW-YORK. 



r THE NEW YORK 
I PUBLIC llBKXnY 

124930C 

AfJt--, irxox AM) 
TILDL^N- l-OlXiMtlONS 



Entered, according to Act of Con,^ress, in the year 1832, by 
Thomas H. Gallaudet, in the Clerk's office of the Distnct 
Court of Connecticut. 



Right of publishing transferred to American Tract Society 



CONTENTS, 

Page. 

Preface : . . . 5 

Address to Young Readers. 8 

DuLOGUE 1. — Explanation of skill, contrivance and de- 
sign. The Nautilus and Steam-boat. . . 11 

Dial. 2. — God the great designer and contriver. How- 
does God show himself to us 7 . . . .23 

Dial. 3, — The pencil-case. The arm and hand. A de- 
scription of the bones and joints of the arm. Athe- 
ists. Chance. 32 

Dial, 4. — Joint at the shoulder. Muscles and tendons. 

Joint at the elbow. 44 

Dial. 5. — Radius, Ulna. Button-head. Joint-oil. Gris- 
tle. Ligament. Wisdom and goodness of God. 55 

Dial. 6. — God does not design and contrive as we do. 
The skill of God explained. The wrist and hand. 66 

Dial. 7. — What makes the bones move or the joints. 
The muscles. The tendons. Contraction of the 
muscles. 78 

Dial. 8, — Antagonist muscles. The nerves. Nerves of 
expression in the human countenance. Their use, 
A sound muscle 91 

Dial. 9. — Another sound muscle. The eyelid. Shed- 

4ing tears. Parts of the body keep on going right. 

Nerves of the face. Expressions of the coimte- 

!fc nance compared wdth a painting. , . .103 

^. Dial. 10.— More on the expression of the countenance. 

Goodness and wisdom of God. Habits of expres- 

^ ^ sion 117 

*^ Dial. 11.— The elephant. The eye of a dragon-fly. 
K j^ The trimk of an elephant. - • Pressure of the' air. 127 



4 CONTENTS. 

Dial. 12. — Mouth of animals ; particular design in 
forming them. Wood-pecker. Cross-bill. Bills 
of ducks and geese. Oyster-catcher. Chcetodon. 
Chance. Atheism 139 

Dial. 13. — The electrical eel. Lightning. Electricity. 
Dr. Franklin 153 

Dial. 14. — Sting of the bee. Mouths of insects. Moths 
and butterflies. Their tongues. The pump. The 
eggs of the butterfly. Caterpillar. Chrysalis. But- 
terfly. The resurrection 164 

Dial. 15. — How different insects deposit their eggs. 
The butterfly. The moth. The gad-fly. Ants. The 
queen ant. The workers. The grubs. The pupaj. 
The cocoons. Birds' nests. Bee-hives. . . 177 

Dial. 16. — Instincts. Sprouting of seed. Plant called 
[lie fly-trap. Explanation of what msAi7ic/{ is. De- 
sign, wisdom and goodness of God. Reason distin- 
guished from instinct. 189 

Dial. 17. — Proportion, a proof of design. Proportion be- 
tween our bodies and the things around us. Pro- 
portion between animals and plants. Proportion 
between animals and their habitations, A statue. 
St. Peter's Church. God the great statuary. God 
the great architect 203 

Dial. 18.— The air and lungs ; the heart, arteries and 
veins adapted to each other. The atmosphere*. 
Hearing. The ear. Its parts. Hearing explained. 
The circulation of the blood. Adaptation a proof 
of design. The air. Light explained. The air 
adapted to the eye. Light. Light adapted to the 
eye. Wonderful power, wisdom and goodness of 
God 213 

Conclusion. — Address tc the conscience of youth. . 225 



PREFACE 



Some may deem it almost unnecessary, to go into 
an argument, with children and youth, to prove to 
them, that there is a God : a truth, which seems, too 
often, to be taken for granted, not only in the first sta- 
ges, but through the whole course, of their religious 
instruction — how wisely, may admit of very serious 
doubts. 

It is a truth, on which all the doctrines and precepts 
of religion rest ; and just in proportion as the belief 
of it is weak, or obscure, will all the other truths of 
religion, fail to have their full effect upon the heart 
and the life. 

This, like other truths, is founded on evidence. The 
more complete, therefore, and satisfactory, this evi- 
dence is; the more thoroughly it is considered and 
examined ; the more it is made to form a part of the 
customary trains of thought and feeling; and the more 
distinct and vivid the conceptions are, which it produ- 
ces in the mind ; — the more uniform and operative, will 
be the belief of the truth which this evidence is intend- 
ed to establish. 

This we find to be the case, even with regard to 
those truths which are the most common, and which 
receive the uniform assent of every intelligent mind. 

For the practical belief of truth, is very much 
strengthened by a knowledge of the nature and cer- 
B. T. 1* 



6 PREFACE. 

lainty of its evidence, and by the habit of frequently 
recurring' to this evidence. 

After attending to the various, and interesting, and 
overwhelming proofs of design, contrivance, and skill, 
in all that we see, within us, and around us,— who can 
fail to have the existence and agency of God, impress- 
ed upon his understanding and heart, Avith new fresh- 
i>ess and force. 

Let these proofs form a part of the early associations 
of thought and feeling, among children and youth ; and, 
from the well known laws of the human mind, the im- 
portant truth which they establish, will so blend itself 
with the habitudes of the soul, that God will be seen 
in all HIS works, and HIS presence felt in the exhibi- 
tions which HE is continually making to us, of HIS 
power, wisdom, and goodness. 

Besides, atheism, theoretical, and practical, is on the 
alert, to diffuse its baleful influence. Alread)'^, in our 
own country, we have seen it attempting to make 
proselytes. Debating societies, public lectures, books, 
tracts, and newspapers, have been the instruments em- 
ployed for its propagation. What parent can tell how 
soon his child may be exposed to this awful delusion? 
Who that knows the waywardness of the human heart; 
the force of temptation ; the insidious allurements of 
vice ; the gradual encroachment which sneers and ridi- 
cule on the one hand, and sceptical queries and doubts 
on the other, often make upon the conscience, especial- 
ly when this conscience seeks relief from the wounds thai 
ffuilt has inflicled upon it; — who that considers these 
things, can fail to tremble, often, at the exposure of our 
youth to this contaminating influence of infidelity and 
atheism? 

It has, already, in not a few instances, withered and 



PREFACE. 7 

blasted the fondest hopes of the anxious father and 
mother. If it does not always destroy, it may often 
paralyze, religious belief. 

And, if the faith of the youth is secure against its 
attacks, still, how much good, often, this very faith 
may do, in rescuing others. If it is thoroughly furnish- 
ed with evidence, and arguments and proofs, its tri- 
umphs, both in private and in public, may save a com- 
panion from ruin, and hasten the downfall of this bitter 
enemy of God and man. 

For these reasons, the author cannot but think, that 
the evidences of the existence of God, are quite too 
much overlooked in the early religious education of 
children and youth. He could wish, for one, that they 
might form a part of the regular course of instruction 
in Sabbath Schools, and of the religious reading in 
families. The subject may be made deeply interesting. 
Many of the facts connected with it, are as really en- 
tertaining as most of the incidents in the books of re- 
liffious fiction, with which children have been so exten- 
sively supplied. They are vastly more instructive; and 
tend, too, to form a taste for useful knowledge, which, 
if confirmed into a habit, is of unspeakable value. 

The author will only add, that having intended what 
he has written for quite young persons, he has gone 
into a minuteness of analysis, and a specification of 
details, which, his own experience has fully convinced 
him, is the only sure mode of conveying distinct ideas 
to those, whose powers of generalizing are but, as yet, 
very imperfectly cultivated and developed. 



PREFACE. 



TO MY YOUNG READERS. 

I dare say, many of you who are not more than 
eight, or ten years of age, will be able to understand 
this book ; — particularly, if you are very attentive in 
reading it, and if you, always, ask some older person 
to explain to you a few things, which, at first, may be 
difiicult to be understood. 

Those who are a few years older, will I think, find 
no difficulty at all, in understanding it. 

You may not, however, know exactly the meaning 
of the term. Natural Theology, which forms a part ot 
the title of the book. I will endeavor to explain it to 
you. 

Theology is an English word, made by putting two 
Greek words together, with a little alteration. Theo, 
comes from the Greek word Theos, which means God; 
and logy, from the Greek word, logos, which means a 
discourse, or speaking, or teaching, about any thing. 

All that is known about God, — arranged in order, so 
that it can be taught clearly, and distinctly, — is called 
Theology. 

In the Bible, God has made known to men, a great 
deal about himself, which they did not know before, 
and which they could not have learned in any other 
way ; or, what means the same thing, he has revealed 
the knowledge of himself to them, in the Bible. 

The Bible is a revelation from God ; and from what 
it teaches us about him, we gain that knowledge, which, 
when arranged in order, so that it can be taught clear- 
ly and distinctly, is called revealed Theology. 

Natural Theology is not learned from the Bible. It 



PREFACE. 9 

is all that can be known about God, merely by exam- 
ining the beings and things which he has made, with- 
out the aid of revealed Theology. 

The beings and things which God has made, and 
causes to be, or live and grow, are called natural^ to 
distinguish them from the things that men make. 

The things that men make, are called, works of art ; 
but all that God has made, we call, the xcorks of nature. 
By examining and studying the works of nature, we 
can see, that there must be a God, who made, and pre- 
serves, all beings, and things ; and we can learn many 
things about him, which will show us his great power 
and wisdom, and goodness. 

All the knowledge which we can thus gain, about 
God, is called, Natural Theology ; and it is this know- 
ledge, my young friends, which I wish, in some degree, 
to give you, in this book that I have written for you. 
1 hope, you will be so much interested in gaining this 
knowledge, that you will seek for more of it, as you 
grow older, in larger books which have been written 
on the same subject, but which it might, now, be diffi- 
cult for you to understand. 

I have written the book in dialogues, between a lady, 
whom I call Mrs. Stanhope, and her son, Robert. If 
any of you have read the Child's book on the Sold, it is 
liie same Robert who is mentioned there, only, in this 
book, he is supposed to be a few years older. 

That you may all make great improvement in useful 
knowledge, and especially in the knowledge of God, 
and of your duty, and learn, both to be good, and to do 
good, is the sincere wish of 

Your friend, 

, THE AUTHOR. 



THE YOUTH'S BOOK 



NATURAL THEOLOGY. 



DIALOGUE I. 

Mother. Did you ever make any thing-, Robert? 

Robert. I made a kite, once, mother, and it flew 
very well. Uncle John showed me how to make it. 

M. Out o{y)hat did you make if? 

R. Out of paper, and sticks, and thread. 

M. How did you put them together ? 

R. With some paste ; and then, I let the kite dry 
in the sun, and put the tail on, and fixed the twine 
to it, and it was all ready to fly. 

M. How long did it take you to make it ? 

R. I should think, almost two hours, mother. I 
spoiled one or two, before I got right. I think I 
could make one now, a good deal quicker. 

M. Do you remember that *beautiful large kite 
which the boys raised, in front of the school house, 
last spring? 



12 



THE youth's book 



R. Yes, it was as tall as a man. It took several 
boys to hold it, when it was high up in the air. 




M. Do you know who made it ? 

R. Some one of the boys, I suppose, mother; but 
I do not know which. 

M. Are you sure, that one of the boys made it? 

R. I think so ; but perhaps some man made it, it 
was so large and strong. 

M. Are you sure that any hodij made it ? 

R. Yes, mother, just as sure as I am that 1 made 
the little kite that u e were talking about. Somebody 



i 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 13 

must have cut the paper ; and cut out the sticks right, 
and tied them together ; and put the thread round ; 
and pasted the paper ; and fixed on the tail ; or the 
kite never would have been made. 

M. Yes, my son, and the tail must have been made 
just long and heavy enough, or the kite would not 
have flown. 

R. I remember, mother, I made the tail to my 
kite too short, first ; and as soon as it got a little way 
up into the air, it began to go round and round, and 
fell down to the ground. It would not fly at all, till 
I made the tail longer. 

M. I suppose, Robert, that some boys have made 
kites so often, that they can make a very good kite 
at once, without any mistake. 

R. Yes, mother, I am pretty sure that I could. 

M. If you could, my son, and make it quick, and 
exactly right, so that it would fly very well, you 
would be said to be skilful in making a kite. And 
as it flew finely in the air, it would show your skill 
in making it. 

R. Mother, it takes most skill to fix the tail. 

M. I suppose so. And you have to think before- 
hand, do you not, of what shape you Avill make the 
kite ; and then, how much paper it will take ; and 
how many sticks there must be ; and how you will 

B. T. 2 



14 

tie them together ; so as to make the kite of just the 
shape and size that you want ? 

R. Oh, yes, mother. I have to think all about that. 
For, you know, we can make kites of many differ- 
ent sizes and shapes. I should have to think a great 
deal beforehand, how to make a kite like that tall 
one which the boj^s had. 

M. Yes ; and perhaps you would have to o^et 
your uncle John to think for you. 

R. I think I should, mother. 

M. Well, if your uncle John should think before- 
hand how to make the kite, and tell you how to go 
to work, and do exactly every thing that ought to be 
done ; he would contrive the kite. When it was done, 
it would show your skill in making it ; and it would 
show his contrivance, in thinking beforehand hov) it 
should be made. 

R. Mother, I can contrive a little kite. Will you 
let me make one this afternoon 1 

M. Yes ; after you have said your lessons. What 
will you make the kite /or.? 

R. I will make it iofly, mother. What else should 
I make it for ? You do not think, I would make a 
kite just to look at. 

M. I did not know, Robert, but you would make 
one to show me that you could contrive a kite, and 
that you had skill to make one. 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 15 

R. But how could I show that, mother, if the kite 
would not fly well? No; I should make the kite on 
'purpose to fly. And, indeed, I was not thinking at 
all about making it, to show you my contrivance or 
skill. 

M. Your purpose, or design, then, in making the 
kite, would be, that it might fly well. 

What was your design, in making that little boat, 
the other day ? What did you make it for ? 

R. JVIy design was, that it might swim in the small 
pond, back of the garden. 

M. Did you make it, as you do a kite ? 

R. Oh, no mother. You know a boat swims in 
water, but a kite flies in the air. 

M. Which did you have to contrive most about, 
in making, — the boat or the kite ? 

R. I think, the kite, mother, for the tail troubled 
me a good deal, before I got it exactly right. 

M. What if you should get your uncle John, to 
make a boat large enough to carry you ; and then 
fasten the string of the kite to it, when it was high 
up in the air ; and so the kite draw you in the boat, 
quite across the pond. How prettily you would sail. 

R. Yes, mother. But the kite would have to be 
a very large one, and uncle John would have to 
think a long time to contrive it, and to be very skilful 
in fixing it a)l right, so as to make the boat go. 



16 

M. There is a little fish, which is a great deal 
more curious than such a boat and kite would be. 

R. Do tell me about it, mother. What is it called? 

M. It is called a nautihis. Nautilus is a word, 
that used to be spoken by a people who spoke very 
differently from us, a great many years ago, and it 
means a sailor. 

R. Why ? does this little fish sail in a boat ? 

M. Yes, my son, and it lives in the same boat in 
which it swims and sails. 

R. What is the boat made of 1 

M. The boat is a thin shell round and hollow. 
It is as thin as paper, and very light, so that it will 
float on the top of the water, just as your little boat 
does. The shell is a part of the fish ; and inside of 
the shell is the living part, soft and slimy, like a 
snail. It is a good deal softer than the inside, and 
living part, of an oyster. 

When this little fish wishes to sail, it raises up 
two short arms which it has ; and between these 
arms, there is something stretched, very thin, like a 
web, which the wind blows, and so away it sails, 
on the top of the water. 

It has, also, two other arms which it lets down 
into the water, on each side of the shell; and it pad- 
dles with them ; and makes itself go along faster ; 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 17 

and turns itself with them, and goes one way or 
another, as it chooses. 

You know if you fill your little boat with water, 
it will sink. So, when the nautilus, about which I 
have been telling you, Avishes to go dow^n into the 
deep wdter, it first draws in its two arms that have 
the sail between them, and the other two that it pad- 
dles with. Then it has a way of drawing in the wa- 
ter, and filling all the inside of the shell, which 
makes it so heavy, that it sinks away down to the 
bottom, like a stone. 

When it wishes to rise again, it throw^s out the 
water through the little holes of which its arms are 
full, and makes itself light, and soon it rises, and keeps 
rising, till it reaches the top of the water. 

When the weather is pleasant, and the water 
smooth, the people that are in the ships on the great 
ocean, often see a great many of these little shell 
fish, or sailors in their boats, with their sails up, 
and sailing all about, as happy as can be. But if the 
wind blows hard, or any thing disturbs them, they 
take in their sails, and draw in their arms, and fill 
themselves with water, and away they go, down 
into the deep ocean, and are not seen again for some 
time. 

R. Mother, 1 never heard of such a curious thing 
before. It is, indeed, a great deal more curious than 

B. T. 2* 



18 



THE YOUTH S BOOK 



a boat would be, large enough to carry me, with a kite 
fixed to it, so that I could sail across the pond. How 
large is the nautilus ? 

M. A gentleman told me, who had seen one, that 
it was about as large as a bowl which he could hold 
in his two hands. But it was not shaped like a bowl. 

Here is a picture of one, as it appears when its sail 




and arms are all drawn inside of the shell. I could 
not find a true picture of one as it appears when it 
is sailing. 

R. Oh ! I wish I had a little nautilus, mother. 

M. Suppose you ask your uncle John to make you 
one ; he knows how to make a great many curious 
things. 

R. He could not make one, mother. He would 
not know what to make the shell of. 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 19 

M. Suppose, somebody should give him the shell 
of a nautilus. Could he not make the other jjarts, and 
put them inside of it ? 

R. Perhaps he might make something like the 
sail, mother. But how could he make the two little 
arms that carry the sail, and the two arms that paddle, 
and make them stretch themselves out, and draw 
themselves in '? Besides, the little nautilus is alive. 
Uncle John, if he Avere to make something almost 
exactly like the nautilus, could not make it live, so as 
to move itself about, and go down under the water, 
and rise up again, just as it chooses. 

M. Suppose your uncle John had never seen a 
nautilus, or heard about one, and should make some- 
thing almost exactly like one; and fix some little 
wheels inside, like those inside of a watch, and have a 
spring to make the wheels go ; and then wind it up 
with a key, and put it on the water ; and it should 
raise up its sail, and work with its paddles, and sail 
away, for some time, a good deal as a nautilus does. 

Would you not wonder at your uncle John's contri- 
vance, and at his sJdll too ? 

R. I should, indeed, mother. But do you suppose, 
that any body has coiitrivance and skill enough to 
make such a little nautilus ? 

M. When you was in the steamboat, Robert, you 
was in something like a great nautilus. Do you not 



20 

remember how many, many wheels there were, and 
iron things that moved up and dov/n, and many 
different ways. 

I showed you the wooden wheels, like paddles, on 
each side of the boat, going round and round in the 
water, and told you that it was the other wheels that 
made the7)i go, and move the boat along. 

It must have taken a great deal of contrivance and 
skill, to make a steamboat ; and, perhaps, the man 
that contrived the steamboat, might also contrive a 
little nautilus, with, wheels inside of it, to sail on the 
water. 

R. You have forgotten, mother, that the steamboat 
did not hoist any sail up, as the nautilus does. I think 
that part of the nautilus would be very difficult to 
contrive. And, then, I do not believe any body could 
have contrivance and skill enough, to make it take in 
its sail, and its arms, and fill itself with water ; and go 
down to the bottom, and afterwards, come up again. 

It would puzzle uncle John, and every body else, 
even the man that contrived the steamboat! to do that. 

M. Well, I think it would, Robert. And for any 
body to make a live nautilus, you know, that would 
be impossible. 

R. Yes, mother, and I am astonished at the won- 
derful contrivance and skill ichich we see in the 
nautilus ! 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 21 

M. So am I, my son. The more I think of it, the 
more I wonder at it. 

If you should live a thousand years ; and study ever 
so much ; and make thousands and thousands of curi- 
ous things ; you never would have contrivance and 
skill enough, to make any thing so wonderful as a 
live nautilus. 

R. Mother, 7iohody can make a live thing, that will 
move of itself. 

M. That is true, Robert. But, it is almost tim.e 
for us to end our conversation. I wish, however, to 
ask you, first, one or two questions. 

You said, that you would make a little kite, on 
purpose to fly, and I told you that it would be your 
design, in making it, to have it fly. 

If you had seen a nautilus out of the water, without 
ever having seen it before, or heard any thing about 
it, do you think, you could tell what its different 
parts were designed for ? 

R. I think I could, mother. The shell would look 
so like a little boat ; and there would be something so 
like a sail; and the two little paddles, on each side; 
that I am sure, I should think it was to go and move 
on the water. I should know it would not be, to fly 
in the air, or to crawl on the ground. 

M. And if you should see it hoist up its little sail, 
and put out, and move, its little arms, like paddles ; 



22 THE youth's book 

you would feel quite certain, that the design was, that 
it should sail about on the top of the water — would 
you not 1 

R. I should, mother. 

M. Well, you see, my son, not only that there is 
wonderful contrivance and skill, in the different parts 
of the nautilus, but a wonderful design, too, in putting 
these parts together, and having them act upon each 
other just as they do. 

If the nautilus had not a way of throwing out the 
water, and rising to the top, it could not sail on the 
top of the water; and there would be no use in hav- 
ing any of its parts so as to help it to sail. 

If the shell were not thin and round and hollow, 
it could not float, even after it rises to the top of the 
water. 

There would be no use, in its raising up its arms, 
and stretching them out, if there were not a thin, 
web-like something between them, as a sail, for the 
wind to blow against. 

And it would do but little good to hoist its sail, 
and be blown about, if it could not guide itself by the 
two little paddles, and so determine which way to go. 

And it would not be best for it, to come up to the 
top of the water, and sail about, if it could not make 
itself sink, and go down again, when there is danger. 

You see what a wonderful thins: the nautilus is ! 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 



DIALOGUE II. 



Robert. I have thought a good deal, mother, 
about the nautilus. I want to see one, very much. 

Mother. If you should ever go on the ocean, 
in a ship, when you grow up to be a man, you will, 
probably, see many of them. 

But there are some things which you see every 
day, which are as curious as the nautilus is. 

R. Mother, a chicken is a curious little animal. 

M. Yes, my son ; and if you could look inside of 
a chicken, you would find a great many parts, quite 
as curious as the sail and paddles of the nautilus. 

And you would see as much loonderful design, in 
the way in which these parts are put together, and 
what they are made for. 

Look, too, at the outside of a chicken. Stroke its 
little feathers. How smooth, and light, and warm 
they are. What a good coverhig they are, for the 
little creature. IIow many feathers there are, all ly- 
ing one way, and every feather itself is very curious. 

The mouth of a chicken is very different from the 
mouth of a dog, or of a cat. It has a long bill, made 
sharp, and it opens so that it can pick up the corn 
and little seeds, very easily, like a pair of nippers. 

It has claws, too, just right for scratching in the 
ground, to find its food ; and for keeping fast hold 



24 THE youth's book 

of the branch of a tree, when it grows older, and 
goes there to roost, at night. 

I think, a chicken has as many curious parts as 
the nautilus. 

R. I do not know but it has, mother; and I think, 
it would be a great deal more difficult for any body 
to make a little chicken, with wheels inside, so that 
it could walk, and scratch in the ground, and pick 
up corn and seeds, than it would be to make a nau- 
tilus that would sail. 

M. It would be so, my son. 

But now I wish to explain something to you, that 
is more wonderful than any thing which I have yet 
told you, about the nautilus or the chicken. 

Suppose, your uncle John could make a nautilus, 
with so many new and curious wheels inside of it, 
that somehow or other, these wheels would move, 
and, by and by, make another nautilus, just like 
the first. 

And, suppose, there should be wheels, inside of 
this second one, that should move in the same way, 
and make a third ; and so on, till a hundred were 
made. 

R. Mother, you know that uncle John, or any 
body else, could never do that. 

M. But, only suppose that he could, my son. 
Would you not think, that his contrivance and skill 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 25 

would be a thousand times more wonderful, than if 
he made only one nautilus ? 

R. Certainly, mother, I should. 

M. Well, Robert, there is something like this, with 
regard to the little chicken. 

You know, the hen lays eggs. She hatches them, 
and the little chickens come out of the eggs. When 
the chickens grow up, they lay eggs, and hatch more 
little chickens. And so they keep on, year after 
year. 

R. How many years ago did the first hen live, 
mother ? 

M. Oh ! a great many years ago. Do you not 
think, that there was wonderful contrivance, and 
skill, and design, shown in that first hen ? 

R. I do, indeed, mother. For that first hen laid 
eggs, and little chickens came out of them; and, 
then, these chickens grew up, and laid more eggs ; 
and more chickens came out of them, and so on, till 
what a wonderful number of chickens there have 
been in the world. 

M. Yes, my son. You see that there is a great 
deal of contrivance and skill shown in a little 
chicken, and a great deal of design, in the way in 
which all its parts are put together. You see, too, 
that all this contrivance and skill, and design, was 
shown, still more wonderfully, in the first hen. 

B. T. 3 



26 

Now, when you look at a kite, you know with 
what design it was made, and you see the contri- 
vance and skill with which its parts were put to- 
gether. You know, that somebody must have made 
it, and have thought, beforehand, hoio to make it. 
The kite could not have made itself. 

So, when you look at the curious little chicken, 
or the curious little nautilus, and see the wonderful 
design, and skill, and contrivance which are sho^vn 
in them, you know, that some one must have made 
them, and have made the first hen, and the first nau- 
tilus, and have thought, beforehand, hoio to make 
them. 

It is your spirit, your mind, which thinks before- 
hand, which designs, and contrives, and directs your 
hands to be skillful, whenever you make a kite. 

It is GOD, the GREAT SPIRIT, the ETER 
NAL MIND, who thought beforehand, ivho design- 
ed, contrived, and made every little chicken and nau- 
tilus, and the first hen and 7iauiilus ; and the first 
things and beings, and all things and beings. 

When you see, my son, such wonderful skill and 
contrivance in the thousand beings and things which 
are around you, and the design with which they 
were made, and all their parts put together ; you 
know, certainly, that there is a GOD who made 
them, just as certainly as you know, that the tall 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 27 

kite which you saw the boys playing with, must 
have been made by somebody. 

GOD shotvs himself to you; he shows you his 
wonderful knowledge, and contrivance, and power, 
and skill, and design in your own body and soul, 
which he made, and in all the beings and things 
which are around you. 

R. How does God show Himself to me, mother ? 
T do not see him. 

M. Do you see me, Robert ? 

R. Yes, mother, I see you now, sitting right be- 
fore me. 

M. When T am asleep, can you see me then % 

R. Certainly ; I saw you last evening, mother, 
when you was so tired, and slept in your chair. 

M. Suppose, I should die, could you see me then ? 

R. I should see your dead body. 

M. But the dead body would not be myself It 
would not be your mother, whom you now see, and 
who is talking to you. My soul, or spirit, would 
have left the body ; and if any one should ask you, 
where your mother was, you would say, you hoped, 
that she had gone to heaven. 

Look at rny spectacles. When you see them do 
you see me ? 

R. No, mother, but I see you looking through 
them. 



M. When you look at my eyes, do you see me ? 

R. I see you, mother, looking through them. 

M. So, when you see my lips and tongue move, 
you see me, speaking to you with them. And when 
you see any part of my body moving, you see me 
making it move. 

When I am awake, you see my waking body. 
When I am asleep, you see my sleeping body. And 
if I should die, you would see my dead body. But 
you cannot see my soul. 

It is my soul which is now looking at you, through 
the eyes of the body. It is my soul which is now 
speaking to you, with the lips and tongue of the 
body. When I rise and walk, or do any thing with 
my hands, it is my soul which does it, with the/ee^ 
and hands of the body. 

My body, with all its parts, so curiously and won- 
derfully made, is a kirid of machine, or a collection 
of instruments, which my soul uses, in different 
ways, to do the different things which I wish to do. 

R. I remember, mother, you told me once about 
your spectacles being like another pair of eyes. 

M. Yes, my son. My spectacles are an instru- 
ment, which I use, to help me to see better. A man 
made them, and they are curiously made. 

So my eyes are instruments which I use, to see 
with ; and my tongue is an instrument which I use 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 29 

to talk with ; and my hands are instruments which 
I use, to do a great many things with. GOD made 
my ej^es, my tongue, and my hands ; and they are 
vastly more curious instruments than any man can 
make. 

R. So they are, mother, and they are a great deal 
better, too ; for they do not get out of order, as other 
instruments do ; and we can carry them about with 
us, without any trouble, 

M. Do you remember that curious machine, Ro- 
bert, which I took you to see, the other day, in the 
cotton factory? 

R. I do, mother ; how full it w^as of little wheels, 
and a great many curious things, that kept moving 
so many different ways. 

M. Did you see what made it move ? 

R. No, mother. But you told me, there was a 
boy in the other room, turning a large wheel, which 
made the machine move. 

M. If you should go there again, and see the ma- 
chine moving, w^hat would you think made it move? 

R. I should know, that it was a boy, in the other 
room, made it move. 

M. So, when you see any part of my body, which 
is itself a very curious machine, moving, or doing 
any thing, you know that it is my soul, (like the 
boy, in the other room,) making it move and do so. 

B. T. 3* 



30 THE youth's book 

R. Yes, mother, only I can open the door, and 
go into the other room, and see the boy, but I cannot 
find out any way to see your soul. 

M. Neither would you see the boy's soul. You 
would only see his body, and his arm and hand 
moving, which turn the machine. You say you see 
me, because my soul, or, what is the same thing, 
myself, is shown to you, through, or with, my body. 
You would not know, that I was in my body, if I 
did not show m.yself to you, by making my body 
move, or do something. If I did not open my eyes, 
but lay perfectly still, and did not move at all, and 
lay so for several days, you would think that I was 
dead, and that I was no longer in my body. You 
would- not say, that you saw me. 

R. I begin to understand you, mother. 

-M. Well, as you cannot see my spirit, only as I 
show myself to you, through, or with, my body ; so 
you cannot see GOD, the Great Spirit, only as he 
shows himself io you, in the wonderful things which 
"he has made. 

When 1 open my eyes, and look at you kindly, 
you say, you see me looking at you kindly: and you 
love me, and call me your dear mother. 

When the sun shines pleasantly over the eastern 
hills on you, and on every thing around you ; and 
you look at it, and rejoice in its cheerful light ; — 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 31 

think, that it is GOD who makes it shine so plea- 
santly, and that you can, as it were, see him looking 
kindly at you, and love him, and call him your 
heavenly Father. 

R. Yes, mother, and when I see the beautiful, 
clear moon, and the bright stars, I can think too, 
that I see GOD looking down upon me from the 
blue sky. 

M. When I speak to you, my son, you love to 
hear my voice, and you say, that you hear me speak- 
ing to you. 

You sometimes, hear the wind gently blowing, 
through the trees, and making a pleasant sound 
among the leaves. 

Is it not the voice of GOD? You do, as it were, 
hear him speaking kindly to you ; and you must 
love him. 

R. Mother, I sometimes hear it thunder, and I am 
afraid. Does GOD speak to me then ? 

M. Why not, my son, and why should you be 
afraid ? 

It is GOD who makes the forked lightning, and 
loud thunder. He directs the storm, and he can keep 
you as safe in the midst of it, as when the sky is all 
clear and pleasant. 

It is his voice that you hear in the thunder. You 
hear him, as it were, speaking to you from the dark 



32 

clouds. He tells you, that it is he who thunders in 
the heavens; that he is Almighty, and that you must 
fear to displease him ; thai he is Almighty, and that 
he can do all things as he chooses : that in his 
hands you are safe, and that he will make you happy 
with him forever, in that bright and beautiful heaven, 
away above the dark clouds where it is thundering, 
if you will love and obey him. 

R. Mother, how many new and strange things you 
have told me ! How great and v/onderful GOD is ! 
When will you tell me more about him, and how he 
shows himself to me in the things which he has made ? 

M. I will teach you about him again, my son, very 
soon. In the meanwhile, remember what I have al- 
ready taught you. 

And as you are learning more and more of GOD, 
you should desire to love him, more and more ; to 
think, and speak of him, more and more ; and to obey 
him, more and more. 



DIALOGUE III. 

Mother. What is contrivance, Robert ? 
Robert. It is to think beforehand, how to make 
any thing. 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 33 

M. Can you tell me of something, which it requir- 
ed a good deal of contrivance to make ? 

R. Yes, mother, your silver pencil-case. 

M. You are right, Robert. You see it has a little 
hole at one end, to keep the lead pencils in. And one 
part at the other end unscrews and comes ofl^ so that 
you can put a pencil into it. Then, there is another 
screw, and a small wire, which pushes the little pencil 
out, every time that you turn the screw. It is very 
curious. I do not have to sharpen my pencil with a 
pen-knife, as I used to do. I think it is a great deal 
more convenient than the old kind of pencils, which I 
had to sharpen with a pen-knife. The man that first 
thought how to make it, must have had a good deal 
of contrivance. 

Now, Robert, tell me what skill is, 

R. I remember, mother, you told me, yesterday. 
It is, after any body has contrived how to make any 
thing, — to get every thing ready, and put all the parts 
together, just as they ought to be, so as to have the 
thing well made, and to do all this, easily and exact- 
ly, without making any mistake. I think, there is a 
good deal of skill shown, in making, and putting to- 
gether, all the parts of your silver pencil-case. 

M. What do you understand, by design 1 

R. The man who contrived and made the first pen- 
cil-case, like your's, mother thought, what he, would. 



34 



THE YOUTH S BOOK 



make it for, — to hold a little lead pencil, which would 
not need sharpening, and with Avhichyou could write 
a g-reat deal more conveniently than Avith the old 
kind. This was his design in making it. Design is 
to think beforehand what we will make a thing for. 

M. I am glad, my son, to see, that you understand, 
and recollect so well, what I have taught you. 

Now tell me, can a very curious and useful instru- 
ment be made, to do a particular thing with, unless 
somebody first has a design ; and co?itrwes it ; and 
makes it skilfully ; so as to have it just right for 
doing that particular thing 1 

R. Certainly not, mother. 

M. Robert, if you should see such an instrument, 
very convenient to do a particular thing with, having 
a great many curious parts, all put together just right 
for the instrument to be used easily and well, would 
you not know, that it must have been contrived and 
made by some very skilful person, who had a parti- 
cular design in making it ? 

R. I certainly should, mother. 

M. Well, my son, I am going to show you such an 
instrument; so curiously and wonderfully made; 
with so much design, and contrivance, and skill, in 
it ; so much more curious and wonderful than any 
thing that a man can make ; that you will see in it, 
GOD, who designed it, showing his great wisdom, 
and power, and goodnes to you. 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 35 

This instrument alone, is enough to convince us, 
that there is a GOD. 

R. Do show me this instrument, mother, I wish 
to see it very much. 

M. Lay your arm on this table, Robert, and keep 
your elbow still. 

Now turn your hand over. Turn it back again. 
Turn it over and back again, a good many times, 
very quickly. 

Now bend your elbow, and raise your hand up, so 
as to touch your shoulder. Let it fall again. Raise it 
and let it fall again, a good many times, very quickly. 

Now make your thumb and fingers move, as many 
different ways as you can. 

Now stretch out your Avhole arm as far as you 
can. Do not bend it at ail. Swing it round and round, 
and make it go up and down, and to the right and to 
the left, as far as you can, and as fast as you can. 

Your arm and hand, my son, is the instrument 
which I was going to show you. 

Must it not be very curiously made, that you can 
make so many different kinds of motions with it. 

R. It must, indeed, mother ; do explain to me, 
more about it. 

M. I will, my son, and you will see how kind 
GOD is, in providing you with such an instrument, 
with which you can do so many different things. 



36 



THE YOUTH S BOOK 



Did you ever think, how many different things 
we can do with our arms and hands? 

R. I never did, mother ; but I now beg-in to think 
about it, and to wonder at it. 

M. We can do so many things with our arms and 
hands, that I have not time to telf you about them all. 

Only look around you, and see the people who 
are busy and industrious ; how many thousand, thou- 
sand different things they can do with their arms 
and hands ! 

By the help of their arms and hands, people build 
houses to live in. They make clothes to wear. 
They plough, and sow, and reap, and gather in the 
grain, and vegetables, and fruits. They prepare food, 
in a great many different ways, to eat. They spin, 
weave, paint, carve, engrave, print, and write. 

But this is not one half, no, not one thousandth 
part, of what people do with their arms and hands. 

How helpless and miserable we should be, if we 
had no arms and hands ; or if they were made just 
like the leg and foot of a dog, or horse ; or like the 
leg and claw of a bird. 

R. All that you are telling me, mother, is very 
wonderful, indeed. I do not think that people feel as 
thankful as they ought to do, to God, for giving them 
their arms and hands. 

M. That is true, my son, and, after I have explain- 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 37 

ed to you some of the parts of the arm and hand ; and 
how they are put together ; and how you can move 
them, only by thinking to have them move, you will see 
still more why you ought to be truly thankful to God, 
for giving you such a curious and useful instrument, 
with which to do so many things that are necessary 
for your happiness and improvement. 

You must be very attentive, and patient, or you 
will not understand me. 

R. I will try to be so, mother. 

M. You have seen the bones of some animals, my 
son, have you not % 

R. Oh ! yes, mother, I have often seen them, when 
we have had meat at dinner, or turkies and fowls. 
You know, you sometimes, give me the leg of a fowl, 
which you call the drumstick ; but it looks only a 
very little like one. 

M. Well, there are a great many bones in your 
arm and hand, and you can feel them, through the 
flesh, with your hand. On the following page, is a 
drawing of the bones in your arm and hand. 

You see, from the shoulder (a), to the elbow (b), 
there is only one hone ; but, from the elbow to the 
wrist, there are two bones. 

The bone (c), is called the shoulder bone. The bone 
(d). which joins the wrist, on the side where the 
tliuinb is, is called the radius. The bone (e), which 

B. T. 4 



38 



THE YOUTH S BOOK 



joins the wrist on the side where the little finger is, 
is called the ulna. 

You must remember these names, Robert. 

R. I will try, mother : the shoulder -hone ; — the 
radius ; — the ulna. 

M. I shall first explain to you, my son, about the 
joint of the arm, at the shoulder. 




R. What is a joint, mother ? I know where the 
joints are ; for I have joints in my thumb and fingers, 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 39 

SO that I can bend and move them, a great many dif- 
ferent ways. But the joint is covered with flesh, and I 
cannot see it. What is it like ? 

M. There are different kinds of joints in the body, 
my son. Some are something like the hinge to a door, 
which may be called the joint of the door; by the help 
of which, the door can be made to open and shut. 
You see it can move only one way, backwards and 
forwards. 

The joints of your fingers, and the joints at your 
elbows, are hinge-joints. 

By the help of them, you can shut and open your 
fingers ; and, if your elbow is leaning on a table, you 
can let your hand go down to the table, and raise it 
up again, so as to bave it touch your shoulder. This 
joint, like the hinge on the door, can move only one 
way. 

Go, and look at the hinge of the door. You will 
see, that one part of the hinge, which is fastened on 
to the door, fits into the other part of the hinge which 
is fastened on to the door-post, so as to move in it, and 
thus let the door move. These two parts of the hinge, 
moving the one in the other, may be called a joint, 
and they are fastened together by an iron pin, or 
piece of wire. 

This iron pin passes through them, up and down, 
and keeps them together ; so that there is no danger 



40 

of the door's falling down, or getting out of its place. 

In the same way, in our bodies, where there are 
joints, the end of one bone fits on to the end of another 
bone, and is fastened to it, not with a pin, but by some- 
thing like very strong, tough threads, or cords ; and, 
by something like a little bag, which goes all round 
the end of the two bones ; so that it helps, with the 
cords, to keep them firmly together, and they move 
easily, without any danger of getting out of their place. 
The ends of the bones do not quite touch each other. 
The end of each bone is covered with something 
softer than the bone, but not so soft as flesh. You 
sometimes see it on the bones of meat, at dinner, and 
it is called gristle. It is very tough, and difficult to 
be broken, and is a little elastic, something like india- 
rubber. This gristle keeps the hard bones from 
jarring and rubbing against each other, which Avould 
be very unpleasant. Besides, without this gristle, 
the bones would not move so easily, and they would 
be likely to wear away, Vv^e use them so constantly 
and so much. 

You see, Robert, that God shows you, in the way 
in which he has made your arm and hand, his great 
wisdom, and power, and goodness. 

Even one single joint, which I have been telling 
you about, shows the wonderful design, and contri- 
vance, and skill of God, 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 41 

R. It does, indeed, mother. 

M. But, my son, there is something about a joint 
which is yet more wonderful. 

R. What is that, mother ? 

M. What do people have to do to the wheels of 
their wagons, after they have run some time, and 
begin to go hard and slow, and make a creaking, 
unpleasant noise? 

R. They have to grease them. And do you not 
remember, mother, that you put a little sweet oil in- 
to the joint of my knife, the other day, and how easy 
it made it open and shut. I could hardly open it 
before. 

M. Well, my son, there is something a little like 
sweet oil, only a great deal more smooth, which is 
constantly softening those parts of the joints which 
move against each other, and making them slippery, 
so that they move easily and pleasantly. 

This joint-oil is made inside of the little elastic 
bag, which, I told you, goes all round the ends of 
the two bones, at the joint. The bag holds the oil, 
and keeps it from running out. 

If there is disease in the joint, and this oil is not 
made, the joint becomes stiff, and one bone creaks 
upon another, and feels very uncomfortable. 

Now, God has made our joints so skilfully, and 
so well, that the joints of most persons go safely and 

B. T. 4* 



42 



pleasantly all their lives, and neA^er get out of order. 
And when we consider that there are about two 
hundred and fifty bones in our bodies, connected to- 
gether by various joints ; and how often we move 
the most of these joints, even in one day; and how 
many millions, and millions, and millions, of times, 
an old man has moved them, from the time that he 
was a little infant, — is it not wonderful, how lo7ig 
and how well they last! 

What man could make a hinge of a door, or a 
wheel of a wagon, that would move so often, and 
wear so long, without having any thing done to it 
to keep it in order. 

We have often to grease the wheels of our wa- 
gons, and sometimes to put in new spokes, and get 
new wheels made ; and we have to oil the hinges 
of our doors, and sometimes the screws work out, 
and the hinges grow loose, and we have to put them 
in order, or get new ones. 

But we take no care of our joints. We hardly 
ever think about them. God has made them to keep 
on going well, and, in doing this, what wonderful 
design, and contrivance, and skill he has shown ! 

R. Mother, I am sure, that one joint is enough to 
make any body believe that there is a God, and that 
he made our bodies and souls. 

M. When you use your joints, then, my son, think 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 43 

of God, and how he shows himself to you in your 
curious body which he has made; and how you 
ought to love him, for Piaving given you such a bo- 
dy ; and how you ought to use it, and all its parts, 
in serving him, and in doing good to others. 

But we must stop now. When we talk together 
again, I will explain to you more particularly about 
the joint at the shoulder, and, afterwards, about the 
other parts of the arm. 

R. Before we go, mother, may I ask you only 
one question ? 

M. Do, my son. 

R. Was there ever any body who did not believe, 
that there is a God, who made our joints, and our 
bodies ? 

M. There have been a very few persons, my son, 
who have said, that they did not believe, that there 
is a God, but that all beings and things were made 
hy chance. Such persons are called atheists. 

R. What do they mean, mother, when they say, 
that chance made things ? What is chance ? 

M. If you should take two hundred and fifty lit- 
tle wooden blocks, of different sizes and shapes; 
(just as many as there are bones in our bodies;) 
and, without any design, throw them all together in- 
to a heap ; and they should, pretty soon, begin to 
move about, of themselves, and one block go to- 



44 THE youth's book 

wards some other block, and fit themselves together; 
and at last, all come in exact order, like the bones 
in our bodies, and keep so; — so that it would be very- 
difficult for you to pull them apart, — then, all this 
would happen hy chance. 

It might have happened very differently ; hut it 
happened to happen just as it did; and there was 
not the least design, or contrivance, or skill, about it. 

R. I never could believe that, mother, and I do 
not think, any body else could. 

M. Atheists, my son, say they believe so. But 
they must either be exceedingly wicked, or very 
foolish, to believe so. 

1 will tell you more about them, and about chance, 
which they say made all things, some other time. 



DIALOGUE IV. 

Mother. 1 promised, Robert, to explain to you 
more particularly about the joint at the shoulder, and 
about the other parts of the arm. 

Do you wish to have me do it now, or would you 
rather go and play ? 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 



45 



Robert. I had rather talk with you, mother, and 
learn more of the design, and contrivance, and skill, 
which God shows me in my curious body that he 
has made. 

M. Well, be attentive, then, and I will begin. 

Here is a drawing of the joint at the shoulder, 
which I wish you to examine. 




R. Which arm is it, mother ? 

M. It is the right arm, and only the bones are 



46 THE youth's book 

drawn. The gristle on the ends of the bones ; and 
the little hag which goes round them, and helps to 
keep them together, and holds the joint oil ; and the 
threads or cords that fasten the bones together ; about 

which I told you, are not drawn. If they had 

been, you could not have seen the bones so distinctly. 
I will show you the drawings of them at some other 
time. 

R. Mother, do you call this a hinge- joint ? It does 
not seem to me, to look, at all, like a hinge. 

M. No, my son, it is not a hinge-joint. It is quite 
a different kind of joint. If it was a hinge-joint, you 
would be able to move your arm, at the shoulder, 
only one way, right up and down. A door, you know, 
can be moved only one way, to open and shut it. 
The joint at your elbow, is a hinge-joint, and you 
cannot move your arm at the elbow, round and 
round, as you can at the shoulder. 

A hinge-joint at the shoulder, would have been 
very inconvenient. God knew that it would. He, 
therefore, made it very different from a hinge-joint; 
and this shows you, not only his contrivance and 
skill, but that he had a ^particular design, in making 
the joint at the shoulder, just as he did. 

R. What was his design, mother, in making it so ? 

M. You will see, by and by, my son. 

Look at the upper end (a) of the shoulder bone. 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 47 

It is round, very much like the little ball that you 
play with. 

Now, look at the bone at which I am pointing (b). 
It is called, the shoulder-blade, because it is flat and 
thin, something like the blade of a knife. You can 
feel it, directly behind your shoulder. 

You see one end of this bone crooks round, like 
the bill of a crow (c). 

You see, too, that there is another end which crooks 
round also (d). 

Between these hooks, as we will call them, you see 
a small hollow place in the shoulder-blade (e). 

Around this hollow place, there is a ring of gristle, 
which, with the hollow place, makes a kind of cup, 
in which the round end of the shoulder-bone, (a), fits 
exactly, and moves with great ease. 

The end of this bone (a), you recollect, is also cov- 
ered with gristle ; and so is the hollow place in the 
shoulder-blade (e). 

R. I do not see the ring of gristle, mother, nor the 
gristle on the end of the shoulder-bone, in the picture. 

M. They are not drawn, my son, but you can think 
a little, how they would look. I will show them to 
you, some time, in a picture. 

The round end of the shoulder-bone, in your arm, 
keeps in the hollow cup about which I have been tell- 
ing 3^ou; and it moves round in the cup, every time 



48 THE youth's book 

that you move your arm. It moves easily, too, because 
the ring, and coverings of gristle, are so smooth 
and elastic, and because the joint-oil keeps them 
slippery. 

Only try, and see, how easily and quickly, and in 
how many different ways you can move your arm, 
at the shoulder-joint. 

(Robert does so). 

R. Mother, what do you call the shoulder-joint 1 
You said, it is not a hinge-joint. 

M. We might call it a cup and ball joint. It is 
more common, however, to call it a ball and socket 
joint. The socket is the hollow place like a cup, 
which holds the round end of the bone, and in which 
it moves. 

Make your left hand hollow, as much like a cup 
as you can ; and shut the thumb and fingers of your 
right hand, as the boys do, when they double up a fist. 

Now, put your right hand into your left hand ; 
and hold it fast with the thumb and fingers of the left 
hand ; and move your right hand round as many 
different ways as you can. 

(Robert does so). 

R. Mother, I can move it all sorts of ways, I can 
make my right arm go up and down, or forwards and 
backwards, or round and round, very quick, indeed. 

M. Well, this is something like the joint at the 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 49 

shoulder. The two hooked ends of the shoulder-blade 
(c d), which you see in the picture, clasp round the 
round end of the shoulder-bone (a), and help to keep 
it in its place, somewhat as the thumb and fingers of 
your left hand did your right hand. But this alone 
would not be enough to keep the shoulder-bone in 
its place. Something more is necessary. 

R. Mother, how is the end of the shoulder-bone 
kept so strongly in the hollow cup, and never gets 
out of it ? 

M. Call it soi ket, my son. 

The end of the shoulder-bone is kept in the sock- 
et, in this way : 

The little bag that holds the joint-oil, and the two 
hooked ends of the shoulder blade, help to keep the 
end of the shoulder -bone in the socket ; but, besides 
this, there are strips of hard and strong flesh, and 
several very tough and strong cords, that are fast- 
ened to these strips of flesh, which pass over the 
shoulder-joint, in various ways, and bind it, and keep 
it from moving out of the socket. 

The strips of flesh, are called muscles, and the 
cords that are fastened to the muscles, are called 
tendons. 

The muscles and tendons are fastened to the bones, 
on different sides of the joints. They pull the bones, 
and make them more on their joints, a great many 

B. T. 5 



50 

different ways. Besides this, they bind the shouldei* 
joint, and keep it in its place, as I have just told you. 

R. Mother, do explain to me more about these 
muscles and tendons. They must be very curious ; 
I wish I could see them. 

M. We must not attend to too many things at 
once, Robert. You can understand things best, by 
attending to only one at a time. 

I intend to tell you more, hereafter, about the 
muscles and tendons, and to show you some pictures 
of them. 

R. I shall be very glad, mother, and thank you 
very much. 

M. I have done explaining to you, Robert, about 
the joint at the shoulder. 

Now I will tell you about the joint at the elhoWf 
which is, also, very curious, and shows you the de- 
sign, contrivance, and skill of God, in making it. 

Here is a drawing of it, which I wish you to 
examine. 




ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 51 ' 

M. It is the right arm which you are looking at, 
and the elbow is towards you, as if the person were 
standing with his back to you. 

R That, mother, is a part of the shoulder-bone 
(a), about which you have been telling me. 

M. Yes, but you do not see the roimd end, which 
sets into the socket, at the shoulder -joint. 

The other end of the bone, which you see, has a 
very different shape. 

There is a hollow place (b), at this end, into which 
a hooked part (c) of another bone, sets. You recol- 
lect, I showed you this bone, (see page 38), and told 
you that it was called, the ulna. It is this bone which 
moves up and down, at the elbow joint, when the 
whole arm is stretched out, and the shoulder-bone 
kept still. 

R. I shall remember, mother, to call it the ulna. 
You told me, too, that the ulna, at its lower end, 
joins the wrist, on the side where the little finger is. 

M. Well, a hooked end of the ulna, (c), you see, 
sets into a hollow place (b) of the shoulder-bone, at 
the elbow joint. It is this hooked end of the ulna 
on which you lean, when you say, that you lean on 
your elbow. You can feel it very easily with your 
thumb and fingers. 

Now, suppose the person, at whose right arm you 



52 THE youth's book 

are looking, to turn round and face you. You will 
see the inside of the arm, thus. 




Look at the lower end of the shoulder-bone, and 
you see a small, hollow place (a), into which another 
hooked end (b) of the ulna sets. This hollow place, 
however, is quite shallow, not so deep as the one on 
the other side, which I showed you ; and this end is 
not so long and hooked as the other end. 

These two hooked ends of the ulna, clasp round 
the end of the shoulder-bone, and form a joint, which 
is called a hinge-joint, so that you can move your 
arm, at the elbow ; but you can move it only one way. 

When you straighten your arm, the hooked end, on 
the outside, goes into the hollow place on the outside, 
and sets firm and fast into it, and helps to keep the 
ulna in its place, and from going any farther back. 

When you bend your arm, so as to bring your 
hand up to your shoulder, the crooked end of the 
ulna on the inside, goes into the hollow place on the 
inside, and helps keep the ulna in its place, and from 
going any farther that way. 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 53 

R. Mother, I wish I could see the real bones, and 
then I should know exactly how they look. 

M. When you grow older, my son, perhaps you 
may see them; but I think you can understand about 
them, pretty well, from looking at the pictures. 

R. I do not know, mother, that I understand exact- 
ly, how the two hooked ends of the ulna, going quite 
down into the two hollow places, in the end of the 
shoulder-bone, help to keep the arm from going too 
far, one way or the other. 

M. I think I can explain it to you a little further, 
so that you will understand it. 

Shut up your left hand tight, as the boys do, when 
they double up a fist. 

Nowcrook the thumb and fore-finger of your right 
hand, so as to make half the letter O, and shut up 
the three other fingers. 

Clasp your left hand with the thumb and fore-finger 
of your right hand ; so that the fore-finger may lie 
between the lower joint of the little finger, and of the 
finger next to it ; and that the thumb may lie just 
under the thumb of the left hand. 

Roll your right hand on your left hand, from you, 
and towards you, keeping it as close as you can to 
your left hand, and making the fore-finger and thumb 
of your right hand as hooked as you can. 

You will see, that, after your right hand has moved 

B. T. 5* 



54 THE youth's book 

a little one way or the other, it will stop ; and if there 
were two, small, hollow places, in your left hand, in 
which the ends of your thumb and finger could set, 
this would help still more to keep your right hand 
from moving any farther, and to keep it in its place 

The middle joint of the fore- finger of your right 
hand, represents, or is like the elbow of your arm ; 
and the clasping of the fore-finger and thumb round 
your left hand, is something like the hinge joint at 
the elbow. 

R. Now, mother, I seem to understand it better. 
But you have not told me any thing, yet, about the 
radius. 

M. One thing at a time, my son. Just now, you 
did not quite understand about the motion of the ulna 
round the end of the shoulder-bone. Be attentive, and 
not in a hurry. Be sure, that you understand every 
thing as I am explaining it to you ; and, if you do 
not understand it, tell me so, and ask me all the 
questions that you wish to do. 

That is the way, that little boys and girls should do, 
and big men and women, too, when they are learning 
any thing new and difficult. 

If people would all do so, they would know a great 
deal more than they do ; they would not so often be 
mistaken ; and they would be a great deal waser. 

This evening I will tell you about the radius ; and 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 



55 



then, you can ask me any more questions that you 
choose, about what I have already told you. 



DIALOGUE V. 



Robert. Mother, it is more than an hour yet, be- 
fore I must go to bed. Remember, you promised to 
tell me about the radius. 

Mother. Well, my son, I always mean to keep 
my promises. Come, sit down by the table, and look 
at this drawing. 




R. Oh ! mother, I remember which the radius is. 
There it is (a), just above the ulna (b). 



56 THE youth's book 

M. You are right, Robert. You see, one end (c) 
of it, is on that side of the hand where the thumb is, 
and the other end (d) almost touches the lower end 
(e) of the shoulder bone. 

R. Does it not set in to the shoulder bone, mother 
as the hooked ends of the ulna do ? 

M. No, my son, but there is a small, round knob 
(f), on the end of the shoulder bone, on which the 
end of the radius moves. The end of the radius is 
made to fit on to this knob ; so that it is a very little 
like a ball and socket joint. 

The radius moves two ways, on this knob ; — up 
and down, when the elbow joint moves, and the hand 
is moved up and down; — and it turns round on this 
knob, when the hand is turned round, at the wrist. 

R. Mother, how many curious motions, the differ- 
ent bones have ! 

M. Yes, my son. Do you think, that you could 
cut out some little sticks of wood ; and shape them ; 
and fit them together ; so as to make them have as 
many different, curious motions, as the bones of the 
arm have ? 

R. No, mother, I should not have contrivance and 
skill enough. 

M. Well, my son, as we go on in our explanation, 
you will keep seeing more and more of the wonderful 
design, and contrivance, and skill of God, and of 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 57 

his goodness too, in making for you such a curious 
and convenient instrument as the arm and hand. 

R. Mother, the end of the radius (d), next to the 
shoulder bone, looks like a button. 

M. Yes, my son, and it is called a button-kead. 
You see the edge of it just touches the upper side of 
the ulna. 

R. Is it fastened to it, mother ? 

M. No, my son. If it were, you could not turn 
your hand round, at the wrist. 

R. Why not, mother ? I do not understand that. 

M. One end of the radius (c), Robert, is fastened 
to some little bones, which are at the bottom of that 
side of the hand where the thumb is. To these little 
bones, the hand is fastened ; and it rests, and moves, 
on them. 

Now when you keep your arm quite still, so as not 
to move it either at the shoulder, or at the elbow, and 
turn your hand over, and back again, the little bones 
at the bottom of the hand, must turn over, too. 

These little bones are fastened to the radius ; so 
that the radius must turn round also. And this it could 
not do, if its hvMon-head (d) were fastened tight to the 
ulna. If it were, the radius could only move up and 
down, and only when the ulna did, for, being fastened 
tight to it, the radius would move just as the ulna does. 
Do you understand me ? 



58 THE youth's book 

R. I think I do, mother, but I wish to look at the 
drawing, a little more. 

M. Just as long as you please, Robert. 

R. Mother, it seems to me, that when the radius 
turns round, at the same time that the hand does, at 
the wrist, — that the edge of the button-head (d) must 
roll on the side of the ulna. 

M. You are right, my son. It does ; and there is 
a small, hollow place (g) scooped out of the upper side 
of the end of the ulna, in which the edge of the button 
head fits exactly, and in which it rolls, whenever it 
turns round. 

It is this turning round of the radius, that enables 
you to turn your hand round, at the wrist, so that 
you can hold the back of it upwards, and then the 
palm of it upwards, just as you choose. 

R. Is the end of the radius at the wrist (c), fast- 
ened to the ulna, mother ? 

M. No, my son, for then the radius could not turn 
round. It could only move as the ulna does. 

But, at the wrist, it is the ulna that has a sort of 
button-head (h), and the hollow place which fits it, 
is scooped out of the radius ; so that, when the ra- 
dius turns round, this hollow place rolls on the but- 
ton-head of the ulna. 

And God has made all this so exactl}'-, and so cu- 
riously, to enable you, both to bend your arm at the 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 59 

elbow, and, at the same time, to turn your hand 
round, whenever you wish to do it. 

Put your two fore-fingers close along side of each 
other. Keep them close at the lower joint, while 
you roll the fore-finger of the right hand over, and 
across, the fore-finger of the left hand, and back 
again. 

(Robert does so.) 

Well, this is something like the rolling of the ra- 
dius over, and across, the ulna, when you turn your 
hand over, and back again. And you see the rea- 
son, why, at the elbow, the button-head of the radius 
rolls in the hollow place (g) of the ulna, — and why, 
at the wrist, the hollow place of the radius rolls on 
the button-head (h) of the ulna. 

In this way, the end of the radius, at the wrist, has 
more motion than the end, at the elbow. It has a 
larger sweep, and the hand can be turned over far- 
ther, and more easily 

R. Curious ! curious ! Mother, are all the other 
parts of the body as curious ? 

M Yes, my son, and many of them are a great 
deal more so. 

R. I should think, it would take a great while to 
understand about them all. 

M. It would so, Robert ; a great many books have 
been written about them, by very wise and learned 



60 THE youth's book 

men. And yet, all is not known about them. Proba- 
bly, many more curious, and wonderful, things will 
yet be found out. Then we shall have still more 
reason to admire, and be thankful for, the great wis- 
dom and power, and skill, and goodness of God, in 
the bodies which he has made for our souls to live 
in, and to use, in so many ways, for our happiness, 
and for that of our fellow men. 

But we must talk a little more about the elbow- 
joint before you go to bed. Are you tired ? 

R. Not at all, mother ; I could sit here an hour 
longer, what you say is so entertaining and instruc- 
tive to me. 

M. I only wish to tell you, how the shoulder-bone, 
the ulna, and the radius, are fastened together, at the 
elbow-joint. For there are some things about it, a 
little different from the joint at the shoulder, and 
which show still further the design, contrivance, and 
skill of God. 

The ends of the bones, as at the shoulder-joint, are 
covered with gristle, the use of which I explained to 
you. The joint-oil, too, is furnished, and kept in a 
bag which surrounds the joint; and you recollect 
what it is for. 

Several muscles, also, and tendons, (the strips of 
hard flesh, and tough, strong cords, about which I 
told you), pass across the joint, and being fastened. 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 61 

above and below it, to help keep the ulna and the 
radius in their places. 

But there is still something more done, to keep 
them in their places ; and this was very necessary, 
for there is a great strain at the elbow-joint, when we 
lift any thing very heavy, or do any thing very hard, 
with our hands. 

Here is a drawing, at which I wish you to look 
very attentively, while I am explaining it to you. 




(a) is the shoulder-bone, (b) the radius, and (c) 
the ulna, of the left arm. 

They are all bound together by the bag of the 
joint (d), which is not very strong itself, but is made 
so, by some ligaments that cross it in different di- 
rections. 

R. Mother, what is a ligament ? 

M. I was just going to tell you ; but I am glad 
that you asked me, for it shows that you recollect 

B. T. 6 



what I have told you — always to ask the meaning of 

any words that you do not understand. 

If you should wind the end of your handkerchief 
round two of your fingers, so as to bind them toge- 
ther, it would be called a ligameyit. 

A ligament is a band of any kind, put round two 
or more things, to bind them together. 

The ligaments, in our bodies, are either flat, like 
a piece of tape, or round, like a cord. They are 
very tough and strong, and are made up of a great 
many, very fine threads, very close together — closer 
than a strong man could twist a great many, fine, 
strong cords together. 

Now, look again at the drawing. The ligament 
(e), is a part of the bag, and goes over the button- 
head of the radius. It is very hard, and something 
like gristle. It is strengthened very much, by ano- 
ther ligament (n n,) which, you see, goes across 
the bag. 

There are, also, two ligaments (o o), which are 
small, but strong slips, that go from the end of the 
shoulder-bone, to the bottom of the large hook of 
the ulna. 

Then, there is a ligament (p), passing between 
the radius and the ulna. 

So you see what care is taken, to make the elbow- 
joint firm and strong, and to keep all the bones in 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 63 

their places, while they can still move so curiously, 
around, and upon, and across, each other. 

You understand now, I suppose, enough about 
the joints, at the shoulder, and at the elbow, to see 
the design which God had in making them as 
he did. 

R. I do, pretty well, mother. His design was, to 
have them move, in the best way for our using them. 

M. That is right, Robert. And only think, if the 
hinge joint was at the shoulder, and the hall and 
socket joint at the elbow, how awkwardly we should 
move our arm. 

It would be difficult then, and, indeed, impossible 
for us, to do many things with our arms and hands, 
which we now do with great ease and quickness. 

Could any body suppose, that the man who Jirst 
thought of making a pencil-case, like my silver one, 
had not a particular design in making it ? When 
you examine it, and see how all its parts are curi- 
ously made, and skilfully put together, do you not 
think, at once, and believe, that a man made it, and 
that he had a particular design in making all its 
parts, and in putting them together, just as he did? 

And when you examine the hinge of a door, can 
you believe, that it was made for any other purpose, 
than to have the door swing upon it ? Did not the 
man who Jirst thought how to make it, have a parti- 



64 THE youth's book 

cular design in making all its parts, and in putting 
them together, just as he did? 

What else could the pencil-case have been made 
for, than to hold a small, new kind of lead pencil, 
different from the old kind, and more convenient for 
a person to write with ? 

What else could the hinge of a door have been 
made for, than to have the door swing upon it, and 
open and shut 1 

In the same way, what else could the joints at the 
shoulder and elbow, have been made for, than to 
help the arm and hand to move, easily and quickly, 
a great many different ways, so that we can use 
them for doing a great many different things ? 

And why were the shoulder-joint, and the elbow- 
joint, made so differently from each other ? Here, 
we see another 'particular design. For, if there 
were no such design, they would have been made 
alike, just as the two hinges of a door are. 

There is no reason why the two hinges of a door 
should be unlike. No, there are good reasons why 
they should be made exactly alike. 

Now, there are no good reasons why the shoulder 
and elbow joints should be made alike. If they were 
made so, they would be very awkward and incon- 
venient, and quite useless for doing many things 
which we now do easily and well. 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 65 

But you can see many good reasons, why they 
should be made unlike, and why, at the shoulder, 
there should be a ball and socket joint, and, at the 
eibow, a hiiige joint. 

In making them so, God had a 'particular design; 
and, when we examine their curious parts, we not 
only believe that there is a God who made them, but 
that he made all the parts, and put them together, 
just as he did, for one purpose, and for no other. 

Every time that we move our arms and our hands, 
or do any thing with them, shows us this one pur- 
pose for which God made the joi7its exactly as he 
has made them. 

R. Mother, how little men know, and how little 
they can do ! How wise, and powerful, and skilful, 
God is ! 

M. Remember, too, my son, how good God is ! 
He is good in making all the parts of your body, 
just as he has made them ; and in keeping them in 
order, as he does; and in giving you health and 
strength ; and in keepir^ you safe from danger, so 
that none of your lirnbs have been broken, or any 
part of your body injured. 

Has not God a right to command you, never to 
use your arms and hands for doing any thing wrong, 
nor your lips and tongue for saying any thing wrong, 
but to use them, and your whole body, in obey- 

B. T. 6* 



66 THE youth's book 

ing and serving him, and in doing good to others? 

R. Yes, indeed, I think he has, mother. 

M. Remember it, my son ; and always fear to use 
your body for any wrong purpose, and thus sin 
against God. For God looks on all who sin against 
him, with very great displeasure. 

R. I hope, mother, that I shall always remember 
what you have told me, and try to use my arms, 
and hands, and lips, and tongue, and all the parts of 
my body, just as I ought to do, and to do good with 
them. 

M. I hope you will, my son, and that God will 
enable you to do so. 



DIALOGUE VI. 

Mother. You have been a good boy, Robert, 
and said your lessons well, and now I will explain 
to you something more about the arm and hand. 

Robert. I shall be very much obliged to you, 
mother, for doing it. For I should not like to stop 
now, and not know any thing about the wrist and 
hand, since I understand pretty well about the bones 
and joints in the arm. 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 67 

M. You will see, my son, that the bones and 
joints in the arm, are all connected with the bones 
and joints of the wrist and hand ; indeed, they were 
designed principally to enable you to use your hand. 
The different kinds of motions, at the shoulder and 
elbow-joints, enable you to carry your hand from 
one place to another; to reach up high, or down 
low, and get any thing ; to stretch your hand for- 
ward, or to put it behind you ; and to move it, in 
one direction and another, as you may wish. 

So you see all the parts of your arm and hand, are 
only parts of one and the same instrument, made, 
and put together, with one design, to enable you to 
use it easily and quickly, for your own good, and 
the good of others. 

R. Mother, God must have thought a good deal, 
how to make the arm and hand. 

It would take a man a great while to think how 
to make such a curious and useful instrument, and 
one, too, that should always keep in good order. 

M. My son, God^s thoughts are not as our thoughts. 

When we say that God designs and contrives, we 
do not mean, that he does so as we do. 

We have to think long and hard, in designing any 
thing which it is difficult to make. Some men have 
spent many years in doing this. The man that first 
designed a steamboat, did; and yet he did not make 



68 THE youth's book 

it as good as it might have been made. Other per- 
sons have since designed and made steamboats, and 
made them better in many things. And other per- 
sons will probably make steamboats, still better, more 
safe, and more useful, and thus show their design and 
contrivance. 

But God thinks immediately, and without the least 
difficulty, how to make the things which he wishes to 
make, and which apjpear to us the most difficult to be 
made. 

He knows all things, and therefore, knows all the 
different v/ays in which things can be made, and how 
their parts can be put together, and what is the best 
way of doing this. 

When a man designs and contrives any thing, he 
could not do it, if he had not learned a great many 
things from others. 

You could not design and contrive how to make 
a new kind of kite, if you had not seen the boys 
make kites, and thus learned yourself how to make 
them. 

But God learns nothing from other beings. He 
knows, and has always known how all kinds of beings 
and things can be made, and for what they can be 
made ; and he can make them whenever he chooses, 
exactly and 'perfectly, as easily and quickly as you 
can speak a word. 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 69 

R. What do you mean, mother, when you say 
that God is skilful? 

M. Do you remember, that you told me, some 
days ago, what skill is ? 

R. Yes, mother. 

M. Well, tell me again, w^hat it is. 

R. It is — after any body has contrived how to 
make any thing — to get every thing ready, and put 
all the parts together, just as they ought to be, so as 
to have the thing well made, and to do all this easily, 
and exactly, without making any mistake. 

M. We do not get our skill at once. It takes us 
a long time to get it. You had to make a good 
many kites, before you were skilful in making one. 
Little children are not skilful. They make a great 
many mistakes, when they try to mxake any thing. 
They must grow older, and often see other persons 
do things, and have things explained to them, and 
think a great deal, and use their hands a great deal, 
before they can have skill in making, or doing things. 

But God does not get his skill in this way. He 
never has to learn, how to make or to do any thing. 
His skill is perfect. 

By this, I mean, that he never makes the smallest 
mistake in making any thing, and that he can make 
it at once, and without th-e least difficulty, exactly as 
it is best it should be made. 



70 THE youth's book 

When the most skilful man makes any thing, 
other persons will, sometimes, see some way in which 
it might be made a little better. 

Nobody can see any way in which the things 
which God has made, could be made at all better. 

The arm and hand, with all their joints and parts, 
could not be made better in any one thing, when we 
consider thfe being for whom they were made ; the 
body to which they belong ; and the uses for which 
they were desig-ned. Can any body point out a way, 
in which any part of the arm or hand could be made 
better ? Nobody can. In them God shows us his 
perfect skill ; and in all things which God has made, 
his skill is perfect. 

This is some explanation of the skill of God. 
But all that we know, or all that we can think about 
it, is far, very far below what it truly is. 

The skill of God is one part of his wisdom ; and 
he is wise in knowing every thing, which it is best 
should be done, or made; and also, in knowing the 
very best way in which it should be done, or made. 

The wisdom of God is as much greater than our 
wisdom, as this world is greater than one grain of 
sand; yes, as millions, and millions, and millions, 
of this world, would be greater than one such grain j 
and as many more worlds, added to these, as all the 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 71 

people that ever lived could count, if they should do 
nothing- but count all their lives. 

The wisdom of God is infinite. But come, look 
at this drawing, and I will explain to you about the 
wrist and hand. (See page 55.) 

The wrist is made up of eight small bones (k), 
which you see are of different sizes and shapes. 

They are tied together very strongly by bands, or 
ligaments, that go across them, and they make a sort 
of ball, on which the other bones of the hand move. 
You see, there are two rows of these eight bones. 
Two in the lower row ( 1, 2), are so put together, that 
they form a ball, which fits into a hollow place, or 
socket, (1), in the end of the radius, and forms the 
wrist-joint. 

This joint at the wrist is very moveable. It is also 
very strong ; for it is almost like a hinge-joint, the 
hollow of the radius, and the ball of the bone that 
fits into it, both being very long. It has a very free 
motion, too, for it turns with the radius, whenever 
the radius turns. 

The other two small bones, in the lower row, 
(3, 4), are connected with the end of the ulna ; but 
they do not make an exact joint with it. They toll 
upon it, and make the motions of the hand, at the 
wrist-joint, easier. 



72 THE youth's book 

R. There are four bones, mother, in the upper 
row. 

M. Yes, and the one (5) next to the thumb, is a 
pretty large one. It has a socket in which the ball 
of the thumb moves. The second bone from this 
(7) has a long, round head, which is jointed with 
the hollow of the bone below (2) ; so that it makes 
a sort of ball and socket-joint, by which the upper 
row of bones, moves upon the lower row. 

All these eight bones, in the two rows, where 
they are joined to each other, are covered with 
smooth gristle (or cartilage, as it is also called.) 
This, you know, makes them move easily. They 
are bound firmly togethe , by a great many cross 
ligaments of different kinds, and they make some- 
thing like one great joint, but much more flexible 
than a single joint would be. 

R. Mother, what does flexible mean ? 

M. Can you bend this andiron ? 

R. I cannot, but I can bend the handle of that lit- 
tle whip that lies on the floor. 

M. The handle of the whip is flexible, Robert, but 
the andiron is not. The joints of your fore-finger, 
make it very flexible. See, in how many different 
ways, you can bend it. 

A blade of grass, too, is very flexible. An icicle is 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 73 

not flexible. If you try to bend it, it immediately 
breaks i^i two. 

R. I think, there is no part of my body, mother, 
which is so flexible as my hand and fingers. 

M. You see the design of God, my son, in making 
them so. Ten thousand, thousand, different things, 
which men and women learn to do, so curiously, so 
quickly, and so easily, with their hands and fingers, 
could not be done, if there were not so many joints, 
and bones, moving smoothly on each other, and thus 
making the hands and fingers very flexible. 

Look at the picture, again, Robert. Above the up- 
per row of the eight bones, about which I have been 
telling you, you see five long bones. 

The bone under the thumb, has a large,round head, 
which forms a ball and socket joint (m) with the bone 
below it, about which I told you. 

This gives the thumb a verj^ wide and free motion, 
which, as you may see, from using it, with your fin- 
gers, it was very necessary that it should have. 

The other four bones (n),with which the fingers are 
jointed, have flat and square heads, which set very 
firmly upon the upper row of the eight bones of the 
wrist. They are bound to these bones by ligaments, 
and move but little upon them. 

The thumb, you see, has but two bones, unless you 
count the lower bone with a round head, which, per- 

B. R. 7 



74 

haps, ought to be done ; and then the thumb will have 
three bones, and three joints, just as the fingers have. 

The two upper joints of the thumb and fingers, are 
hinge-joints ; and these joints are made very strong, 
by ligaments on each side of them. 

With the help of these joints, we can bend and 
crook the thumb and fingers so as to take hold of, or 
grasp, any thing very firmly. And we can do this so 
much the easier, and better, because the thumb stands 
out from the fingers, on one side, and is opposite to 
them. 

You know, how exactly you can put your thumb 
and fingers round your ball, so as to hold it very 
light. 

How well, too, you can take hold of a rope, and 
pull it, with your two hands. 

And, it would seem, as if the thumb, and the two 
fingers next to it were made on purpose to write with, 
and to sew with. What nice motions we can make 
with them, and what very fine things we can take 
hold of, and pick up with them. 

R. The nails help a good deal, mother, in doing 
that ; and so they do, in untying hard knots. 

M. That is true, my son ; the nails, also, are a 
very curious and useful part of the hand. 

But, I have a little more to tell you about the jomts 
of the fingers. 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 75 

The lower joints of the fingers, which we call the 
knuckles, are ball and socket joints. The hollow 
place is on the lower part of the finger bones, which 
move on the round heads of the bones below them 
(n). These joints give the fingers very free and easy 
motions, and enable us to separate them from each 
other, and to spread them out, like a fan. 

If the middle joints of the thumb and fingers were 
ball and socket joints, we could not take hold of 
things, and clasp around them, so firmly with our 
thumb and fingers as we now do. 

They would be as awkward and inconvenient, as, 
I told you, a ball and socket joint at the elbow, 
would be. 

R. Mother, the hand is most curious and wonder- 
ful, indeed ! I never thought, before, that it had so 
many diflferent parts, put together, just as they are. 

M. And yet, my son, I have not told you about 
many other parts of the arm and hand, quite as 
curious and wonderful. 

/ have only told you about the hones, and joints, 
and some of the ligaments. 

But from these alone, you see, with how much skill 
and goodness God has made the arm and hand for 
your use and comfort. Did you ever think, how many 
things you can do with your arms and hands, al- 
though you are but a little boy ? 

R I know, I can do a great many things with 



76 THE youth's book 

them, mother. But I can do one thing with my 
fingers, that I have never told you about. 

M. What is that ? 

R. I can make the alphabet that the deaf and dumb 
use. A little boy taught it to me last Saturday after- 
noon. Here is an engraving of it, which he gave me. 




^^ %f\ ?) 



r s t 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 77 




Z 

[j is made by raising the little finger, and then describ- 
ing with it, in the air, a curve line, resembling the tail of 
the j. z is made by raising the fore-finger, and describing 
with it, in the air, the shape of z. No regard is had to 
syllables, in spelling words ; the end of a word is denoted 
by a horizontal motion of the hand.] 

M. That is another way in which the hand shows 
the skill and goodness of God. 

What would the deaf and dumb do, if they could 
not talk on their fingers. It is curious to see with 
what astonishing quickness they can make all the 
bones and joints of their hands move, when they 
spell words. 

They can spell words four times faster than the 
best writer can write them on paper with a pen. 

R. Mother, what is it that makes the bones move 
on the joints ? The door does not move on its hinges, 
unless you pull it open, or push it back again. 

B. T. 7* 



78 

M I will tell you something about that, my son, 
to-morrow evening. 

Remember what I have already taught you ; and 
if you should find that you have forgotten any thing, 
I will tell you about it again. 

Little boys and girls should not only endeavor 
to understand what is taught them, but to remem- 
ber it, too. 



DIALOGUE VII. 

Robert. Now, mother, please to explain to me, 
what it is that makes the bones move on the joints. 

Mother. I will, my son ; and you must continue 
to be attentive, and not think about any thing, only 
what we are talking about. 

Tie the end of this handkerchief to the knob of that 
door, and open the door a very little. Then stand as 
far as you can from the door, and hold the other end 
of the handkerchief in your hand. 

(Robert does so.) 

I have, mother, now what shall I do ? 

M. Pull the handkerchief. 



OK NATURAL THEOLOGY. 



79 



R. I have, and the door opens further. 

M. You see, too, Robert, how it turns on its 
hinges. 

R. I do, mother. 

M. Now, shut the door again, but not so as to 
latch it. Tie the loose end of the handkerchief to 
the top of this chair on which I am sitting. 

Now, put your hand on the middle of the hand- 
kerchief, and press it gently down towards the floor. 

R. Mother, the door opens just as it did before. 




M. Shut it again, without latching it. 

Now, take hold of the handkerchief, near the 



80 

middle, with both your hands, and let your hands 
be a few inches apart. 

R. 1 have done so, mother. 

M. Bring your hands together, so that they may 
touch each other. 

R. I have, and again the door opens. 

M. Well, you see, this last time, how the handker- 
chief pulled the door open, because it was made 
shorter, by your bringing your hands together. One 
end of it was fastened tight to the chair, and this end 
did not move, because the chair was firm in its place. 
But the other end was drawn towards the middle of 
the handkerchief, and drew the door open with it, 
because the door was not latched, but could be made 
to move easily on its hinges. 

R. T understand all this, very well, mother, but 
how does it explain the motions of the bones on the 
joints ? 

M. Have a little patience, my son, and you will 
soon see. 

Hand me the handkerchief I am going to tie one 
end of it round my neck ; and do you tie the other 
round my wrist. 

(Mrs. Stanhope and Robert do this.) 

Now, Robert, take hold of the middle of the hand- 
kerchief, with both your hands, as you did before. 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 81 

Put them a little ways apart, and, then, bring them 
together. 

R. It raises your hand up, mother, just as before, 
it pulled the door open. 

M. Have you ever seen any thing shrink, Robert ? 

R. Yes, mother ; you know when my mittens 
were wet, last winter, and I put them near the fire, 
to dry, they shrunk so much that I could hardly get 
them on. 

M. Well, if there were any way of making the 
handkerchief shrink in the middle, without any 
body's touching it, it would raise my hand up, — 
would it not ? 

R. Yes, I see it would, just as it did, when I 
brought my hands together. 

M. There is something very much like this, Ro- 
bert, — a kind of fleshy string, in your arm, that 
shrinks and pulls your hand up, every time that 
you think to raise it, and bend your arm at the elbow. 
This string is fastened to one bone above your elbow, 
and to another bone below it. 

R. What is it made of, mother ? 

M. Do you see the fine, silken threads in my hand- 
kerchief? 

R. Yes, mother ; how many of them there are, 
and how close they are together. 

M. If you should pull out some of these silken 



82 THE youth's book 

threads, and split each one of them into a great 
many finer threads, a hundred times finer than the 
finest hair in your head, would they not be very 
fine? 

R. Oh ! yes, mother, very fine, indeed, — and so 
fine, I do not think I could see them at all. 

M. You might see them, however, by looking at 
them, through the microscope which I showed you 
the other day. 

R. That instrument, mother, that had so many 
curious glasses in it 1 

M. Yes, my son, and you recollect you looked 
through it, at a single hair. 

R. I remember mother. The hair looked as large 
as a small cord. 

M. Well, you might see the very fine threads, in 
the same way ; for the microscope would magnify 
them, — that is, make them look a great deal larger 
than they really were. 

R. But a little, fine thread, like these, mother, 
would not be strong enough to draw my hand up ! 

M. A little patience, Robert. I have a good deal 
to explain to you, yet. 

Suppose, one of these very fine threads had wrap- 
ped all round it, something very thin, fine, and soft, 
making a kind of case, or sheath, for it. 

R. Mother, nobody could see to do that, unless 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 83 

they had eyes like microscopes ; and, then, the 
thumb and fingers, even of a little infant, would 
be too large and clumsy, to take hold of such fine 
things. 

M. Well, you know, you can suppose, that it 
might be done; or, at least, that God could make it so. 

R. Oh ! yes, mother, for he can make, or do, any 
thing that he chooses. 

M. Well, my son, God has made such 'very small, 
fine threads, and such sheaths for them, as I have 
been telling you about, and they are in your arm, 
and millions, and millions, and millions of them, are 
in the different parts of your body. 

R. But they are not made of silk, mother. 

M. No, Robert, they are made of the same thing 
that your flesh is made of 

A great many of these very small, fine threads, 
with their sheaths round them, are laid right along 
side of each other, so close, that it would be exceed- 
ingly difficult to separate them with the finest, sharp 
est, pen-knife, — and, then, there is one, larger case, 
that goes around them ; keeping them very tight 
together, and making a sort of small bundle of them. 

R. Mother, I. should think, they would often get 
broken, they are so very small and fine. 

M. No, my son, God has made them so curiously, 
and put them together with so much care and skill, 



84 THE youth's book 

that hundreds and thousands of people, who live to 
be very old, never have a single one of these small, 
fine threads, broken. 

R. Mother, this, I think, is the most wonderful 
thing that yoii have told me about, yet. 

M. It is, indeed, very wonderful, Robert; but our 
bodies are all full of wonders. We are fearfully, 
and wonderfully made. 

But I have something still more curious to tell 
you about these small, fine threads, and the little 
bundles into which they are made. 

Several of these little bundles of threads, are laid 
right along side of each other, or on the top of each 
other, so as to make a little larger bundle. This bun- 
dle, also, has a sheath, or case, round it. 

Then, again, several of these larger bundles are 
put together in the same way, making a still larger 
bundle, with its sheath all round it. 

Sometimes more, and sometimes fewer, of these 
bundles, are thus put together, till they make one 
great bundle. 

This largest bundle of all, made up of the smaller 
ones, is called a muscle, and this, also, has a case, or 
sheath, round it. 

By putting so many of these very small, fine 
threads so closely together in their cases, and bun- 
dles, you see that a very strong muscle is made. — a 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 85 

great deal stronger to pull with than my handker- 
chief is. 

R. And is it such a muscle, mother, that pulls my 
hand up, when I raise it ? 

M. Yes, my son ; and every motion that you can 
make, in all the different parts of your hody, when 
you speak, or eat, or turn your eyes and head, or sit 
down, or get up, or walk, or run, or hop, or jump, 
or climb, or take any thing, or carry any thing, or 
do any thing ; every motion that all the people make, 
m all their different kinds of business ; every motion 
that all the beasts, and birds, and fishes make : all 
these motions are made by the help of muscles. 

R. Mother, I should like to see a muscle very 
much. 

M. You can feel one, Robert, very easily. 

Take hold of the inside of your arm, between the 
elbow and shoulder, and squeeze it, with your thumb 
and fingers. 

R. That is my flesh, mother. It is not hard, like 
a bone, but quite soft. 

M. Well, it is the same thing as a muscle ; you 
feel the muscle, or bundle that is made up of the 
smaller, and still smaller bundles of fine threads, 
with their cases inside of each other. 

Look at this drawing, and you will see some of 
the muscles, in the arm and hand. 

B. T.. 8 



86 THE youth's book 




Look at this muscle (a). It is on the inside of 
the arm. It is fastened, near the elbow, to a knob 
of bone, on the inside of the shoulder-bone. 

You see, it goes along, down the arm, towards 
the wrist. It grows narrower, and narrower, till it 
looks like a cord (b). 

This part, like a cord, is not a muscle. It is 
made up of a great many small, fine threads, but 
they are so made and put together, that the cord 
which is made out of them, is very different from a 
muscle. 

This cord is called a tendon. 

The tendons do not contract, or shrink, as the 
muscles do. They are much harder and firmer 
than the muscles are. They are very tough and 
strong, and very hard to be broken. 

This tendon (b) looks like a part of the muscle, 
and as if it grew out of it. But it does not. It is 
fastened, however, very tight to the muscles, and 
moves whenever the muscle does. 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 87 

This tendon, you see, goes quite down to the wrist. 

At the wrist, it is fastened, on the inside of the 
hand, to the bone that lies directly under the lowest 
bone of the fore-finger. 

The muscle and the tendon, which are firmly 
joined together, you see make one string, the two ends 
ofwhich are fastened tight to two bones. These bones 
have the joint at the wrist between them, — the joint 
at the end of the radius, which I explained to you. 

As soon, then, as the muscle (a) contracts, it pulls 
the tendon (b) towards the muscle. The tendon pulls 
the bone under the fore-finger, the same way ; and so 
the hand bends at the wrist-joint, towards the inside 
of the arm. 

R. But, mother, when you tied one end of the 
handkerchief round your neck and the other round 
your wrist, to show me, how the arm moved at the 
elbow-joint, the handkerchief went straight from the 
wrist to your neck. 

M. I know that, my son. The muscles and tendons 
do not do so. If they did, they would be outside of 
the arm. 

R. That would look very bad, mother. 

M. Yes, and it would be very inconvenient, too. 

God has shown us his great wisdom and goodness, 
in the way in which he has put together the muscles 
and tendons, and bones and joints. There are no 



88 THE youth's book 

less than forty-three muscles, with their tendons, and 
thirty bones in the arm and hand ; besides ligaments, 
and many other parts about which I have not had 
time to tell you. Yet all these are packed very close 
together, within a small space, and covered with the 
skin, so that we do not see them, and we cannot 
touch them. 

They are packed closer a great deal than you have 
seen me pack my clothes in a trunk. But they do 
not get tangled with each other, nor rub against each 
other, so as to do any harm ; nor disturb each other, 
while they are moving a great many different ways. 

Who could have done this, but He who has infinite 
skill, and power, and goodness ! God alone, the ma- 
ker and preserver of all things, could have done it ! 

But, before we stop, I wish to explain one thing to 
you. To do it, I will tie one end of my handkerchief 
to the fore-finger of your left hand, with the knot on 
the inside. 

(Mrs. Stanhope does so.) 

Now, Robert, pull the handkerchief towards your 
elbow, on the inside of your arm, keeping the hand- 
kerchief close to the arm. 

R. Mother, as soon as the wrist bends, the hand- 
kerchief begins to rise from the arm ; and when the 
wrist is bent as much as it can be, the handkerchief 
is a good way from the arm. 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 89 

M. Just so, my son, the tendon, (b) would spring- 
up, if there were not a ligament, (or band), at the 
wrist, to keep it down. You see this ligament (c), 
and the tendon (b) goes under it. 

R. Is it not harder, mother, to bend the wrist, than 
if there were no ligament there, and the tendon were 
pulled straight from the hand to the elbow? 

M. Yes, my son ; but the muscle is a very strong 
one, and can pull hard enough. And you know how 
awkward and inconvenient it would be, to have the 
muscle and tendon outside of the arm. 

But, give me your own handkerchief, and let me 
tie it round your wrist. Then, my handkerchief and 
yours will be just like the tendon and band. 

(Mrs. Stanhope does so.) 

Now pull my handkerchief, Robert, just as you 
did before, 

R. It raises the hand, mother, and bends the wrist 
very well ; but I have to pull harder. 

M. Very few of the muscles, my son, pull straight. 
They and their tendons go under ligaments, and un- 
der and across, and around other muscles and ten- 
dons, and pull a great many different ways. But 
they have great power, and can pull as hard as is 
necessary. If it were not so, how could so many of 
them be put together into your little body, so as to 
make so many different kinds of motions. 

B. T. 8* 



90 

There are five hundred and twenty-seven muscles 
in your body; and every time that you breathe, one 
hundred of these muscles are moved. 

R. Mother, I am very much afraid, some of them 
will get broken, or go wrong. 

M. Why so, my son ? God, who had the skill 
and power to make them, and put them together, did 
it so perfectly, that they get broken, or go wrong, 
very, very seldom indeed ; and then, only when some 
accident happens to us, or when we have some 
disease. 

You need not be afraid to run, hop, and jump, just 
as you have always done. That was one thing for 
which your muscles were made. And you should 
be truly thankful to God, that you can move your 
limbs so quickly and easily, and play so briskly and 
happily. 

You must soon begin, also, as your muscles grow 
stronger, to use them in some kind of work. 

This is another thing that they were made for. 

God gave them to us, that we might be industrious. 
You must learn to be industrious, and to work with 
your hands. 

This is the sure way to have a sound, healthy, and 
strong body, and a cheerful and active mind. Be- 
sides, you do not know how poor you may be, so 
that you will be obliged to work, to earn money to 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 91 

buy clothes and food, and to take care of yourself 
Little boys that grow up, without learning at all, 
to work with their hands, although they may learn 
a great deal in books, often become quite sick and 
weak, when they are men, and so cannot use their 
knowledge for any good purpose. And, sometimes, 
they cannot get any body to do any thing for them, 
and they are helpless, like little infants, and do not 
know how to do any thing for themselves, and suffer 
a great deal. And, sometimes, they become poor, 
and cannot earn any money, which they might very 
soon do, if they knew how to labor with their hands. 
R. Mother, you know, I love to carry in wood 
for the parlor fire, and I will carry it a great deal 
more, when I grow older, and saw and split it, too. 
M. That is right, my son. Be industrious, and 
that will keep you from evil, and be one of the surest 
ways of making you happy. 



DIALOGUE VIII. 

Mother. I have a few things yet to tell you, Ro- 
bert, about the muscles, that will show you still more 



92 

of the design, and skill, and goodness of God, in 
making them as he has done. 

Robert. I shall listen to you, mother, very at- 
tentively. Many things that you tell me, are a great 
deal more entertaining than what I read in my story 
books. 

M. I am glad to hear you say so, my son. Think, 
too, how much more useful it is for you to learn 
what is true, and what shows you the power, and 
wisdom, and goodness of our heavenly Father, than 
to read stories which are not true, and which often 
have not much in them that is improving or useful. 
But come, we must begin to talk about the muscles. 
Tie your handkerchief again to the handle of the 
lock on the door. 
(Robert does so.) 

Now unlatch the door, and pull it open gently, by 
pulling your handkerchief. 

After you stop pulling the handkerchief, does the 
door shut again ? 

R. No, mother, and it will not, unless I push it 
to, again. 

M. Suppose,^ I should tie my handkerchief to the 
other handle of the lock, on the outside, and I should 
stand in the entry, and pull my handkerchief after 
you had done pulling yours. 

R. You would pull the door to, mother. 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 93 

M. Stretch out your arm as far as you can, Ro- 
bert, so as to have your hand just as high up from 
the floor, as your shoulder is. 

(Robert does do.) 

M. Bend your arm at the elbow, so as to have 
your hand touch your breast. 

R. I thought to have it done, mother, and you see, 
my hand went to my breast immediately. 

M. You see, it stops there, and does not go back 
again. The muscles inside of your arm, about which 
I have told you, contracted, and pulled your hand to 
your breast. But this same muscle cannot pull your 
hand back again, any more tjian your handkarchief, 
when you stood inside of the door, could pull it so 
as to make it shut. 

R. Then, mother, there must be an outside mus- 
cle, on the arm, to straighten it again, after I bend 
it at the elbow. 

M. You are right, Robert ; there are two such 
muscles, and they are very strong ones. For if you 
will try, you will find, that, after having bent your 
arm, you can straighten it with a great deal of force. 

If you lift your whole arm up, at the shoulder 
joint, and then let it fall down itself, it will do so, just 
as the lid of a trunk does, if you let go of it, after 
having raised it up. 

But very often, in difl^erent kinds of work, men 



94 THE youth's book 

want to bring the hand down quickly, and so as to 
strike a hard blow. They want to do so, when they 
cut wood, and when they drive nails with a hammer. 

The outside muscles of the arm enable them to do 
this ; and here again, you see the design which God 
had in making these muscles, and in placing them 
just right to pull, exactly, in an opposite direction 
from that in which some other muscles pull. Unless 
they had pulled just 171 this manner, they would have 
been of no use. 

R. Do you remember, mother, when the two men 
came to saw wood for us, how quick they did it. 
They had one long saw, with handles at each end, 
and they stood on different sides of a stick of wood, 
and, first, one man pulled the saw towards him, and 
then the other man pulled it towards him, and so 
they kept pulling it backwards and forwards. Do 
not the muscles about which you have been telling 
me, pull in some such way ? 

M. They do, my son, and they are called anta- 
gonist muscles. There are a great many of them in 
our bodies. All the motions of our hand and fingers 
are made with their help ; and without them, most 
of the motions that we make, would be very awk- 
ward; — many of them quite useless; and some mo- 
tions that we should very often want to make, we 
could not make at all. 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 95 

R. One thing, mother, about the muscles, I do not 
understand. 

M. What is that, my son ?- 

R. I understand pretty well, how they pull the 
bones whenever they shrmk ; but, mother, what 
makes them shrink, just exactly when I think to 
have any part of my body move ? 

M. Yes, my son ; and what makes them contract, 
slowly or quickly, just as you think to have the mo- 
tion slow or quick ; and, then to stop contracting, 
just when you wish to have the motion stop : and to 
stop just as long as you wish to have them ; and 
then to let the antagonist muscles pull the other 
way, just when you think to have them do so ! 

Is not this very wonderful, indeed, when you 
think, how many thousand times your muscles do 
all this, even in one day ? 

R. It is, mother. I think, it is the most wonder- 
ful thing that you have yet told me. Do explain it 
lo me. 

M. I know hardly any thing about it, Robert. 
The wisest men who have studied about it a great 
deal, are as ignorant as you and I are, and cannot 
explain it. 

All that they know is, that there are a great many 
cords, or strings, made up of very fine threads, that 
go from a part of the head called the brain, — and 



96 THE youth's book 

also from the inside of the back-bone, which is filled 
with something that is connected with the brain, — 
all over the body ; and that, without these cords, we 
could not see, nor hear, nor smell, nor taste, nor feel ; 
— and that without them, the muscles would not 
contract, when we wish any part of the body to 
move. 

R. What are these cords called, mother ? 

M. They are called 7ierves. They run into the 
muscles, and alongside of the smaller bundles and 
threads of the muscles ; so that every muscle has a 
great many of these nerves. 

Now, when you think to have your hand bend at 
the wrist ; your thinking somehow or other by the 
help of the brain, and of the nerves which go to the 
muscle that bends your wrist, makes that muscle 
contract, and immediately your wrist is bent. 

How the nerves help to do this, or how they make 
the muscles contract, nobody knows. The wisest 
men only know, that it is so ; but of the way in which 
it is done, they are just as ignorant as a little child. 

They have found out, that if the nerves belong- 
ing to any muscle are weakened or destroyed by 
sickness or disease, then that muscle will not contract 
as it did before, although the person thinks, and 
wishes ever so much, to have that part of the body 
move, which the muscle was made to move. 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 97 

• 

The nerves do the errand from the mind to the 
muscle ; and the muscle will not obey the mind, un- 
less the nerves are well and strong, and do the 
errand faithfully. 

R. God knows, mother, how the nerves make the 
muscles contract. 

M. Yes, my son, for he made them both ; and he 
made them to act together as they do. 

If I had time to explain to you about all the nerves 
in the body ; how some go to your eye, and help 
you to see ; and some to your ear, and to your nose, 
and to your tongue, and help you to hear, and smell, 
and taste ; and a great many others to all parts of 
your body, so that you have feeling all over it ; and 
then, how a great many others go to all the muscles, 
and help you to make all the different kinds of mo- 
tions that you do ; you would wonder still more and 
more at the wisdom, and skill, and goodness, of God, 
and see his design, in making all these curious parts 
of your body just as he has made them. 

R. Mother, do tell me about some other parts of 
the body. I suppose, there are some more curious 
than any you have told me about yet. 

M. There are so, Robert ; but I believe you must 
wait till you grow a little older, for, then, you will 
understand the explanations of the different parts of 
the body mucn better than you can now. 

B. T. 9 



98 

But I have one tiling more to tell you about the 
nerves and muscles, to show you how wonderfully 
God has made them to wo7k together, for our benefit. 

R. What is that, mother ? 

M. Do you ever know what I mean, when I do 
not speak to you ? 

R. Sometimes, I can guess what you mean, mo- 
ther, from your looks. 1 can easily tell whether you 
are glad or sorry, and whether you are pleased with 
me or not. It always makes me feel sorry to see 
you look so. 

M. Suppose, I should always wear a veil over 
my face, so that you could not see it, when I was 
talking with you. 

R. 0! I should not like that, at all, mother. I 
like to see your eyes move about, and the different 
parts of your face move, and look so differently, at 
different times. 

When you tell me stories, or explain things to me, 
I can understand you much better when I see your 
face, and look straight at you, in your ej^es. 

M. That is true, my son ; and I can almost al- 
ways tell, whether you have got up a pleasant, and 
good boy, hy your looks, when I first see you in the 
morning. 

And when you was a little infant, you could not 
speak and tell me, that you were in pain, or felt un- 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 99 

easy, but I knew if you were, by looking at your 
face. 

And you learned a great deal, at that time, by 
looking at my face. You could not understand my 
words ; but you very soon began to understand my 
looks. 

R. O ! mother, do you not remember, when we 
were at aunt Mary's, how my little cousin Jane, 
would look, and look, right at her face, for a great 
while. 

M. Yes, my son; and you remember, too, that 
when Jane fretted and cried, when nothing was the 
matter, how your aunt would look a little cross at 
her, and shake her head, and Jane would be still, 
almost instantly. 

R. Yes, mother, and often I am more afraid of 
you, when you only look at me, than I am, when you 
speak to me for doing wrong. 

M. And when you are a good boy, and I pat you 
on the cheek, and look pleasantly at you, how do you 
feel then ? 

R. I feel very happy, mother ; / like to see your 
looks, then. It almost seems, as if you were speak- 
ing to me, and saying, that you love me for being a 
good boy. 

But I know another time, mother, when your looks 
did me a great deal of good. 

i24930B 



100 THE youth's book 

M. When was that? 

R. When I was so sick on my little bed, and you 
had to send for the doctor. You sat by me, and took 
hold of my hand, and looked as if you felt sorry for 
me, and wished to do every thing to make me better. 
I think your looks really did me a great deal of good. 

M. And you remember, too, Robert, what a kind 
man the doctor was. 

R. Oh ! yes ; he looked very kindly at me, and that, 
too, made me feel better, and hope I should get well. 
Mother, I think, doctors should take a great deal of 
care, always to look pleasantly and kindly, when they 
go to see people who are sick. 

M. We should ail of us, my son, try to look plea- 
santly and kindly, at all times ; and then, we shall, 
both, make others happier, and feel more happy 
ourselves. 

The doctor, too, is often able to learn a great deal 
from the looks of the persons who art sick, when he 
sees them, the first time ; and to tell, \,hen he sees 
them afterwards, whether they are getting bt,, -.x or 
worse. 

R. Mother, I never knew, before, how useful it is, 
to have our faces look so many different ways, and 
show what we think and what we feel. 

M. God knew, my son, how necessary it would 
be, for our comfort, that it should be so, and you see 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 101 

how curiously, and with what wonderful design and 
skill, he has made the different parts of the face, and 
the muscles and nerves, which help these parts to 
move, in so many different ways. 

R. Mother, are there a good many muscles to move 
our eyes, and all the different parts of our face ? 

M. There are, my son, and by their help we can 
look almost, if not quite, as many different ways, as 
we can think, or feel. 

How many different ways a little child moves his 
mouth and lips, when he feels pleasant or unpleasant ; 
kind or cross ; mild or angry ; nntient or impatient ; 
contented or fretful ; when he smiles, or laughs, or 
pouts, or cries. 

How many different ways, too, he moves his mouth 
and lips, when he breathes, and speaks, and chews, 
and swallows. 

To open and move the mouth and lips, in all the 
different wavs that we can, a number of muscles is 
necessary. Now, when one of these pulls one way, 
you low, there must be another muscle, to pull back 
again, the other way, which, you recollect, I told you, 
is culled, an antagonist muscle. 

R. I hardly see, mother, how there can be room 
for so many different muscles, and the antagonist 
muscles, too, about the mouth and lips. 

M. The truth is, Robert, there is only one antago- 

B. T. 9* 



102 

nist muscle, which is so curiously made and placed, 
that it can pull all sorts of ways, so as to pull back 
all the other muscles, by itself alone. 

R. Where is it placed mother ? 

M. It is all round the mouth, about dn inch in 
breath. It is the thick, fleshy part of the lips. It lies 
in the red part of the lips, and it is fastened at the 
two corners of the mouth. Its use is to be an anta- 
gonist muscle to a great many others that move the 
mouth and lips, and to shut up the mouth so tight, if 
you blow ever so hard, it can keep the breath in your 
mouth. 

R. How far it can be stretched, mother, and then 
how small it can contract itself! 

M. Yes, it is both a very elastic, and a very strong 
muscle. It is round, for a straight muscle could not 
have pulled so many different ways, and it is placed 
just where a round muscle was wanted. It helps too, 
to form part of the mouth and lips ; and there are a 
good many letters and words which we could not 
s^*^ak, if we did not have this curious muscle. 

R. How many, many different things had to be 
made, and exactly put together, mother, to make out 
bodies just what they should be ! 

M. Thatis true,my son ; I might keep on explain- 
ing to you, even about the muscles alone, and every 
one of them, would show you the wonderful design. 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 103 

and contmance, and skill, and great goodness, too, of 
the Almighty Being who made us. 

But we have talked enough, for this time. I shall 
tell you a little more about the muscles and nerves, 
this evening. 



DIALOGUE IX. 

Robert. Is there any other round muscle, mother, 
besides the one that goes round the mouth ? 

Mother. Yes, there is one that goes all round the 
eye. It lies directly under the skin of the upper and 
lower eyelids, and is very flat and thin. It is fastened 
to a little knob on the upper jaw bone, quite in the 
inner corner of the eye, close to the nose. If you put 
your finger carefully there, you will feel the tendon, 
which fastens it, like a little knot. 

It goes from this tendon over the upper eyelid, 
round the outer corner of the eye, over the lower eye- 
lid, and so, back again, to the tendon. 

This curious little muscle helps us to shut up the 
eye, which, you know, we often want to do ; and if 
any thing gets into the eye, it squeezes very hard, 
and often squeezes it out. 



104 THE youth's book 

When persons weep, it is this muscle, too, which 
presses the ball of the eye down, and squeezes some- 
thing like a small piece of spongy flesh, that makes 
the tears, and they flow out. 

R. Mother, it seems to make me feel easier, some- 
times, to weep. 

M. Yes, my son, there are times when our pain, 
or our sorrow, causes us to weep, and it is a great re- 
lief to us, to shed tears. 

God knew that it w^ould be so, and he made this 
curious muscle, and the small piece of spongy flesh, 
which is called a gland, and the other parts of the 
eye, so that we might get this relief. 

I knew a lady who could not shed a tear, even 
when she was in the greatest pain or sorrow. The 
gland, which makes the tears, had been destroyed by 
severe sickness ; and although she often tried to weep, 
and strained the muscle, about which I have been 
telling you, as hard as she could, she could not shed 
a single tear. She told me, she did not know before 
that severe sickness, how exceedingly distressing it 
was, never to be able to weep. She said, oh ! how 
much she would give, to be able to weep, sometimes ! 

A friend of mine was acquainted with a gentle- 
man in England, who could not open his right eye, 
unless he raised the eyelid with his fingers. This 
was quite an affliction to him. His right eye was 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 105 

perfectly sound, and when the eyelid was raised, he 
could see as well with that eye, as with the other. 

R. What was the reason of that, mother ? 

M. The muscle which lifts up the eyelid, or the 
nerve which helps the muscle to move, was weak- 
ened, or destroyed. 

So you see, how much your comfort depends upon 
all these muscles and nerves, even the smallest of 
them, which God has so curiously made and put to- 
gether, and which he so kindly keeps in perfect 
order. 

Watches, you know, often get quite out of order ; 
and even the very best of them, will not always go 
exactly right. We are obliged to send them to a skill- 
ful watchmaker, and have them put in order again. 

Now, our bodies are made up, of a thousand, and 
thousand times more parts than a watch has, — and 
much more curious parts too, more difficult to put 
together, and to have them all fit each other, and 
always go right. 

R. Mother, I think no parts of a watch are any 
thing like so curious, as the muscles and nerves. 

M. That is true, my son ; and when we consider, 
how perfectly all the parts of our body are made, 
and put together, for the thousand different uses for 
which they were designed, — and, still more, that in 
most persons, they keep on going exactly right, what 



106 THE youth's book 

is the contrivance and skill of the man who makes 
a watch, to that of the Creator and Preserver of our 
bodies ! 

R. I wonder, people do not think more of this, 
mother ! 

M. It is, indeed, not only wonderful, my son, but, 
It shows, how stupid and ungrateful they are. 

How thankful most persons would be, if any body 
should give them a beautiful, gold watch, that cost 
a hundred dollars, and was one of the best that could 
be made. 

They would be often looking at it, and admiring 
it, and showing it to others, and talking about it, and 
feeling very thankful to the kind friend who gave it 
to them. 

Our arm and hand is a vastly more wonderful, 
and useful instrument to us, than the dearest and best 
watch would be, and yet, how seldom we think of 
this, or talk about it, and feel grateful to our kind 
Heavenly Father, who made this part, and all the 
parts, of our bodies for our use and comfort ! 

R. Mother, I think about it a good deal. 

M. I hope, you will continue to do so, my son, 
and to feel more and more thankful to God, for all 
his goodness to you. 

R. Mother, you have been telling me about many 
of the muscles in the face ; I should think there must 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 



107 



be a great many nerves, to go with them, and to 
help them to act. 

M. There are so, Robert, and here is a drawing, 
in which you will see a good many of them. 




R. Mother, this side of the face is full of them; 
are there as many on the other side ? 



108 

M. Just as many, exactly, and they go in differ- 
ent directions, just as these do. 

R. Do they all do the same thing ? 

M. No, my son, some of them go to the eyes, that 
we may see : and some to the ears, that we may 
hear ; and some to the nose, that we may smell ; and 
some to the tongue, that we may taste ; and some to 
the mouth, and lips, and throat, that we may eat, and 
swallow, and speak ; a good many go to all parts of 
the face, so that we may feel, if any thing hurts us, 
and put it away, or, if the face is wounded or injur- 
ed, take care of it ; some of the nerves go to muscles, 
and help them to move, even if we do not think to 
have them move ; and most of these, and some others, 
also, tell the muscles to move, whenever we wish to 
have them do so. 

R. How do muscles move, mother, when we do 
not think to have them move ? 

M. Does a little child think to draw in the air and 
blow it out again, every time that he breathes ? 

R. No, mother, and you do not, nor I. But I can 
stop breathing, if I choose. 

M. Yes, for a very little while. But, if you were 
to try to do so long, you would find, that you would 
soon have to breathe again, in spite of yourself 

R. You told me, mother, that a hundred muscles 
are moved, every time that we breathe. 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 109 

M. I did so ; and you see, that not only one mus- 
cle, but a hundred, are moved continually, without 
our thinking to have them move ? 

R. But what is the use, mother, in having any of 
the muscles of the face move, if we do not think to have 
them move? 

M. Did you ever wink your eyes, without thinking 
of doing it ? 

R. Yes, mother, a great many times. They keep 
winking constantly. Why do they keep winking so ? 

M. You remember, I told you about the tears, and 
about that something like a small piece of spongy 
flesh, called a gland, which makes the tears. 

Tears are very useful for something more, than to 
give us relief by weeping. They moisten the eye, and 
keep it clean and smooth, so that it moves easily. 

The tears keep coming all the v/hile from the 
gland, through a great many small tubes, which run 
in the upper eyelid and they are spread, by the motion 
of this eyelid, and the lower one, when they wink, 
all over the forepart of the eye. 

If more tears come than are needed to moisten and 
to clean the eye, they are carried through two very 
little holes in the eyelids, to a small bag, near the 
inside corner of the eye, and then through a hole in 
the bone, as large as a goose-quill, to the inside of 
the nose. 

B. T. 10 



no 

They are, then, spread over the inside of the nostril, 
and the warm air, that is all the while, passing up and 
down, as we breathe, dries them up, almost instantly. 

But there is another reason, why your eyelids wink 
of themselves. It is to keep off any thing that maybe 
coming too near to the eye, to hurt it, — any little in- 
sect, or any little particles of dust. The eyelashes, 
too, were made for the same purpose. 

So that you see, in how many different ways, God 
has taken care that the eye should be kept in order, 
and be kept safe from injury. 

But this is not the one hundredth part of what is 
most curious and wonderful, that I could tell you, 
about the eye. You shall read all about it when you 
grow older, and are better able to understand it. For 
some things about it, it would be very difficult, in- 
deed, if not impossible, for you to understand now. 

R. When I grow a few years older, I mean to 
study all about the different parts of the body, if you 
will let me. 

M. I shall have no objection, my son, especially 
if you should be a physician ; but you must be very 
industrious, and learn a good many other things, 
first. 

R. Mother, I want to ask you one question about 
the nerves. 

M. Do, my son, as many as you choose. 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. Ill 

R. You have showed me a drawing of the nerves 
which go all over the face. Do all these nerves help 
us to look so very differently, at different times ? 

M. No, my son, it is only one set of them which is 
principally concerned in doing this. You see the 
branch of nerves which is just before the ear (a). 
(See page 107.) That is the one which, somehow or 
other, makes the muscles move that draw the parts of 
the face, when we look so differently, at different times. 

Those different looks are called expressions, and 
when a person has them often, and so as to show 
strongly what he means, or what he feels, we say 
he has an expressive countenance. 

R. Mother, I like to see an expressive countenance, 
for, then, I can understand people much better. 

M. That is true, Robert. The expressions of the 
countenance, seem to he the very coming out of the soul. 

Many animals, you know, have no such expres- 
sions of face at all ; and none of them have any thing 
like the different kinds, — the beauty, the strength, 
and the meaning, which the expressions of the hu- 
man face have. 

R. Mother, a dog sometimes has meaning in his face. 

M. He has, Robert, but only think how much 
more, a human face has. 

A dog expresses a very few things by his face. 
A man can express, — oh ! how many different 



112 THE youth's book 

kinds of thoughts, and feelings, in his countenance. 

If you will examine the faces of different animals, 
you will see considerable difference in their expres- 
sions. Some, you know, have a cross look, and others 
a pleasant and kind look. Some, too, seem to have 
much more meaning in their faces than others. 

But, after all, none of them can express such a 
variety of thoughts and feelings, in their faces, as 
we can in ours. 

When you take a walk, look attentively at the 
faces of different animals, and compare their expres- 
sions with the countenances of men, women, and 
children, and you will see how much truth there is 
in what I have been telling *you. 

Here is a picture of a human face, and of a dog's. 
See how much more of soul there is in the former, 
than in the latter. 




ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 



113 




R. I have often been amused, mother, to see the 
deaf and dumb talking with each other, they have 
so many different kinds of expressions in their coun- 
tenances. 

M. If they had not, my son, they could not under- 
stand each other as well as they do ; and they could 
not understand each other, at all, about some things. 

R. I should think, mother, their teachers would, 
sometimes, grow very tired — they have to make so 
many different kinds of expressions of countenance. 

M. I dare say they do ; but without all these 
different expressions, it would be quite impossible 
to teach the deaf and dumb the meaning of a great 
many words ; so that they would not be able to learn 
how to read and write. 

R. God has been very kind to them, mother, in 

B. T. 10* 



114 

making so many muscles and nerves, for the face, to 
give it expression. 

M. He has, my son ; and this, I think, is the most 
wonderful part of the human body, and shows more 
than any other, the design, the contrivance, the skill, 
and the goodness, of God. 

When you see the picture of Abraham offering up 
Isaac, in the parlor, do you think it could have been 
made by chance ? 

R. No, mother. Chance, sometimes, makes some- 
thing like trees and houses, on the panes of glass, in 
the winter, when they are covered with frost ; but I 
know, that chance could never make any thing, at 
all, like that picture of Abraham and Isaac. 

M. It is not proper, Robert, to say that chance 
makes, even, the little trees and houses, on the win- 
dows, in winter. It is God who makes the cold, and 
the frost, just so as to have the glass covered with all 
the different shapes of things, that you see. 

If you were to take a handful of little pins, and 
throw them up, in the air, over the table, and they 
should fall down upon it, into beautiful shapes of 
houses, and trees, and animals, — that might be said 
to happen by chance. 

R. It could never happen so, mother. 

M. If once in a hundred times, Robert, one shape 
should look a little like a house, or a tree, or, once in 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 115 

ten thousand times throwing them up, one should look 
like an elephant, j^ou would wonder at it very much. 

R. I should, mother, but I do not wonder at merely 
seeing a picture, because I know, a fainter made it. 

M. But do you not wonder at the skill of the 
painter, in giving such fine, and meaning, expressions 
to the countenances of Abraham and Isaac ? 

R. I do, mother, it has made me weep, sometimes., 
to look at it. 

M. Now, think, Robert, how long the painter had 
to be learning; how much he had to notice the human 
countenance ; and how many pictures he had to draw, 
and how he had to keep slowly improving himself, 
till at last, he was able to draw the picture which 
you know every body admires so much. 

R. Did it take him a year to do all this, mother % 

M. Yes, my son, many years ; and, I dare say, if 
he could see the picture now, he could show you 
some things in it, that he could make better. 

Then, think, that in making this picture, he had 
first to design it, — how he would draw Abraham and 
Isaac, and how he would make them look. He had, 
too, to prepare all his paints, of many different colours, 
and his brushes, of different sizes, very nicely ; and 
when he began to draw, he had to do it very carefully; 
and often to stop and think ; and he had to put on a 
little more paint in one place, and in another, or some 



116 THE youth's book 

of a different colour, before he could get it to suit him; 
and, then, he had to go back from the drawing and 
look at it, and make some more alterations : and, after 
working, in this slow and patient way, for a long 
time, he had to ask some friends to look at it, and to 
tell him, if it had any faults ; and, then he had to go 
to work again, and try to remove these faults ; and 
so, after monihs of thought and labour, he made the 
beautiful picture which you now see. 

If this picture shows you, from the design, and con- 
trivance, and skill, which appear in it, that it must 
have been made by some one, and by a painter who 
had a great deal of design, and contrivance, and 
skill, — lohat must we thinks when we see so many 
hundreds and thousands of human countenances^ and 
even those of little children^ having so many different, 
and fine expressions? 

R. We cannot but think, mother, that some one 
made them, and gave them these expressions. We 
know, that God did it, and that his design, and skill, 
and contrivance, in doing it, were very, very great, 
indeed. 

M. Yes, my son, and there is one thing, in which 
the human countenance far, far exceeds that drawn 
by the most skilful painter. 

R. What is that, mother ? 

M. The painter can give the face that he draws, 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 117 

but OTie, single expression^ and that remains always 
the same. 

R. But the human face has the power of changing 
its expressions, as quick as we can think, or feel. 

Should the painter wish to give a new expression 
to the face which he has drawn, he must work at it 
again ; or, what is more probable, he must draw a 
new one. 

The motion of a few nerves and muscles, in an in- 
stant, gives new expressions to our faces, and speaks, 
before we can think of it, the language of our souls. 



DIALOGUE X. 

Mother. I have something more to say to you, 
my son, of the curious and wonderful way in which 
God has made our faces, so that they can speak the 
language of our souls. 

Robert. Mother, have the beasts such muscles 
and nerves as we have, to give expression to their 
faces ? 

M. That was one thing which I am going to tell 
you. Some of them have some muscles and nerves, 



118 THE youth's book 

m their faces, like ours ; but none of them as many; 
and most of them have very few, indeed. 

R. That is the reason, I suppose, mother, why 
they have so little meaning in their faces. 

M. It is one reason. Besides, you know, they 
have no soul like ours. They do not think and feel, 
as we do. They have no feelings about what is right 
and wrong. But, even, if they had a soul like ours, 
it could not show itself, its thoughts and its feelings, 
on their faces, as our souls do ; because they have 
not the muscles and nerves, that are necessary to 
give all kinds of expression to the face. 

R. I am very glad, mother, that God has made 
our faces so different from those of the beasts. 

M. Yes, my son, and if it were not so, only think 
how stupid and dull we should all look. 

The little infant would not, as it does now, delight 
to look and look at its mother's face; and there first 
begin to learn, that its mother loves it dearly, — is 
glad, when it is happy, — and is sorry, when it is in 
pain. 

And the little infant would not learn the meaning 
of a great many words which are spoken to it ; if 
the looks of the person who speaks to it, did not 
help it to understand the meaning of the words. 

If the little infant, too, did not smile, and weep, 
and look happy, and look troubled ; how difficult it 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 119 

would often be for the mother to know when it was 
well, or sick ; easy or in pain. 

How could parents govern their children ; if they 
did not show by their eye, and by their looks, when 
they are pleased, and when they are displeased, — 
and when they really mean, that the children shall 
do just as they are told to do. 

R. Mother, you know, I went to school, a little 
while, when you took a short journey. 

M. I remember it ; but what then ? 

R. The master said hardly any thing, at all, to 
make the scholars mind him. But he kept looking 
about, all the while ; and his eye, and his looks, and 
a little shake of his head, and, sometimes, of his fin- 
ger, kept the whole school in order. 

M. It would be well, my son, if all who keep 
school, would learn to do as he did. 

Here, you see, is another very important purpose, 
for which God made the human face to have so many 
different kinds of expression, — that one person might 
he the better able to govern others. 

And if our faces did not have these different kinds 
of expression how difficult it would, often, be for us 
to know whether others felt happy, to see us happy, 
or sorry, to see us sorry. 

To feel so, is called sympathy, and when persons 
feel so, we say, that they sympathize with us. How 



120 THE youth's book 

miserable we should be, if no one ever sympathized 
with us, when we are in trouble ! And, if we are ever 
so happy, who wishes to be happy all alone ? 

Suppose, when your aunt comes to see you, after 
not having seen you for a longtime, and shakes hands 
with you, and kisses you, — her face should have no 
more expression than that of your sister's little doll. 

R. I should not think the kiss was worth much, 
mother. 

M. Or, suppose, when the doctor came to see you, 
he had looked, as if he did not feel at all sorry, that 
you were sick, — ^but only came to tell what must be 
done for you, just as you, sometimes, tell Tray to go 
and drive the ducks away from the kitchen door. 

R. I am afraid, mother, it would have made me 
more sick. 

M. Well, so I could go on, Robert, to tell you of a 
great many other ways in which it is very important, 
and useful, and pleasant, that our faces should have 
many different kinds of expression ; so, that if they 
did not, we should feel very uncomfortable, and often 
miserable, in seeing, and talking with, our fellow 
men. 

And, if different faces had not different looks, do 
you think, we could always tell one person from 
another ? 

R. We might, some persons, mother, because their 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 121 

faces are larger, or smaller, or lighter, or darker, or 
are shaped differently. 

M. That is true ; but I think, there are but few 
that we should always know in these ways. 

Almost every body has some looks, and expressions 
which belong to himself, which he commonly has, 
and which others do not have, or not so commonly 
as he has. 

It is this which principally helps us to know the 
Sdme person at all times, and to know different 
persons, so as not to mistake one for another. 

Did you ever think, how many mistakes we should 
be constantly making, and how much trouble and con- 
fusion there would be, if we could not, very soon, tell 
one person from another ? 

R. I never did, mother, but I see it now. People, 
then, would look to us, just as a flock of sheep do, — a 
great many of them, exactly alike. 

M. Yes, my son ; and thus, you see, that there is 
still another important reason, why God has given so 
many different looks, and expressions, to human faces, 
— and in doing it, he shows you his wonderful design, 
contrivance, skill, and goodness. 

R. It is, indeed, wonderful, mother, that while 
there are thousands and millions of people in the 
world, hardly any two of them look exactly alike. 
U is strange, that I never thought of this before. 

B. J. U 



122 THE youth's book 

M. It is so common a thing, that we do not think 
of it. But it is not the less wonderful, because it is 
common. Often the most common things show us 
most of the wisdom and goodness of God, and this is 
one of them. 

How wonderful ! Here is a soul, or spirit, within 
us, not like any thing that we can see, or hear, or 
smell, or taste, or touch, — ^but icJiolly unlike it. This 
soul is in a body, made up of a thousand, curious, 
different parts. These parts are made, and put toge- 
ther, so as to be exactly suited to each other, and to the 
whole body. Nothing is in the wrong place ; and no- 
thing goes wrong ; unless the body is sick, or is hurt. 

All this is done, that the body may eat, and drink, 
and sleep, and live ; — just as the bodies of beasts do? 
Oh ! no. This curious body is made, and kept alive, 
and all its parts in order, that it may be a proper and 
convenient body for the soul to be in, and use for its 
own improvement, and comfort, and happiness, and 
for thojt of others. 

For our very bodies are so made, as to show us thai 
God designed, that we should live and act not for our- 
selves atone, hut for others, — and, that we should do 
all we can, to make each other good, and happy. 

The muscles and nerves of the face, are one very 
striking proof of this. 

You have seen what some of them were made for, 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 123 

to give expression to the face, and for this purpose 



How wonderful ! the soul, that immaterial some- 
thing within us, showing its secret thoughts and feel- 
ings, on a part of our material body, — by the help 
of a great many, curious nerves and muscles, that 
move the face in a thousand different ways ; — some- 
times when we think to have them move so, and 
sometimes when we do not. 

This soul thus shows its thoughts and feelings, 
that they may be seen, and understood, and felt, by 
other souls, like itself, dwelling in other bodies, like 
the body in which it dwells. 

And, thus, these souls are the better able to know 
each other ; to converse with each other ; to sym- 
pathize with each other ; to aid each other ; and to 
make each other good and happy. 

Who but the Infinite and Eternal mind, — the 
Great Spirit, whom we call God, — could have so 
made our souls and bodies, and given these wonder- 
ful powers of expression to our faces ? 

Who that looks on the human face, can doubt, for 
one moment, that there is a God of great power, and 
wisdom, and skill, and goodness ? 

R. I am sure, /cannot, mother, and I do not think, 
ihat any body else can. 

M. You see, my son, not only the design, and 



124 



THE YOUTH S BOOK 



contrivance, and skill of God, in having made your 
face as he has ; but his goodness, also, in making 
its various expressions, the means of your own 
happiness, and of that of others. 

Remember how ungrateful you are for all this 
goodness, and what a bad use you make of your 
curious and wonderful countenance, when you think 
and feel wrong ; and these wrong thoughts and feel- 
ings show themselves in your countenance — and 
thus make yourself even more unhappy, and others 
unhappy, too, in looking at you. 

R. Mother, you know the man that struck me, in 
the street, one day, what an ugly-looking face he has. 

M. Yes, and do you learn from it, not to have any 
wrong thoughts and feelings. He has been so often 
angry, and in a great rage, that now, he looks angry 
almost all the time. He can hardly look pleasant, 
if he tries. 




ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 125 

R. How different uncle John looks, mother. 




/ 

M. And why, Robert ? Because he has, for a 
long time, had kind and benevolent feelings — desir- 
ing to love and obey God, and to do good to others. 
Peaceful and happy himself, and delighted to make 
and to see others so. 

Do you endeavor to feel, and to do so. Pray to 
God to enable you to feel, and to do so. Never 
even think of saying any thing that is not true. Be 
frank, and tell what you know, whenever you ought 
to tell it ; and if at any time, persons ask you to 
tell them things which you ought not to tell them, 
refuse to do it, mildly, but firmly. Strive against 
all wrong thoughts and feelings. Endeavor to have 
kind and generous ones. Seek to make others hap- 
py. Above all, love, fear, and obey God ; and look- 

B. T. 11* 



126 THE youth's book 

ing to him for help, endeavor to do your duty. 
Then, be afraid of nothing, and of nobody. 

When you are speaking to others, look them full 
in the face. Do not try to hide your feelings. Let 
them show themselves in your countenance. Let 
your eye, and your countenance, have all the expres- 
sion which your feelings would give. 

Do all this. Try to do it. And your face will 
acquire habits of expression that will make you feel 
happy yourself, and increase the happiness of others. 

In this way, you will best show your thankful- 
ness to God, for giving you the poicer of expression, 
in your countenance, and you will make that use of 
this power, which will do the most good to yourself^ 
and to others. 

R. Mother, will you be so good as to tell me, when 
I have any cross or unpleasant looks, so that I may 
try to look differently. 

M. I am glad to hear you ask me to do that, my 
son. But have right thoughts and feelings, and 
there will be but little danger of your face ever hav- 
ing unpleasant expressions. 

But dinner is ready, and we must stop talking. 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 127 



DIALOGUE XL 

Robert. Mother, I have been to see an elephant, 
this morning. Uncle John took me. 

Mother. It was very kind in him to do so. And 
what do you think of the elephant, Robert ? Does 
this picture look like his head ? 




R. Yes, exactly. He is a very wonderful animal, 
mother. I thought, at first, he looked very ugly and 
frightful, he was so large and heavy, and clumsy. 
I was a good deal afraid of him. But, pretty soon, 
when the keeper spoke to him, and told him to do 
some things, I found that he was very gentle, and 



128 THE youth's book 

kind, and that he was not so awkward as I, at first, 
thought he was. He could not do much, though, if 
he had not that long trunk. 

M. That long trunk, Robert, is one more, very 
striking proof of the design, and contrivance, and 
skill of our Heavenly Father. 

He has taken care, in a great variety of ways, to 
provide for the wants, and for the comfort of beasts, 
and birds, and fishes, and insects, as well as for ours. 
And as the end for which he made them, is very dif- 
ferent from that for which he made us, so he has given 
them bodies different from ours ; and bodies exactly 
suited to the different places and ways, in which 
they live. 

R. Yes, mother, how different a bird is made 
from a fish, 

M. True, my son, and how many different kinds 
of birds there are ; and in many things, how differ- 
ent they are made from each other, so as to be suited 
to their different ways of living, and to the country, 
and to the climate in which they live. 

Just so it is with beasts, also. There are a great 
many different kinds, and each kind has something 
'peculiar to itself, to lead us to admire the wisdom, 
and power, and goodness of God. 

R. The elephant, mother, has something very pe- 
culiar, indeed, — that lonff trunk of his ! 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 129 

M. Yes, and the elephant has great need of his 
trunk. He would be very helpless without it. 

The neck of four-footed animals is usually long, in 
proportion to the length of their legs, so that they 
may be able to stoop down, and reach their food, on 
the ground, without difficulty. 

R. Mother, I should think, some animals would 
get very tired, holding their heads down, as long as 
they do, to get their food. 

M. It would be so, my son ; but God has provided 
something to prevent this difficulty. 

There is a tough, strong, tendon-like strap, braced 
from their head to the middle of the back, which sup- 
ports the weight of the head ; so that, although it is 
large and heavy, it may be held down long, without 
any pain, or uneasiness. 

We do not have this strap, because we do not need 
to bend our head in the same way as beasts do. Our 
heads are sufficiently supported without it. 

God provides such things, only when they are ne- 
cessary; and this shows, how he has design in every 
thing that he makes. 

The elephant, as you saw, is a very tall animal, 
and his head is a good v/ay from the ground ; and 
yet his neck is very short, so that he cannot, with- 
out kneeling, or lying down, bring his mouth to the 
ground. 



130 



THE YOUTH S BOOK 



This short neck, so different from that of other 
animals, whose heads are far from the ground, has 
one great advantage. It makes it so much the easier 
for the elephant to support the weight of his very 
large head and heavy tusks. 

But somehow or other, the difficulty of having so 
short a neck, especially in getting food and drink, 
was to be remedied. And the admirable trunk, which 
God designed, and made, on purpose for the elephant, 
removes entirely all this difficulty. Still more, it has 
many advantages, and very great ones too, over the 
long necks of other animals. 

R. I saw the elephant do some things with his 
trunk, mother, which other animals could not do, 
with their long necks, and teeth, and pav/s, all to- 
gether. 

But do tell me a little more particularly about the 
trunk. Is it bone, or flesh, mother? 

M. It is not bone, my son ; it is a hollow, fleshly 
tube, made of muscles and nerves, and covered with 
a skin of a blackish color, like that of the rest of the 
body. 

R. There must be a great many muscles in it, I 
should think, mother, or the elephant could not make 
so many different kinds of motions with it. 

M. You are right, Robert. Mr. Cuvier, a very 
learned man, in France, who knew a great deal, and 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 131 

who wrote several curious books, about the different 
kinds of animals, tells us, that he has found, there 
are more than thirty thousand distinct muscles in 
the trunk of an elephant ! 

R. Oh ! mother, if he was not a good man, I should 
almost think, he says what is not true. 

M. There is no reason, my son, to doubt the truth 
of what he tells us. There are some things, even 
more wonderful than this, in some little insects. 

There is a small kind of caterpillar, that has four 
thouoand muscles, in its little body. 

But there is something about the eyes of some in- 
sects, yet more wonderful. 

A common fly, such as we see about the house, 
does not move its eyes, as we do. They are fixed 
fast in its head, and do not turn. But this difficulty 
is remedied by a very curious contrivance. Each 
eye is made up of a great many little eyes ; some- 
thing like what you have seen in the stopple of a 
decanter, so that when you look through it, you 
seem to see a great many of the same kind of thing. 

These little eyes are hemispheres, or half balls, 
and they are so placed, that they look different ways ; 
so that the fly can look about, sometimes through 
one, and sometimes through another, and see nearly., 
if not quite, as well as we can with our eyes. 

In the two eyes of a common fly, there are eight 



132 THE youth's book 

thousand such smaller eyes. In the two eyes of the 
dragonfly, there are twenty-five thousand such 
smaller eyes. 

Each of these smaller eyes, in the large eye of the 
fly, and of the dragonfly, sees perfectly of itself in 
one direction, and is made up of still smaller parts, 
and has nerves to give it the power of sight. 

What must be the fineness of these smaller parts 
and nerves ! 

Here is a picture of a very small part of the large 
eye of a dragon-fly, greatly magnified. 




R. How was all this found out, mother ? 

M. By the help of very powerful microscopes, 
which magnify things, and make them look, mill- 
ions of times larger than they really are. 

With one kind of microscope that I have seen, a 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY, 133 

little insect was magnified five hundred and seventy 
millions of times. 

R. Well, I do not doubt any longer, mother, that 
there are thirty thousand muscles in the trunk of an 
elephant. 

And how many nerves there must be, to help all 
these muscles to move, whenever the elephant wishes 
to have them move. 

M. Yes, my son, and it has been found out that 
the trunk alone has as many nerves as all the rest of 
the body has. 

It is the number, the fineness, and the variety of 
these nerves, that enable the trunk to do all the cu- 
rious things that it w^as made to do. 

An elephant that is fourteen feet high, has a trunk 
about eight feet long, and five feet and a half round, 
at its thickest part, next the head. 

This trunk, as you saw, can be made shorter or 
longer, as the animal chooses, and can be moved, 
with great ease, in every possible direction. 

It has such prodigious strength, that the elephant 
can quickly knock a man down with it ; and can pull 
up a tree of moderate size by the roots ; and break 
off the largest branches ; and raise very heavy 
weights. 

On the underside, there are some things like little 
claws, or like the feet of a caterpillar, which take 
B. T. 12 



134 THE youth's book 

hold of what the elephant wishes to grasp, and help 
to hold it faster ; and at the end of the trunk, the 
skin is lengthened about five inches, in the form of 
a finger. With this finger he can pick up a pin 
from the ground, or the smallest piece of money ; he 
can select herbs and flowers, and take them one by 
one ; he can untie knots ; he can open and shut gates, 
by turning the keys, or pushing back the bolts ; and, 
with this finger, an elephant has been taught to 
make regular marks, like letters, with an instru- 
ment as small as a pen. 

In the middle of the finger, there is a hollow place 
like a cup, and in the bottom of the cup, are two 
holes, or nostrils, through which the animal smells 
and breathes. 

By placing the edge of the end of his trunk on 
the surface of any heavy thing, and then suddenly 
drawing in his breath, so as to get all the air out of 
the inside of the trunk, the thing he wishes to raise 
will stick fast to the end of the trunk, and he can 
lift it up easily. 

R. Mother, I wonder if this is not something like 
what the boys call a sucker 1 

M. What is that, Robert ? 

R. Did you never see one, mother ? They take 
a round piece of pretty soft leather, and fasten a stout 
piece of twine to the middle of it. Then the leather 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 135 

IS soaked in water, and put on the top of a large, 
heavy stone, and pressed down on it very hard with 
the foot. The boy pulls up the string ; the leather 
rises up a little in the middle, but all round the 
edges it sticks very tight to the stone ; and the stone 
is lifted up, ever so high, without falling off from 
the leather. 

But if the edge of the leather is pulled up, ever so 
little, it will come off from the stone, and the string 
will not raise the stone. 

Mother, what is the reason of this ? I do not un- 
derstand it at all. 

M. I do not know that I can explain it exactly to 
you, but I will try. 

The air that we breathe, and which is all round 
us, has weight. It is, all the while, pressing, with 
equal weight, in all directions. When you are stand- 
ing, the air presses against the forepart of your body, 
and against the sides, and against your back, with 
equal weight. 

On every square inch, it presses with a weight 
equal to fifteen pounds. 

On the whole body of a man, it presses with a 
weight equal to twenty, or thirty, thousand pounds. 

If the air pressed upon you, only on the top of 
your head, it would crush you down to the ground, 
instantly. If it pressed, only on the forepart of your 



136 THE youth's book 

body, it would throw you down backwards, with 
great force. 

It is because the air presses upon you equally, in 
all directions, and that it is inside of your body, too, 
that you can stand up, and walk about without dif- 
ficulty. 

If you put a quill, with the end cut square off, to 
the end of your tongue, and draw the air out of the 
quill, quickly, it will stick very tight to your tongue. 

The reason of this is, that there is no air, inside of 
the quill, to press against the air, on the outside ; and 
so the air, all pressing, with great weight, one way^ 
on your tongue, and on the outside of the quill, 
presses them together, and makes the quill stick to 
the tongue, until the air is, in some way, brought 
into the inside of the quill again. 

In the same way, the leather, about which you 
told me, is pressed down so hard against the stone, 
and lies so close to it, that the air, between the lea- 
ther and the stone, is forced away, so that there is no 
air there. The leather, when you draw it up with 
the string, rises a little in the middle, and leaves a 
hollow place there, in which there is no air. The 
air, then, on the outside of the leather, and all round, 
and underneath the stone, presses with great weight, 
and presses the leather and stone very tight together, 
because there is no air between them, to press against 
the air on the outside. 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 137 

When you lift up the edge of the leather, as you 
told me, and let the air in, it rushes, with great 
weight, between the leather and the stone, and they 
separate from each other. 

R I think, mother, I understand pretty well now, 
how the elephant, by putting the edge of his trunk 
on a heavy thing, and then drawing all the air out 
of it, is able to lift it up, without any difficulty. The 
air which is under, and all round, the heavy thing, 
and the trunk, presses them tight together, and 
makes the heavy thing stick to the trunk. 

M. You are right, my son, and when the elephant 
fills his trunk with air again, this air presses, from 
the inside of the trunk, against the heavy thing, just 
as hard, as the air on the outside does, so that there 
is no force to keep it up, any longer, and it instantly 
falls down. 

With this trunk, the animal takes all his food 
from the ground, and puts it into his mouth, just as 
we do ours, with our hand. 

When he drinks, too, he first draws up the water 
into his trunk, and then empties it into his mouth. 

R. How many things, mother, he can do with 
his trunk ! 

M. Yes, my son, on some accounts, it is even 
more curious and wonderful than your arm and 
hand, which I have explained to you. 

B. T. 12* 



138 

The tiunk of an elephant is to him, what their 
neck is, to other animals. 

[t is a nose, with which he smells and breathes. 

It is an arm and hand, with a very curious finger, 
with which he feels, and does a great many things, 
easily and quickly. 

It has been said that he carries his nose in his 
hand ; and it might have been said, also, that he 
breathes with his hand. How strange it would seem 
to you and me, if we should smell, and breathe, and 
feel, and take things, with one of our fingers. 

R. Mother, if I go to see the elephant again, I will 
ask the keeper to let me examine the finger at the 
end of the trunk, very particularly. 

M. I dare say, he will be willing to let you do it. 

But I cannot tell you any thing more about the ele- 
phant, now. 

His trunk, as you have seen, is a most curious in- 
strument, made, in part, to help the animal to get his 
food ; because his neck is so short ; and, besides this, 
to enable him to smell and breathe, and do a great 
many things which are necessary for his comfort. Do 
you not think, this is another very striking proof of 
the design, contrivance, skill, and goodness of God ? 

R. I do, indeed, mother. 

M. Well, my son, men, beasts, birds, fishes, 
insects, trees, flowers and vegetables, have hundredsj 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 139 

and thousands, of other things quite as wonderful, 
as any thing that I have yet explained to you. We 
cannot look around us, without seeing proofs every 
where, that there is a God, and that he is a Being 
of infinite power, wisdom, and goodness. 

We may well say, as David did, in the Psalms 
which he wrote : 

" O Lord, how manifold are thy works ! in wis- 
dom, hast thou made them all : the earth is full of 
thy riches." 

*' The Lord is good to all ; and his tender mercies 
are over all his works." 



DIALOGUE XII. 

Mother. I explained to you, yesterday, my sou, 
about the trunk of an elephant, with which he can do 
a great many things ; and how necessary it is for him, 
that he may get his food and drink. 

It is wonderful, to see the many different ways in 
which beasts, birds, fishes, and insects get their food; 
and also how God has formed them, that they may 
do this ; and particularly how their mouths arc mad.e, 
to take their food after they have found it. 



140 THE youth's book 

Our mouths are flat. They are made, not to pick 
up, or take hold of, our food. Our hands do this and 
put the food into the mouth. 

But where animals have no hands, or no trunk, 
their mouths have to pick up, and take hold, of their 
food. And as their food is of a great many different 
kinds, and found in a great many different places, 
and to be taken, a great many different ways ; their 
mouths had to be made of a great many different 
shapes and sizes^ and so as to have a great many 
different motions. 

Only think how much design, contrivance, and 
skill, was necessary to do all this, so as to provide 
for the comfort, and nourishment, and life, of so many 
millions of living beings. 

Each of them has a mouth, and yet, in how many 
difllerent ways their mouths are made ; and the mouth 
of one kind, would be exceedingly inconvenient, and, 
often, entirely useless, if it had been made for a 
different kind. 

You have seen different kinds of locks ; some for 
front-doors ; some for parlor-doors ; some for cellar- 
doors ; some for bureaus ; some for trunks. 

R. Yes, mother ; and some, very curious, little 
padlocks. You know, uncle John has one for hLs 
traveling- bag. 

M. Well, Robert, these different kinds of locks are 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. I4l 

all alike in some things, and they were all made, with 
one design, to fasten something up tight ; so that it 
could not be opened without the key. 

But when you see them unlike in other things, you 
know, at once, that they were made, with another de- 
sign, also, — to have them suited to things of different 
sizes and uses, so as to fasten them tight. 

R. Yes, mother, and I am sure that a door-lock 
never was made to be put on to a trunk. 

M. When we see, then, so many different kinds 
of mouths, each suited to a particular kind of animal, 
that has to get its food in its own way, we are sure 
that God had ?i particular design in making them so; 
and this is one, other, striking proof of his wisdom 
and goodness. 

R. Mother, do tell me about some of the curious 
kinds of mouths that animals have. 

M. Did you ever see a wood-pecker ? 

R. Oh ! yes, and I have wondered what he keeps 
knocking against the tree for, so long, and so hard, 
with his bill. I should think, he would get very tired 
sometimes. 

M. He is hungry, and is working for his food. 
You would be glad to work, too, Robert, for your 
food, if you could not get it, in any other way. And 
you should be willing to work for it, which, per- 
haps, you may yet have to do. 



142 THE youth's book 

R. What is the woodpecker's food, mother ? 

M. It is, principally, worms and insects, which he 
finds in the trunks of old, decayed trees. 

R. But why does he make so much noise in find- 
ing them ? 

M. The worms and insects are deep in the wood, 
where other kinds of birds never could reach them. 

Here is a drawing of the bill and tongue of the 
woodpecker, which are made on purpose to enable 
him to get his food. 




His bill is long, straight, hard, and sharp; and like 
a wedge, at the tip of it. His tongue is round, some- 
thing like a worm ; very long, so that it can come out 
three or four inches beyond the bill ; and has at the 
end of it a stiff", sharp, bony thorn. This bony end 
of the tongue has little teeth, as it were, on each side 
of it, standing backward, like the barb of a fish-hook. 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 143 

With his bill, he chisels out a hole in the wood : 



and this is what he was doing when you saw him 
knocking, a& you said, and heard the great noise that 
he made. He keeps chiselling, till he comes to where 
the worms or insects are ; and, then, he suddenly 
darts out his long tongue upon them ; seizes them 
with the sharp, hooked end of it ; and draws them 
into his mouth. 

The wood-pecker chisels a hole, for its nest, in 
which to lay its eggs ; and these holes, often, are 
very deep, so that the eggs may be safe. The eggs 
are usually laid on the rotten wood ; but, sometimes, 
moss or wool, is put into the nest, for the eggs to 
lie on. 

You see what contrivance and skill are shown in 
the bill and tongue of this curious bird. You know 
the design with which they were made, — to enable 
the wood-pecker to get food, and to make a nest ; and 
you are just as sure that God made them, and made 
them for this purpose, as that a chisel was made by 
some one, and that it was made to cut with, into wood. 
A man has a mallet, to drive a chisel with ; but the 
wood-pecker's head is his mallet, and his skull is 
unusually thick, that his head may bear the jarring 
which his hard knocks make. 

1 read, lately, in one of the newspapers, an account 



144 THE youth's book 

of a wood pecker, somewhere in Massachusetts, 
which I think will interest you. 

He made a deep hole, just as exactly and neatly as 
if it had been made with a mallet and chisel, to the 
very centre of the branch of a young, tough, white-oak 
tree. The branch was from three to five inches round. 
He did this to find a worm, called a borer. The worm 
had made a hole in the branch, about as large round 
as a goose-quill, four or five inches below the hole 
chiseled out by the wood-pecker. The worm was 
going upward, inside of the branch, when the wood- 
pecker made his hole, just in the right place to catch 
the worm with his barbed tongue, and devour him. 

These worms injure the trees ; and the wood-peck- 
er, and other birds, which devour worms and insects, 
do a great deal of good. It is quite a pity, that they 
should be killed. 

R. Have any other birds, mother, as curious bills, 
as that of the wood-pecker ? 

M. Yes, my son ; there is a bird called the cross- 
bill, that has this name on account of its bill, the two 
parts of which are so bent that they cross one another 
near the point, sometimes on one side, and sometimes 
on the other, as you see in the picture. The bill is 
sharp, and single-edged, near the point. They live 
in cold and mountainous countries, in the forests of 
fir and pine-trees. 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 



145 



The seeds of the trees are in something of the 
shape of a cone, or loaf of white sugar, only a good 
deal smaller, and these cones are full of something 
like scales. The crossbill divides these scales very 
dexterously with its bill, and picks out the seed; 
which it can do, if they are ever so small, by bring- 
ing the two pointed ends of its bill exactly together. 
(Here is a picture of the crossbill.) « 




Sometimes they have been seen in orchards of 
fruit-trees, and they will easily divide an apple, so 
as to get the seeds. 

B. T. 13 



146 THE youth's book 

R. Mother, do the bills of birds grow dull by using 
them? 

M. No, my son, unless they live to be very old. 1 
have read of a goldfinch which was twenty-three 
years old. The people who kept it were obliged, once 
a week, to scrape its nails and bill, that it might eat, 
drink, and sit on its bar. It could not fly, and all its 
feathers had become white. 

R. Mother, ducks and geese have very different 
kinds of bills from those that you have been explain- 
ing to me. 

M. Yes, they have long, broad bills, somewhat like 
a spoon, which enables them to get their food under 
water, and in the ground, and in muddy places. The 
inside of the bill, near the edges, has rows of short 
and strong pointed prickles, as you see in the draw- 
ing. But they are not teeth to chew with. They 
are made, to help the bird to find its food. For when 
the duck plunges its bill down into the water, or 
mud, it draws tbem up, and whatever may be in them, 
through the rows of prickles on the inside of the bill, 
catching what is good and pleasant for food, and 
throwing away all the rest. 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 147 



And, that the duck may thus select its food the 
better, the bill is covered with a skin, and there are 
large nerves, to give it feeling, which run down quite 
to the end of it. 

How necessary such a kind of bill is for a bird 
that seeks its food as the duck does, and gropes for 
it, out of sight. As it does not always see its food, it 
can find it, and tell when it is good and pleasant, by 
feeling. 

Here again, how striking is the design, contri- 
vance, and skill, which are shown us, in the bill of 
the duck, that is made so differently from that of the 
woodpecker, and of the crossbill, because it has to 
get its food in a way so different from that in which 
they get theirs. 

There is another bird, called the oyster-catcher, 
that gets its food in a still different way, and has a 
bill made so as to be exactly suited to its wants. 



148 THE youth's book 

Here is a drawinor of one. 




It lives principally on oysters, and other kinds of 
shell-fish ; the shells of which it opens. That it may 
be able to do this, it has a long, stout bill, shaped 
like a wedge ; and narrow next to the head, that it 
may work the more easily in the sand. 

These birds not only open the shell-fish with their 
bill ; but if they find one fastened tight to a rock, 
they will knock it off, as skilfully with their bill, as 
a man would do with a stone. 

R. Mother, is there any thing, like this, as curious 
about fishes, as there is about birds? 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 149 

M. Yes, my son, quite so. Indeed, I have read of 
one fish, that has a way of getting its food, more 
strange than any thing which I have told you about 
the birds. 

What should you think of a fish shooting flies, as 
a man does birds, that it may get them to eat ? 

R. Is that true, mother 1 

M. Yes, my son. There is a fish that lives in the 
[ndian seas, called a chostodcn, which has a snout 
like a tube. 

R. What is it like, mother, that I hav^e seen? 

M. If you cut a quill offsquare, at both ends, and 
take the pith out, it will be a small tube; You know 
you can blow water through it, some distance, and 
with some force. 

The fish has a snout, something like this, through 
which it can shoot a drop of water, with so sure an 
aim and with so much force, that it can hit an insect, ' 
a-om four to six feet off, and thus kill it, or stun it, 
so that it falls down on the water, and the fish gets 
it for food. 

It shoots the insect, too, while it is flying ; seldom 
missing its aim ; and this is what very few, even of 
the most skilful gunners, can do. 

These fish have a very beautiful shape, and a 
great variety of brilliant colors. They are some- 
times caught, and kept in a large vessel of water, 

B. T. 13* 



150 THE youth's book 

and amuse the people very much, by their great dex» 
terity, in shooting. For if a fly is put on the edge 
of the vessel, the fish immediately perceives it, and 
shoots at it so exactly, as very seldom, indeed, to 
miss it. 

Is all this chance ? Strange, indeed, that this fish 
was made so, and to be able to do so, by chance ! 

Does a gun chance to be made ; and a man chance 
to find it, and to know what it was made for; and, 
when he feels hungry, because he has no other food, 
chance to go into the woods, and chance to keep 
looking after a bird, to shoot it ; and when he sees 
one, chance to shoot it, and carry it home to eat ? 

Was there no design, contrivance, and skill, in 
the making of the gun ; and none in the man's using 
it ? Who made the tube-like snout of the choetodon, 
and who taught this fish how to use it ? 

R. Mother, he must be a fool, who says, there is 
no God. 

M. Yes, my son, The fool hath said, in his heart, 
there is no God. 

It is because they are so wicked, that soipe men 
wish to believe, there is no God ; and perhaps, in a 
few instances, have thought that the)'- did believe so. 

But they quite forget one thing. If it has hap- 
pened, by chance, that there are men, with wonder- 
ful souls and bodies ; and that they have so much 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 151 

design, and skill, and contrivance, as to make the 
thousands of curious and useful things which we 
daily see ; it may have happened, that there is a God. 

And if it has happened that there is a God ; why- 
may he not have vastly more design, and skill, and 
contrivance than men have ? 

How much more a man has, than a dog. It has 
happened so, at any rate, for we see it, and know it. 
It has happened, too, that some men have a great 
deal more wisdom and power than others. 

It has happened, that men make curious and won- 
derful things. May it not have happened, that God 
made the millions of curious and wonderful things 
that we see, which we know, men have not made, 
and which, we also know, it is impossible for them 
to make? 

And if so, how vast the wisdom and power of God 
must be ! They are so vast, that we cannot think 
how vast they are. 

It may have happened, then, that there is a God 
of infinite wisdom and power. 

The atheist is often afraid, to do certain, wrong 
things ; because he knows, it may happen, that his 
fellow-men will despise him, and avoid him, and 
have nothing to do with him, or, if the things are 
bad enough, that they will even put him in prison, 
or hang him. 



152 THE youth's book 

All this has often happened to bad men, notwith- 
standing they were able to hide the wrong thing* 
that they did, from the knowledge of every body, for 
a long time. They may have done this for years, 
but it has often, very often, happened, that it was 
found out, at last. They did not expect that it would 
be so. They felt quite safe. But, at length, they 
were found out, to their great surprise and shame, 
and were sadly disgraced and punished. 

May it not happen, that /or his sins, even the most 
secret ones, the atheist will be punished in a future 
world ? Cannot God find his sins out, if his fellow- 
men can find them out ? 

It happens, as the atheist says, by chance, that he 
often suffers very severe punishment in this world, 
for doing wrong ; may it not happen, that he will 
suffer, still more severely, in the future world ? Does 
chance do so many, wonderful, and right, and good 
things in this world, and none in the next ? 

The atheist says, all things have happened, and 
continue to happen, by chance. 

What if it is so ? suppose it is so ; still he is o 
very unwise and daring man. 

For why is it, as you have seen, any more impro- 
bable, that it should happen, that there is an infi- 
nitely wise and powerful God, who will punish sin 
in the future world, than that there are men who 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 153 

have but little wisdom and power, but who yet have 
prudence and strength enough, to punish each other, 
when they do wrong in this world? 

What a risk, then, the atheist runs ! The Bible 
tells us, that it is a fearful thing to fall into the hands 
of the living God. 

How foolish, as well as wicked, are those who 
doubt that there is a God ; or who deny his right to 
govern them ; or who do not love him, and do all 
he has commanded us to do ! 

Think of these truths, my son, and may God en- 
able you to understand them, to believe them, and 
to feel them. 



DIALOGUE XIII. 



Mother. I have told you, Robert, about a fish 
that shoots water at insects, that are flying above it, 
and thus gets them for food. Now, I am going 
to tell you about a fish that has a very curious way 
of defending itself against the attacks of larger fish- 
es, which come to devour it, — and of preventing re- 



154 THE youth's book 

sistance in smaller ones, that it wishes to seize for 
food. 

Robert. I suppose it has a very large mouth, 
and sharp teeth, mother. 

M. No, my son, if you were to look at it, you 
would not see any thing about it that looked, as if 
the fish had much power to do any thing, only to 
swim. 

It looks like an eel; indeed it is called the electri- 
cal eel. Look at this drawing of it. 




It is very common in South America. It is from 
three to five feet long, and about a foot round in the 
thickest part. Some have been found more than twen- 
ty feet long, which have such great power, that if a 
man only touches them, they can kill him instantly. 

R. Mother, if I did not know that you never tell 
me any thingr that is not true, I could not believe it. 

M. You see, my son, the advantage of always 
speaking the truth. If I had, sometimes, deceived 
you, you would not know whether to believe me 
now or not. 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 155 

R. Mother, do explain to me about this wonderful 
fish. 

M. I will try to, so far as I can ; but there are 
some things about it which I do not understand my- 
self, and many things, too, which you cobnnot under- 
stand till you grow older, and have studied a good 
many books. But I will explain to you enough to 
show you, in this curious fish, one more striking 
proof of the design, contrivance, and skill, of God. 

You have seen the lightning. 

R. Oh ! yes, mother, do you not remember the 
terrible thunder-storm last summer, when you and I 
were sitting in the parlour, and, all at once, we saw 
the lightning strike a tall tree in the field % What a 
loud clap of thunder there was, at the same time. 

M. I remember it very well, my son, and how we 
went the next day to look at the tree, and saw it splii 
quite through, in the middle, and a good deal burned. 

But do you remem.ber, Robert, how strangely we 
both felt, as if something had struck us, and given 
us a jar all over % 

R. Yes, mother ; and you told me, you thought the 
Lightning must have struck the lightning-rod on our 
house, too, and run down into the ground, without 
doing the house any harm. 

M. In a thunder-storm, my son, the clouds are fill- 
ed with something which is called electricity. It is 



156 

not known, what it is ; — what it does, is all that is 
known. 

One cloud, sometimes, has more electricity in it, 
than another cloud has. If these two clouds come 
near each other, the electricity will go from the cloud 
which has the most, to that Avhich has the least. This 
it does very suddenly ; and in passing thus, from one 
cloud to the other, that bright something, like fire, 
is seen which we call lightning ; and soon the noise 
is heard, which we call thunder. 

The. tree that we saw struck, had less electricity 
in it, than the cloud which passed over it had. The 
electricity went suddenly from the cloud to the tree. 
It appeared in the bright flash of lightning that we 
saw, and we say, the lightning struck the tree. 

About eighty years ago. Dr. Franklin, a country- 
man of ours, made a kite out of silk, and raised it 
high up in the air, during a thunder storm. 

After some time, the electricity passed from the 
clouds to the kite, and came down the string, at the 
end of which was a key. Dr. Franklin put his knuck- 
les to the key, and suddenly bright sparks came from 
it, to his knuckles. 

R. Mother, that was lightning; did it not kill 
him? 

M. No, my son, the quantity was too small, to do 
him any harm. But, sometimes, there is so much 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 



15: 



electricity in a flash of lightning, that when it strikes 
persons, it kills them instantly. 

There is a machine, called an electrical macliine, 
a part of which is a large, round, hollow cylinder of 
glass, that is made to turn round with a handle. 

When this is turned round, somehow or other elec- 
tricity is made, and comes from the glass to a long 
tube of brass, with a brass ball on the end of it. 

If any one puts his knuckle to this brass ball, 
bright sparks of fire will come from it, just as they 
did from the key on the string of Dr. Franklin's kite. 




R. And does this machine make lightning, mother ? 

B. T. 14 



158 THE youth's book 

M. Yes, my son, it may be said to do so ; for it 
makes the same electricity appear, in bright sparks, 
which the clouds make to appear, in lightning, 
during^ a thunder storm. 

R. Does it not hurt a person, mother, to have the 
sparks from the brass ball, strike his knuckle ? 

M. No, my son, very little, if any. But there is a 
way of getting a great deal of electricity, so as to hurl 
a person very much, or even to kill him. 

A curious vial is made, with a brass rod going into 
it, and a brass ball at the end of the rod. While the 
glass cylinder is turned, and the electricity is passing 
from it, to the long brass tube ; if the ball of the vial 
is held near to the ball of the tube, sparks of electri- 
city will go from the ball of the tube to the ball of the 
vial. These sparks will keep going, and the electri- 
city will go down the wire into the vial, and the inside 
of the vial have a good deal of electricity in it. 

Then the cylinder is no longer turned, and the vial 
is set on a table. 

If any body touches the bottom of the vial, with one 
hand, and, then, brings the other hand very near to 
the brass ball of the vial, he will instantly feel a hard 
shock in his wrists, elbows, and breast, as if somebody 
had struck him. The electricity goes, as quick as 
lightning, from the brass ball, through the person 
who touches it. 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 159 

If one hundred, or more, persons should take hold 
of each others' hands, and stand round in a ring ; and 
the person, at one end, should'touch the bottom of the 
vial with his hand, and the person, at the other end of 
the ring, touch the brass ball of the vial with his 
hand, all the persons would, instantly, feel the shock, 
at the same time. For the electricity would go through 
them all, from the brass ball, as quick as lightning. 

Many such vials are sometimes made, and placed 
near each other, so that they can all be filled with 
electricity. They are all connected with each other, 
so that the electricity can be taken from them all, at 
the same time. There is a way of doing this, without 
having it pass through any body, and when it is done, 
there is a prodigious flash, like lightning, and a noise 
like that of a cannon, when it is fired. These vials, 
thus put together, are called an electrical battery ; 
and, when the electricity is taken from them all, at 
once, it is called discharging the battery. 

Just, as when a man loads a gun, he is said to 
charge it, and when he fires it off, to discharge it. 

R. If the electrical battery should be discharged 
through a person, it would kill him, — would it not, 
mother ? 

M. It might easily be made to do so, my son, if 
there were vials enough, and if they were filled with 
electricity. 



160 THE youth's book 

R. I think, I know, mother, why the fish that 
you were going to tell me about, is called an elec- 
irical eel. 

M. Well, why is it called so, Robert ? 

M. Electricity comes from it, mother, when you 
touch it, just as it does from the electrical battery. 

M. You are right, my son, it does so. 

Some of these fish have been caught, and kept in 
vessels, and a great many experiments tried with 
them. It has been found, that they can give a shock 
to any person, or animal, that touches, or comes near 
them; that they can do this, or not, just as they 
choose ; that they can give a small shock, or a hard 
one ; and that the shock is just like that which comes 
from an electrical vial. 

R. Does any spark come from the eel, mother ? 

M. A spark was seen to come from one, when it 
was out of the water, and the electricity was dis- 
charged from it ; but when the fish is under water, 
no spark can be seen. 

These electrical eels have been examined, to see 
how they are made inside. It is found, that more 
than one third of the whole fish, is a curious, electri- 
cal battery; as truly so, as the electrical vials are, 
though it is made very differently from them. 

I cannot, now, describe it to you. It would take 
too lone: a time, and I could not do it without a 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 161 

drawing for you to look at, to see the different parts. 
There are a great many of these parts, much 
more curiously made, and put together, than the 
parts of an electrical machine are ; and, as I told 
you, one of the largest kind of these electrical eels, 
ca.n charge his battery so full, and discharge it with 
so much force, as to kill a man,'*as quickly as a pow- 
erful stroke of lightning would. 

Nobody knows, how the fish makes the electrici- 
ty, inside of him, and charges his battery with it; or 
how he discharges his battery, so as to give a shock 
just when he chooses, and as light, or as heavy a 
one as he chooses. 

I will take you, soon, to see an electrical machine, 
and some of the wonderful effects of electricity. 

R. But I do not wish to take a shock, mother. 

M. A slight one would not hurt you. You may 
do as you choose, however. 

You will see in the electrical machine, and the 
vial, and the battery, and some other things to try 
experiments with, a great deal of design, contrivance, 
and skill. 

R. I am sure I shall, mother ; and I shall think, 
too, all the while, that the electricity made by the 
machine is the same as that in the clouds, — and that 
the sparks are like the lightning. I shall be a little 
afraid of it. 

B. T. 14* 



162 THE youth's book 

M. It has taken many wise men, a great many 
years, to find out what we know about electricity; 
and to make electrical machines ; and to know how 
to charge the vials and batteries, and to use them 
without danger. 

And did chance make the electrical eel ; — with its 
battery inside of it, ready to be used, at all times, as 
it chooses, to defend itself against its enemies, or to 
aid it, in seizing other fish for food ? 

And did the fish find out, by chance, too, that it 
can make electricity, and charge its battery and use 
it ; and did chance teach it, ichat to use it for ? 

There are only five different kinds of fishes, thai 
are known to have this power of making and using 
electricity. 

It is a wonderful power for them to have. They 
can make and use that something, which is often so 
terrible in the dark storm that passes over our heads. 
How we, sometimes, start at the flash of lightning, 
and shrink back as the thunder roars around us. It 
is then, that God seems to show us his great power. 

He hows the heavens, and comes down. 

Darkness is under his feet. 

He flies upon the wings of the wind. 

Dark waters, and thick clouds, cover him round 
about. 

God thunders in the heavens. 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 163 

The Highest gives his voice. 

At such times, the atheist has been known to shud- 
der, and tremble, at the power of God, and to cry, 
and pray, for deliverance from danger. 

Let us admire the sam.e power of God, which can 
so curiously confine, within the body of a small fish, 
that electricity, which gives the thunder-storm its 
terror. Coming from the clouds, it splits the tallest 
trees, and destroys animals, and men, and houses. 
In the body of the fish, and used for his safety and 
benefit, it can do but little harm. 

But only think, if all fishes, and birds, and beasts, 
and men, had this same power ; or if, even all angry 
men had it ! 

R. I do not think, mother, that any of us would live 
a great while. 

M. You see, then, my son, in the fish which I 
have been explaining to you, and in a few others of 
the same kind, one more striking proof of the power, 
the wisdom, and the goodness, of God. 

R. Yes, mother ; and I am sure I shall always 
remember it, it is so wonderful, and so difl^erent from 
any thing that I have ever heard before. 



164 THE youth's book 



DIALOGUE XIV. 



Robert. Mother, I was stung by a bee, this 
morning ; see how my finger is swelled. 

Mother. Not a great deal, Robert. I am glad, 
it is no worse. 

R. I think, I went rather too near the hive. I 
shall not go so near again. 

M. It is best to be careful, my son ; for, some- 
times, the sting of a bee is very painful, indeed, and 
it takes a good while to heal the wound. 

R. How can such a little insect make so bad a 
wound, mother? 

M. It has a part of its body made for this very 
purpose. 

The sting is inside of a horny sheath, or scabbard. 
This sheath ends in a sharp point, which is slit, so 
as to open and let the sting come out, when the 
wound is made. The sting is double, made of two 
small darts, very sharp, and barbed like a fish-hook. 
Each dart has many of these little barbs. One dart 
is somewhat longer than the other. 

Here is a drawing of the sting of a bee, very 
greatly magnified. 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 



165 




When a bee stings any body, it first pushes the 
pointed, horny sheath through the skin, into the 
flesh. Then it thrusts out the longest dart of its sting, 
through the sheath, into the flesh, where it holds 
fast with its barbed point. The other dart follows, 
and so the two darts, one after the other, keep pierc- 
ing into the flesh, till the whole sting is buried in it. 

R. 1 do not wonder, mother, that the sting of a 
bee is so painful, and the wound which it makes, 
so bad. 

M. But it would not be so, Robert, if the little in- 
sect did not do something more than I have told you. 

R. What is that, mother ? 



166 THE youth's book 

M. While the sting is in the flesh, it pours some 
poison through the sheath into the wound ; and it is 
this which makes the painful swelling. If this was 
not done, the sting of a bee would be no worse than 
a pretty deep prick of a pin, or when you cut yourself, 
a very little, with the sharp point of a pen-knife. 

R. Where does the poison come from, mother ? 

M. There is a little bag, at the root of the sting, 
which holds it; and there are several curious muscles, 
with which the bee can move its sting different ways, 
and thrust it into the flesh, and make the poison flow 
from the bag, through the sheath, into the wound. 

Look, again, at the drawing of the sting, and I will 
explain to you the different parts. 

(i) is the tube in which the poison is made, and 
which conveys it into the bag {b), from which it 
is carried, through another tube, into the sting's 
sheath {II), 

(ee) is the outward sheath, which shuts over the in- 
ward sheath {I I). 

(m m m m) are four cartilages, and (o o o o) four, 
very small muscles, by the help of which, the bee 
can move the sting different ways. 

{pp) are two muscles, to draw the sting into the 
sheath. 

(d) is the sting divided into two parts, and barbed 
at the sides. 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 167 

See, how this little insect is provided with a weap- 
on, sufficient to defend itself against very large, and 
powerful enemies. It knows very well, too, how to 
use it ; and a swarm of bees are as safe against the 
attacks of animals, as they could wish to be. 

R. Yes, mother, I remember, how the bear that 
tried to get the honey in a beehive, was stung by the 
bees. I read about it in my book of fables. 

The instruments, also, with which the bee and other 
insects get their food, are very curious, and show us 
the design, contrivance, and skill of that wise and 
good Being, who made the little bees, and all other 
insects ; and who constantly takes care of them, as 
well as of man, and of the larger animals. 

R. Do tell me about them, mother. 

M. I will ; but I must first tell you about a few oth- 
er things, so that you may understand me the better. 

Some persons have taken great pains to find out 
the diflferent kinds of insects ; and how they are made, 
and how they live, and what they do. They have 
made large collections of them ; and where such a 
collection is made, and the insects are all put in 
order, in glass cases, it is called a cabinet of insects. 

In some of these cabinets there are forty thousand 
diflferent kinds of insects ; but, probably, there are a 
great many more in the world, which have not yet 
been discovered. 



168 

The manner in which their mouths, and their instru- 
ments for getting food, are made, is more curious than 
that of beasts, birds, or fishes. 

Some insects have jaws ; and, usually, two pairs of 
jaws, an upper and a lower pair. They do not move 
against each other, up and down, as ours do, but side- 
ways. The upper pair, in most cases, seize the food, 
and chew it. The under pair, which are often hook- 
ed, hold the food, and tear it, and afterwards, the up- 
per pair make it very fine, before it is swallowed. 

The jaws of some are sharp, and are set with 
little thorns, for tearing flesh ; others are hooked, 
for seizing worms or insects, and, at the same time, 
hollow, for sucking up their juices; — some cut 
leaves, like scissors : — others are strong enough to 
grind the hardest wood between them. 

To a great many insects, jaws would have been 
useless. All the food which they take, is liquid. 
Moths and butterflies are of this kind. They eat 
nothing but honey, which is often quite deep, at the 
bottom of flowers. They need some way, then, of 
being able to reach it; just as we need some way of 
getting water from the bottom of a well, before we 
can drink it. 

God has furnished them with just what they need. 

They have a slender tongue, hollow inside, like 
a tube, and sometimes three inches long, which. 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 169 

when they do not use it, they coil up in a small 
space, that it may not be in the way, or get injured. 

When they use it, they unroll it instantly, and 
darting it into the bottom of a flower, draw up the 
sweet juice or honey, on which they feed. 

This tongue is a hard kind of flesh, made up of 
a great many little rings, which lie one above the 
other, and are moved by an equal number of muscles. 

Though it looks very simple, and as if it were 
only one tube, it is, in fact, made up of three, small- 
er, distinct tubes ; the two outside ones to draw in 
the air, and the middle one to suck up the honey. 
This middle tube is nearly square, and formed by 
the two outside ones coming close together, with a 
channel, or trough, cut in each. 

These two outside tubes are held fast together by 
a great many little hooks on each, that hook into 
each other ; somewhat as you can hook the fingers 
of one hand, on to the other, and hold the hands very 
tight together. 

The insect can unhook these outside tubes, or 
hook them together again, whenever it pleases. 

When they are hooked together, the inside tube 
is air tight; that is, no air can possibly pass through 
its sides. When the insect puts this tube down into 
the honey, and sucks up the air that is inside of the 
lube, the air at the bottom of the flower presses the 

B. T. 15 



170 

honey up into the tube, and up into the mouth of 
the insect. 

R. Oh ! mother, this is like what the boys some- 
times do, when they suck up new cider out of the 
tub, with a straw. 

M. It is, my son, and a common pump does some- 
thing like it, too. The honey is pressed up, by the 
air, into the tube of the insect, because there is no air 
inside of the tube to press the honey down; — the 
insect having emptied the inside of the tube of all 
the air. 

For the same reason, the cider rises in the straw, 
and the water in the pump. You recollect, I explain- 
ed to you about this pressure of the air, when you 
told me about the sucker which the boys made, and 
I showed you, that it was like the trunk of the ele- 
phant, lifting a heavy weight. 

R. I remember it, mother, but I did not think, 
then, that little insects, like a moth, and a butterfly, 
have a trunk, too. 

M. And quite as curious a one, you see, Robert, 
as that of the great elephant. 

It was a long, long while before men found out how 
to make a pump: and I dare say, the man who made 
the first one, was thought to have a great deal ol 
design, contrivance, and skill ; and if any body had 
said, that it was not made by the man, but came by 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 171 

chance, one day, the people would have laughed at 
him, as a very foolish man. 

Who contrived and made its little pump for the 
butterfly, which is, indeed, much more curious than 
our pump in the well is ? Did no one make it ; no 
one design it for any particular use ? Did all its parts 
happen to come together by chance — not only in one 
butterfly, but in the millions and millions of butter- 
flies that have lived ; and did they happen to come 
together, just exactly right, and always exactly alike, 
so as to make the same kind of pump, for hundreds 
and hundreds of years ? 

For there was a time, my son, when the first hut- 
terfiy lived, and laid its little eggs. 

R. Oh ! yes, mother, just like the first hen, about 
which you told me, and then more butterflies came 
out of the eggs, and so there have been millions, and 
millions of butterflies in the world. 

M. But there is a great diff'erence, Robert, between 
the eggs of a hen, and those of a butterfly. 

R. I know that, mother ; I never saw the eggs of a 
butterfly, but they must be a great deal smaller than 
those of a hen. 

M. Yes, some of them are not larger than the head 
of a pin, and they are very different in another respect. 
Little chickens come out of the eggs which the hen 
lays; but little butterflies do not come out of the eggs 
which the butterfly lays. 



172 

The eggs of the butterfly are laid on the leaf of 
some plant, very often on the leaf of a cabbage, and 
stuck fast to it, with something like glue, where they 
remain some weeks, and sometimes months, before 
they are hatched. The butterfly takes no care of the 
eggs ; indeed, she dies very soon after laying them. 
They are hatched by the warmth of the air, and heat 
of the sun, and, at last, out of each egg comes — a 
worm-like caterpillar. 

This caterpillar crawls upon sixteen short legs, and 
has two jaws, with which it greedily devours leaves. 

It has twelve eyes, so very small that they cannot 
be seen without a microscope. 

It eats the leaves of the plant on which the egg 
was laid, very voraciously, and grows faster than 
almost anv other animal. It grows so fast, that its 
skin becoiaes too tight ; and it bursts through it, and 
casts it off, and very soon has a new skin. This it 
does, five or six times. 

After some weeks, or in some kinds of caterpillars, 
some months, this little animal begins to get ready 
for another singular change. 

It may be seen crawling away from the plant on 
which it has fed, and trying to find some place, out 
of sight, where it may be safe from its enemies. 
For, pretty soon, it will stop eating entirely, and noi 
be able to move, or help, or defend, itself. 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 173 

It often climbs up high walls, and gates, and trees, 
to find such a place as it needs. 

Having found it, the caterpillar spins from its 
mouth a great many, very fine, silken threads, by 
which it hangs from some projection, or from the 
underside of a leaf oj branch. Some kinds hang 
with the head downwards; while others hangs side- 
ways, by means of a silken belt, which they make 
round the middle of their bodies. 

It now begins to try to force itself, once more, out 
of its skin; which, after a great deal of twisting, and 
struggling, it at last, succeeds in doing. But, some- 
times, this is so difficult, that it takes a day or two, 
to accomplish it. 

Out of the old skin, there comes a little animal, 
very different from the caterpillar, and it is called, 
a chrysalis. '^ 

This chrysalis has little hooks on its tail, with 
which it fastens itself to something like a small, silk 
button, v/hich the caterpillar spun, to hang upon. 

It now tries to get the old skin of the caterpillar 
out of the way ; putting itself in all sorts of shapes ; 
pushing against the old skin; and spinning itself 
round, with a sudden jerk, fifteen or twenty times. 
At last, it succeeds ; the old skin is cast away ; and 
there hangs the chrysalis, waiting for another, and 
still more astonishing change. 

B. T 15* 



174 THE youth's book 

Here is a drawing of a caterpillar (a), and of a 
chrysalis (d), hanging as I have just been explain- 
ing to you. 




The shape of the chrysalis is quite different from 
that of the caterpillar. It is the case which holds the 
insect that is soon to come out of it ; and inside of 
this case, all the parts of the insect are curiously 
and carefully folded up. 

The chrysalis seems hardly to be alive. It keeps 
hanging from the silk button, and does not move, 
nor eat. It continues so, sometimes, for weeks ; and 
sometimes, for months ; and sometimes, for a year, 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 175 

or more; according to the season when the eggs 
were laid and hatched, and the time that the cater- 
pillar was growing, and the size of the insect that 
is to come out of the chrysalis. 

At length, the time comes, for the insect to burst 
its prison-house. It begins to struggle to escape. 
The skin is- rent, and, opening wider and wider, out 
comes a beautiful, winged butterfly. 

This gay, happy insect, glitters in the sunbeam, 
and floats on the breeze, and sports from flower to 
flower, and sips the delicious honey, a few summer 
days, or at most, weeks, and then dies. Before it 
dies, however, it lays its eggs, from which, in the 
same way, new caterpillars, and chrysales, and but- 
terflies are again to come ; all having their various 
parts formed with perfect exactness, and, in each 
state, perfectly alike ; egg like egg, — caterpillar like 
caterpillar, — chrysalis like chrysalis, — butterfly like 
butterfly, — year after year, from the first butterfiy 
down to the last one that has lived. 

What design, what contrivance, what skill ! No 
man can imitate it. God alone has wisdom and 'power 
sufficient to do it. And every beautiful butterfly that 
you see in your walks, in the fields, tells you, as 
if you should hear a voice from heaven ; There is 
a Godf who made, and preserves, and governs^ all 
beings and things. 



176 THE youth's book 

Before we go, I wish to say one thing more to you, 
about the butterfly. 

What wonderful changes take place in this little 
animal, from the time that it is in the egg, to the day 
when it bursts its tomb, and comes forth, no more to 
crawl on the ground, or to hang lifeless from the 
branch of a tree, but to fly, freely and joyfully, 
through the air. 

Who could have thought such a change possible, 
if some one had not found it out, by actually seeing 
it? 

But God made this change, and his wisdom and 
power can make still more wonderful changes. 

He tells us, in the Bible, that these bodies of ours, 
which must be laid in the grave, and there moulder 
away to dust, will again come forth — more surpris- 
ingly changed than the brilliant butterfly is, when 
it leaves its confinement. 

If we love and obey God, and trust in that Savior, 
who himself burst the bars of the tomb, and rose from 
the dead, and is gone to Heaven, we too, shall rise 
joyfully from the grave, and our bodies will become 
like unto Christ's glorious body. 

We shall all be changed in a moment, in the twink- 
ling of an eye, at the last trun^ ; (for the trumpet 
shall sound ; ) and the dead shall be raised incorrwp- 
tible, and we shall be changed. 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 177 

For this corruptible must put on incorruption, and 
this mortal must put on immortality. 

It is the Bible, my son, which teaches us these 
wonderful truths. And while you admire the wis- 
dom and power of God in the curious butterfly which 
he has formed, think of that resurrection from the 
dead, which, if you truly love God, will so change 
your present feeble and decaying- body, that it will 
live in immortal health, and youth, and strength, 
and beauty. 



DIALOGUE XV. 



Robert. You told me, mother, that there is a 
kind of butterfly, which lays its eggs upon the leaf 
of a cabbage, and that the caterpillar, Avhich comes 
from the Qgg, eats the leaf of the cabbage for its food, 
How did the butterfly know, that the cabbage-leaf 
would be the right kind of food for the caterpillar ? 

Mother. I am glad, Robert, to hear you ask me 
such a question, for it shows that you have been 
thinking about what I have told you. Try, as much 



178 

as you can, to find out the reason of things. Some- 
times, you will be able to do this, yourself, and the 
oftener you can do so, the better; for every time that 
you succeed, you will be encouraged, and your mind 
will be strengthened, to try again, and, perhaps, to 
succeed again. 

R, / have tried, mother, to find out the reason, 
why the butterfly always lays its eggs on the right 
kind of leaf, but I cannot, and so I have asked you 
to tell me. 

M. It certainly is strange, my son, that the butterfly 
should always do so, and never make any mistake ; 
for you know it lays its eggs but once, and dies soon 
after, so that it could not have learned, by doing it 
several times, where the proper place is, for its eggs 
to be hatched. Besides, the butterfly never, itself, 
eats the cabbage leaf; for it lives on nothing but the 
sweet honey, which it pumps up from the bottom of 
the flowers. How, then, should it know, that the 
caterpillar, which is to come from its egg, will not 
be able to eat honey, and that its only food must be 
the cabbage-leaf. 

R. Well, mother, I am sure this is strange enough, 
and I cannot see any reason for it. 

M. I too, my son, am filled with wonder, when I 
think of it ; and, I know very little more about it, 
than you do. I know, that it is so, but how it is 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 179 

SO, I shall be able to explain but very little to you. 
Different kinds of insects have very different places 
in which to lay their eggs, and, also, very different 
ways of doing it. 

There is a kind of moth, which lays its eggs in 
the autumn, and they are not hatched till the spring. 
If they were placed upon a leaf, the wind in winter 
might blow them a great way off, and the caterpil- 
lar might starve for want of its proper food. So the 
moth places the eggs round the twigs of the tree, the 
leaves of which the caterpillar is to eat. 

The eggs are in rings, and look like little pearls, 
and the French gardeners call them bracelets. They 
are glued together, with a kind of gum, which is so 
hard, that it keeps them from being blown away by 
the wind, or injured by the rain, or devoured by any 
insects. 

All this the moth contrives to do with its tail, and 
hind feet. 

Does the moth know the reason why it does so 7 
There is a small fly that lays its eggs upon the 
branches of rose trees, and of other plants, on the 
leaves of which the caterpillar is to feed. To do this, 
it makes little cells, or small regular holes, to put 
the eggs in. 

If you had to make these cells, you would have to 
use a gimblet, to bore the holes, and a file, to make 



180 THE YOUTH S BOOK 

them regular and smooth. But the little fly has no 
gimblet or file. It has, however, what is quite as good, 
— an instrument like a saw. This saw is more curious 
than ours, for it has teeth on each side ; so that it is 
like two saws put together, and can cut both ways, 
and answer the purpose, both of a gimblet and a file. 

Does this fly know, that the caterpillar, that is to 
come out of the egg, will eat only certain kinds of 
leaves ? 

A small gad-fly lays its eggs, to be hatched, in the 
hides, or skins, of oxen and cows. I dare say, you 
have seen these insects flying about the oxen, and 
troubling them very much; for the gad-flies hurt them 
a good deal, when they pierce the skin of any of the 
tender parts of their bodies. Does the gad-fly know, 
that it would not do to lay its eggs on the leaves of 
plants ? 

Did you ever see a spy-glass, Robert ? 

R. Yes, mother ; do you not remember the one 
that uncle John has, which pulls out so many times ? 

M. Well, the gad-fly has, in its tail, an instrument, 
hard and tough, like horn, made of four pieces, which 
draw out, just like the pieces of a spy-glass. At the 
end of it, there are five pointed hooks, three of which 
are longer than the rest. These form an instrument 
very much like a gimblet, with which, in a few se- 
conds, the wound is made, and the eggs laid. 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 181 

The little ants, which, you know, live together, in 
great numbers, in their small houses, are very atten- 
tive, indeed, in taking care of their eggs. All the eggs 
are laid by one of the ants, which is called, the queen 
ant. She does not lay them in some particular place, 
but any where about the ant-nest. And she does not 
take the least care of them herself. 

As soon as the eggs are laid, there are other ants, 
called workers, which immediately take them up in 
their mouths, and keep turning them backward and 
forward with their tongue, to moisten them. 

They lay the eggs in heaps, placing them in differ- 
ent rooms, and constantly take care of them till they 
are hatched. Frequently, in the course of the day, 
they remove them from one part of the nest to an- 
other, as they may need more or less heat, or more 
or less moisture. 

After the eggs are hatched, which happens in a few 
days, the workers are very careful of the little worms, 
or grubs, as they are called. They get them food con- 
stantly ; and, every day, an hour before sunset, they 
regularly remove them to little cells, lower down in 
the earth, where they will be safe from the cold, and 
in the morning carry them back again. If it is going 
to be cold or wet, however, they let them remain in 
the lower cells. 

What is very remarkable, the workers do all this, 

B. T. 16 



182 THE youth's book 

earlier or later, in the morning and evening, accord- 
ing as the sun rises and sets, earlier or later. For, 
as soon as the sun shines on the outside of their nest, 
the ants that are at the top, go below, in great haste, 
to rouse their companions, and these quickly carry 
the grubs to the upper part of the nest, where they 
leave them a quarter of an hour, and then carry them 
into rooms where the sun cannot shine directly upon 
them. 

Sometimes the older grubs, in one nest, amount to 
seven or eight thousand, and the younger ones to as 
many. 

The older ones eat the most, and the workers have 
to w^ork very hard, to supply them with food, which 
they do, several times a day. 

They take great pains, too, to keep the grubs clean, 
and for this purpose the workers are continually 
passing their tongues over them. 

After the young grubs have fully grown, they wrap 
themselves up in a silken case, which they spin out 
of their own bodies, and now they begin to change 
their appearance and shape, and each one is called a 
pupa. 

These pupae, inside of the silken cases, which are 
called, cocoon, although they do not eat, require as 
much care as the grubs did. 

Every morning and evening, they are carried up 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 183 

and down, in the nest, as the eggs were ; and if, at 
any time, the nest is crushed by the foot of some 
animal which is passing over it, the ants are all busy 
in picking out the cocoons from the earth, and in 
putting the nest in order again. 

Do the workers know when the pupae are fully 
grown, and that it is time for them to come out of the 
cocoons ? Do they know, too, that the pupae are too 
weak to do this alone? For, just at the right time, 
ihree or four begin to pull off some of the silken 
threads from one end of the cocoon, to make it thinner. 
They make several, small openings, and cut the 
threads, one by one, which separate these openings, 
till a hole is made, large enough to let the prison- 
ers out. 

They do all this, very gently ; and then, with equal 
care, pull off the old skin which is on the pupee, and 
watch them for several days, and teach them how to 
find their way through all the rooms, and windings of 
the nest. 

If I had time, I would tell you a great deal more 
about these curious and industrious, little insects, and, 
also about the great variety of ways in which diffe- 
rent insects lay their eggs, and provide for their being 
hatched, and for the caterpillars, and grubs, which 
come out of the eggs, finding their food. 

It is very difficult to find out, hoiu it is, that 



184 THE youth's book 

insects seem to know so well what to do, to take 
care of themselves, and of their eggs, and of their 
young. 

They do some things, which, it would seem, they 
must think heforehand, how to do. And so do beasts, 
and birds, and fishes. But, then, all of them do a 
great many things, very curiously, and exactly, and 
regularly, without seeming to have the least contri- 
vance, or thought, about it. 

Birds of the same kind, build their nests in the 
same way, year after year. So do bees, their hives ; 
and all the little cells are made as exactly of the 
right size and shape, as if th' bees were able to draw 
lines and figures on paper, and calculate how it 
ought to be done, just as a man does, how a house 
should be built. 

Do birds contrive, beforehand, how to build their 
nests ; and bees, how to make their hives ? Do the 
old ones teach the young ones how to do this ? If 
so, it is strange, that they should do so, exactly 
alike, year after year, and not make some alterations 
or improvement. It would take a man a good 
while, to learn to make a bee-hive. He would make 
a great many mistakes, probably, at first, and have 
to try a great many times, before he got it exactly 
right. 

R. Yes, mother, and after he had skill enough to 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 185 

do it, it would take him a long time, to teach another 
man how to do it. 

M. That is true, Robert ; and if he should teach a 
hundred men how to do it, and they should teach a 
hundred others ; and so on, till a million of men were 
taught, do you suppose, they would all make their 
beehives exactly alike, as the bees do ? 

R. I think not, mother. 

M. Besides, my son, it takes a great many bees to 
make one hive, and yet they all go to work on the 
same plan. They all work together, without confusion, 
or mistake. Some do one thing, and some, another ; 
and yet they all do justr ,rhat ought to be done, at the 
right time, and in the right place, till the hive is finish- 
ed. This they do, too, in different countries, and in 
difierent years, summer after summer. 

If the bees are obliged to learn how to do all this , 
if they really think, and reason, and talk about it ; if 
they truly make their hives with the design of living 
in them, and of storing away their honey, and of tak- 
ing care of themselves, and of their eggs and their 
young ; and if they contrive beforehand, how to build 
their hives, and carry on all their business ; — then, 
in these respects, they have more design, contrivance, 
and skill than men have. 

R. And if so, mother, I do not see, why they do 
not learn to do other things for their comfort ; just as 

B. T. 16* 



186 



THE YOUTH S BOOK 



when a man has contrived how to make one curious 
thing, he can easily contrive how to make other curi- 
ous things. 

M. I think so, too, Robert ; and as men keep find- 
ing out, how to make new and useful things, year 
after year ; and people in some countries grow wiser 
and more skilful, than they do in some other countries : 
it would seem as if it would be so among the bees. 
But it is not ; they are just as wise and skilful in one 
country, as in another ; and they are no more so 
now, than they were thousands of years ago. 

And this is true of all the different kinds of insects 
of fishes, of birds, and of beasts. 

Man alone has the power of making new disco- 
veries, and of designing new things ; and of improv- 
ing, year after year, in wisdom and skill. Men, now, 
have a great many conveniences, and comforts, and 
advantages, which they did not have, hundreds of 
years ago. 

What a difference there is between the house in 
which we live, and the wigwam of an Indian ; be- 
tween the clothes which we wear, and the skin of a 
wild beast which he throws around him. But there 
is no such difference between the hives of bees, or 
between the different things which they get for their 
comfort. They all live, and fare, alike. 

Sometimes, people have put some of the eggs of a 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 187 

duck into a hen's nest to be hatched with her own 
eggs. After the eggs are hatched, the hen will take 
as good care of the little ducks, as of her own chick- 
ens. As soon as the ducks can get to any water, 
deep enough to swim in, away they go, and plunge 
into it, and swim about, with as little fear, and with 
as much ease, as the old ducks do. This troubles the 
hen a great deal. She makes a great noise about it, 
and does not seem to understand, at all, that the little 
ducks are made very differently from the chickens, 
with feet on purpose to swim in the water, and that 
they will have to get their food in a different way 
from what the chickens will. 

R. And the hen does not seem to understand, 
mother, that the bill of the ducks is very different 
from that of the chickens. You recollect, you ex- 
plained it to me. 

M. Yes, my son, and I am glad, you have not 
forgotten it. 

You see, the hen does not seem to know any thing 
about the reason, why the ducks go into the water, 
and the chickens do not. She tries to keep the ducks 
from going into it, and, in every way, takes the same 
care of them and of the chickens, and treats them 
exactly alike. 



188 



THE youth's book 




Why is she so stupid about this, when she seems 
to know so much about other things ? 

And why, too, did the little ducks go so soon into 
the water ? No duck taught them to do so. The hen 
tried all she could to prevent them from doing it. 
How did they know that the water would be a good 
place for them, and that they could swim in it ? 

R. Tlie more you tell me about these things that 
animals do, mother, the more strange it seems to me. 

M. It is, indeed, strange, my son ; and there is no 
other way of explaining it, but to consider it as made 
to he so hy God himself. 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 189 

R Do you mean, mother, that God makes the 
butterfly lay its eggs in the right place ; and the ants 
take care of their eggs, and grubs, and pupae, as they 
do; and birds build their nests; and bees, their hives; 
and little ducks go into the water ? 

M. I do, my son, though not in the same way in 
which he makes the wind blow, or the lightning 
come from the clouds, and strike a tree. 

But we have talked a good while, and must stop 
now. I will talk with you again, about the way in 
which God makes animals do a great many things, 
to-morrow morning. 



DIALOGUE XVI. 



Mother. Well, Robert, have you had a pleasant 
walk ? 

Robert. A very pleasant one, mother, and I stop- 
ped to see a caterpillar hanging from a silk button, 
on the under side of a leaf. 

M. I cannot think, Robert, that the caterpillar 
does this, because it knows, that it is about to be 



190 THE youth's book 

turned into a chrysalis, and that, afterwards, the 
chrysalis will be turned into a butterfly. 

R. What, then, makes it do so, mother ? 

M. I was beginning to explain to you, yesterday, 
about the way in which God makes the caterpillar 
do this; and makes other insects, and the fishes, and 
birds, and beasts, do a great many curious things, 
for doing which, they do not seem to understand the 
reason at all. 

God gives them different instincts, which direct 
them to do certain things, without their being obliged 
to learn how to do them, and without their knowing 
why they do them. 

Even plants seem to have something like instmcts. 

When a kernel of corn is put into the ground, 
(or, indeed, the seed of any plant,) after some time, 
a green sprout comes out from one end of the kernel, 
and a good many, little, white threads, from the other 
end. The sprout finds its way upicard through the 
earth, and grows, and becomes a stalk of corn, and 
bears ears. 

The little threads run downward, and become 
roots, and help to fix the stalk strongly in the earth, 
and to draw nourishment for it, from the earth. 

Now, what is very curious, is, that you may put 
the kernel into the ground, either end up, or either 
side up, any way that you choose, and the sprout 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY, 191 

will, always, take the right direction, upward, — and 
the little threads, their right direction, downivard. 

R. Mother, did you never see how the bean- 
vines always go towards the poles, and climb around 
them? 

M. I have, my son, and this, as well as w^hat I 
have told you the kernel of corn does, — may be 
considered as an instinct. It is done, without the 
kernel, or the vine, thinking, or knowing, any thing 
about it. 

R. Are there any other, curious instincts in plants, 
mother ? 

M. Many, my son. If a vessel of water is placed 
within six inches of a cucumber vine that is grow- 
ing, — in twenty-four hours, the vine will change its 
direction, and not stop till it touches the water. 

There is a curious plant, called di<^fly-trap, the 
leaves of which are jointed, and have two rows of 
strong prickles on them. 

If a fly, or any other insect, alights on these leaves, 
instantly they rise up ; the rows of prickles lock 
themselves fast together, and the little animal is 
caught, and soon dies. It is thought, that in some 
way, the plant is nourished by the dead insect. 

Here is a drawing of a part of this furious plant. 
Yq\x see, a little insect has just got caught in its 
leaves. 



192 THE youth's book 




Here, again, is what may be called instinct. 
When the leaves spring together and catch the 
insect, and do not open till it dies, the plant feels 
nothing, and knows nothing, of all this, or of the 
reason why it is done. 

R. Mother, has a clock instinct ? It strikes, to 
tell us what o'clock it is. 

M. No, my son, we know Jioiv the clock strikes. 
The weight makes the wheels go round, and the 
wheels raise the hammer, and it strikes the bell. 
We call this mechanism. Machines have not in- 
stinct. 

It is only those things that have vegetable and ani- 
mal life, which have instinct. 

What the cause of instinct is, we do not know, 
nor in what way God gives it to the plants and ani- 
mals, and makes it always act as it does, regularly, 
and without any mistake. 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 193 

If 1 move my hand suddenly towards your eyes, 
as if I were going to strike them, you wink them, 
instantly. 

R. Yes, mother, and I cannot help doing it. 

M. A little infant does the same. The reason of 
doing it, is to protect the eye from injury. But 
neither you nor the little infant, think of this reason, 
when you wink your eyes, nor think, at all, about 
doing it. 

It is instinct, that leads you to do so. 

It is instinct, that directs different animals to do 
what they do, to preserve their lives, to defend them- 
selves against danger, to provide for their wants, to 
build their nests, and other habitations to live in, 
and to take care of their young. 

They do all this, in a very different way from 
that in which a clock strikes, or a steamboat moves 
through the water. For animals are not machines. 

They do it, too, in a very different way from that, 
in which men learn how to take care of themselves, 
and of each other, and to invent and make things, 
for their comfort and imp'rovement. 

We cannot suppose, that the birds in building 
their nests, or the bees in making their hives, learn, 
first how to do it, and then plan and calculate, and 
reason about it, as men do, when they build a house, 
a church, a ship, or a bridge. 

B. T. 17 



194 THE youth's book 

We cannot believe, that they have such wonderful 
wisdom, design, contrivance, and skill. It is instinct 
which directs them ; and, in this way, God shows 
us his great wisdom, and power, and goodness. For 
he made the first butterfiy with an instinct, to lay 
its eggs on the proper leaf; and the caterpillar, to 
eat this leaf, and to hang, just at the right time, from 
the silk button ; and the chrysalis to come out from 
the skin of the caterpillar, and hang, also, from the 
silk button, and, at last, the butttrfiy to come out 
from its case, which it has to strive very hard to do, 
and stretch its wings, and seek its food, and lay its 
eggs, before it dies. 

How wonderful, that these instincts, thus go from 
the old butterfly to the young ones, and so on, for 
hundreds and thousands of years. 

Think of all the beasts, and birds, and fishes, and 
insects, that are now living, and that have ever 
lived ; — how many millions, and millions, and mil- 
lions of them there have been. They have all had 
their peculiar instincts, directing them, in different 
ways, to do the different things that Avere necessary 
for their safety and comfort, and for that of their 
young. 

How these instincts are given to animals, and 
made to act with so much certainty and accuracy ; 
how they are made to go from the old to their young, 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 195 

and from these to their young again, and so on, we 
cannot understand, or explain. 

God alone, knows, how it is done ; for he does it. 
And it is, my son, even a more striking proof of his 
design, contrivance, and skill, than the wonderful 
way in which he has made the different parts of the 
bodies of animals, and put them together. 

You told me, some time ago, that you should think 
it would be very wonderful, indeed, if a man could 
make a watch, so that the wheels should move and 
move, in such a way, as to have another watch come 
out from it, as a chicken does from an Qgg, and an- 
other watch from this, and so on, and so on. 

But suppose, a man, besides this, could make the 
first watch, so that it could keep going of itself, for 
one year, and then tumble all to pieces ; but, just 
before it tumbled to pieces, it should move its wheels, 
as if by instinct, and make another watch like itself, 
to go as it had done ; and, at the end of a year, this 
watch make another watch, and then, tumble to 
pieces ; and so on, and so on. What would you think 
of this? 

R. I should think, mother, that the design, con- 
trivance, and skill, of the man were so great, that, if 
I did not see the watches, I could hardly believe any 
iking about it. 

M. How much greater design, contrivance and 



196 THE youth's book 

skill, are seen in the instincts of butterflies, and of 
other animals ; so that here is another kind of proofs 
different from any that we have had before, of the 
existence, wisdom, power, and goodness of God. 

R. I shall think of it, mother, when I see a bird 
building its nest, or the caterpillar spinning its 
threads. 

M. I hope you will, my son, and thus, as you 
look around you, see God in all things ; in the little 
ant beneath your feet, as well as in the larger ani- 
mals; in their wonderful instincts, as well as in their 
curious bodies, and motions ; in the flowers, and 
plants, and trees ; in the gentle breeze, and in the 
roaring storm ; in the glorious sun, by day, and in 
the beautiful moon and stars, by night. 

R. Before we stop talking, mother, I wish to ask 
you one question. 

M. Do, my son, you know, I am always ready 
to answer your inquiries. 

R. Do not animals sometimes think, beforehand, 
how they will do certain things, and why they will 
do them 1 

M. Yes, Robert, I cannot but think so. They 
often do things which cannot be explained by mere 
instinct. 

R. Then they are like us, mother. 

M. Yes, my son, in some few things ; but, aflei 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 197 

all, what a vast difference there is between them and 
us. In one thing, you know, we are entirely differ- 
ent from them. They do not know, neither can they 
be taught, the least possible thing about God, and 
the soul, and a future world after death. They have 
no ideas, or feelings, with regard to what is right 
and wrong ; and when they reason at all, which but 
very few of them do, in but very few instances, they 
reason only about some little things, and there stop. 
Their reason does not seem to improve, and those 
who seem the wisest of them, know but very little, 
indeed, except what they know and do, by instinct. 

R. Mother, I do not understand exactly, what 
reason is. Will you please to explain it to m-e 1 

M. It would take me a long while, Robert, to tell 
you all about ir, but I will tell you enough, to show 
you, how very different reason is from instinct. 

If something is coming very suddenly towards 
your eyes, you shut them ; but you do not think that 
you will do this, or why you will do it. You do it 
from instinct, or, as we say, instinctively. 

I have read a story of a lady who was one day 
walking alone, in a country where tigers live. One 
of these terrible animals suddenly appeared, and 
began to approach her. What could she do, to defend 
herself? In an instant, she thought of one thing, 
that might possibly drive the tiger away. She had a 

B. T. 17* 



198 



THE YOUTH S BOOK 




parasol in her hand. She opened it suddenly to- 
wards the tiger, and he was so frightened by it, that 
he immediately turned about, and ran off into the 
woods. 

The lady perceived the great danger she was in ; 
she thought how she might prevent the tiger from 
attacking her : she thouglit opening the parasol sud- 
denly towards him, miglit do this ; and she opened 
the parasol /or this very purpose. 

In doino^ this, she reasoned. She had seen little 
children, perhaps, or some kinds of animals, startled, 
by having something come very suddenly towards 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY 199 

them. She might have been alarmed herself, some 
time or other, in this way. She recollected it, and 
thought, that in the same way, the tiger might be 
alarmed, by the opening of her parasol. 

It was reason, and not instinct, that led her to act 
so wisely. 

The caterpillar throws off its old skin, exactly at 
the right time; not because it thinks that it will have 
a new, and better one, or that it must do this several 
times, that, at last, it may be prepared to hang from 
the silk button, and become a chrysalis, and after- 
wards, a beautiful butterfly. It knows nothing about 
these wonderful changes. How can it ? It never 
passed through them before, or saw any other ca- 
terpillar pass through them ; nor has it ever been 
taught about them by any other insect. What the 
caterpillar does, it does, without thinking of the 
different ways in which it must act, or of the pur- 
pose for which it must act. It acts entirely from in- 
stinct. 

When your uncle John takes off his thick woollen 
coat, in the spring, (as the weather begins to be quite 
warm,) and lays it away in his trunk, and puts on 
a thinner one, — he does this, not from instinct, but 
from reason. 

He has learned, from having done so before, that 
it is best for his comfort and health ; he thinks, that 



200 THE youth's book 

the cold weather is passed, and that the summer is 
coming- on, and that he shall not need his thick, 
warm coat again till the autumn, unless it may be, 
now and then, on a cool day. What he does, he does 
on purpose, and can tell you, why he does it. He 
does it from reason. 

Instinct is that something which God gives to 
animals, so that it is as much a part of them as their 
life is, which directs them to do certain things to 
preserve their lives, and to take care of themselves, 
and of their young, and to continue their different 
kinds, year after year ; — and to do all this, certainly 
and regularly, without having been taught it, — and 
with as much skill, the first time, as the second, 
third, fourth, or at any time, afterwards, — and with- 
out thinking, why it is done. 

Reason is, also, the gift of God. It is his peculiar 
gift to man. It is that which makes man so very 
different from beasts, birds, fishes, and insects. 

You see reason beginning to show itself in a very 
young child. How soon the child seems to learn 
both how, and why, to do certain things. It soon 
understands, also, how, and why other persons do 
certain things. It early shows design in what it 
does, and sometimes considerable contrivance and 
skill. 

When it learns to talk, how soon it begins to in- 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 201 

quire how things are made, and why things are 
made; how things are done, and why they are done. 

The child very early understands why it ought to 
do what is right, and not to do what is wrong ; and 
how it ought to conduct towards its parents ; and do 
to others, as it would have others do to it. It con- 
tinues to improve, and understands how aud why, it 
must believe that there is a God, who made all be- 
ings and things ; and how, and why, it must love, 
obey, and serve him, that its soul may be prepared, 
after its body is dead, to go to heaven, and be holy 
and happy, there for ever. It is reason that enables 
the child to do all this. 

But if I should go on to tell you all the things 
which reason enables children and men to do, I 
might spend years in telling you. 

Whenever we think, how any thing was made, or 
why It was made, we reason. Whenever we think, 
how a thing might be done, and why it would be 
well to have it done, we reason. Whenever we 
think, why we ought to conduct in a certain way, so 
as to do right, — or not to conduct in a certain way, 
so as not to do wrong, we reason. Whenever we 
think, how, or why, any thing will make us and 
others, more wise, or good, or happy, — or less so, 
— we reason. 

And, because our minds, or souls, are able to do 



202 THE youth's book 

all this, we say they have reason, and that reason 
enables them to do it. 

R. Mother, how glad I am, that I have reason. 

M. That you may well be, my son. When you 
see the little birds, and insects, doing many curious 
things, the loonderful instincts which direct them to 
do these things, show you that there is a God. But 
how much more striking is the proof, that there is 
a God, when you see children, and grown people, 
doing those things which are so far, far above in- 
stinct, and which reason alone enables them to do. 

How did man get this wonderful power of his 
soul ? Whence came his soul itself? How came it 
to be united to his body ? 

You have seen how our bodies alone, from the 
design, contrivance, and skill, with which they are 
made, and their different parts put together, and 
kept in order, prove that there is a God. How much 
more, then, do our souls prove this ; with powers so 
superior to those of the body; with reason so superior 
to the instincts of the brutes ; with reason, the pe- 
culiar gift of God to man, and which makes man 
somewhat like God. 

How thankful, my son, should you be to God, for 
giving you reason. And how careful should you be, 
so to use your reason, that you may continue to im- 
prove in knowledge and goodness, — that you may 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 203 

make others and yourself, wiser, better, and happier, 
— that you may become more and more like God, 
and thus be prepared to know more of him, in hea- 
ven, and to be happy, in loving and serving him, 
for ever. 



DIALOGUE XVII. 



Robert. Mother, uncle John has made me a 
new bat to play ball with, out of a hard piece of 
wood, and it is the best bat that I ever had. 

Mother. Suppose he had made it a foot longer, 
how would you like it then ? 

R. It would not do for me, mother. I should 
think, then, that uncle John had made it for himself. 

M. Yes, your uncle John needs a longer bat to 
play ball with, than you do ; and a little boy would 
need a shorter bat, — so that the bat must be suited 
to the height of the person. This we call proportion. 
And if your bat just suits your height, we say that 
the proportion between the length of the bat, and the 
height of your body, is right. Do you not think, 



204 THE youth's book 

your uncle John thought of this proportion, when 
he made your bat ? 

R. I am sure he did, mother ; for before he 
cut it off, he asked me several times, to take hold 
of it at the right place, and see how long it ought 
to be. 

M. He had a design, then, in making it of just the 
length that he did. Do you suppose that the man who 
made the chairs in this room, had 3. design in making 
them just as high as they are ? 

R. Certainly he had, mother. He made them for 
men and women to sit on, and that small, low chair, 
he made for a little boy or girl to sit on. 

M. Did you ever think, my son, how our houses 
and furniture, and all the different kinds of things 
which we use to work with, are proportioiied to the 
size of men and women, and to the use which we make 
of them. 

R. I never did before, mother, but now that you 
have told me, I see that it is so. 

M. If you should see a house with doors only half 
as high and wide as the doors of our house; and win- 
dows half as large ; and go inside, and find every 
thing in the same proportion — all the tables, and 
chairs, and beds, and things to be used, just half the 
size of ours, what would you think ? 

R. I should think, the house, and all the things in 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 205 

it, were made for people, only half as large, and tall, 
as you and uncle John are. 

M. Yes ; and that would certainly appear to be 
the design of the person who contrived the house, 
and had it built, and the things made and put into it. 

Proportion, then, beticeen the different parts of a 
thing, or between one thing and others, is one ivay in 
which loe see proofs of design, contrivance, and skill. 

R. Mother, I have just thought, if my arms were 
as long as uncle John's, or his arms as short as mine, 
how inconvenient it would be. 

M. True, my son, and only think how all the parts 
of your body, are not only suited, but exactly propor- 
tioned, to each other. 

How clumsy a head would be, two or three times 
larger than the one you now have. It would require 
stronger muscles to move it about, and a stronger 
neck to support it. And, if your legs were twice as 
long as they are, how awkward many of your mo- 
tions would be, and how hard it would be for you to 
bend down and stoop, and pick up things. Your 
arms, then, would have to be longer, to have the 
right proportion ; and, indeed, all the parts of your 
body would have to be larger, so as to have one suit- 
ed to the other. 

Think, too, of the proportion between our bodies, 
and the things and beings around us. 

B. T. 18 



206 

R. I do not exactly understand you, mother. 

M. I will explain to you what I mean. — Suppose 
our cows were two or three times taller than they 
are, Avould it not be very inconvenient ? 

R. It would be, indeed. I do not see, how they 
could be milked. 

M. Well, Robert, there is a suitable proportion be- 
tween them, and the size of men and women. 

And so it is with the horse, that animal which is 
of the greatest use to man. If horses were two or 
three times taller than they are, it would be almost 
impossible to ride on horseback ; and, if we used 
them in carts, and wagons, and chaises, and stages, 
these would have to be made larger, and higher, and 
very differently from what they are now. What would 
the farmer do, when he ploughed his field ? It would 
give him a great deal of trouble. 

R. And so it would, the hostler, mother, to take 
care of them. 

M. And if our dogs and cats were as big as 
horses and cows, we could not let them come into 
our houses. 

R. And, besides, mother, how could the cats catch 
rats and mice. 

M. You see, my son, there is a proportion between 
the size of man, and that of the animals which are 
intended for his use. And you will see a similar 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 207 

proportion, too, between the different kinds of ani- 
mals, of beasts, of birds, of fishes, of insectSj and of 
plants. 

A great many animals live on grass and plants of 
different kinds ; and their shape and size and height 
are such, and their head, and body, and limbs, so pro- 
portioned, that they can get their food without diffi- 
culty. 

Other animals prey upon different kinds of ani- 
mals, for food ; and their size, and their strength, and 
their means of securing their prey, are propor- 
tioned to this object. If mice were obliged to catch 
cats for food ; or the deer, to catch the lion ; or flies, to 
catch spiders ; or insects, to catch the birds ; — they 
would soon starve. 

How easily, too, all our food is obtained. We eat 
the flesh of animals ; and we have the knowledge 
and the skill necessary, to provide this kind of food, 
although we are not so strong as many of the ani- 
mals which we use for food. The proportion, here, 
is not between our size and theirs, or between our 
strength and theirs, but between our knowledge, and 
contrivance, and skill, and theirs. In these respects, 
we are greatly their superiors, and if it were not so, 
there are many of them which we could not procure 
for food. 

We eat fruit, too, and vegetables ; and our great 



208 

article of food, bread, is procured irom grain. How 
well adapted the size of the vegetables is, to our size. 
If they were much smaller, or if they were a great 
deal larger, it would be difficult to cultivate them, and 
to gather them in, at the proper season, and take care 
of them. 

If potatoes were no larger than peas, and had to be 
planted, and hoed, as they now are, it would be very 
fatiguing indeed, to do it, and they would hardly be 
worth raising. And if wheat, and rye, and oats, grew 
five or six feet high, and with a larger stalk, men 
would not be tall enough to reap them, or at any rate, 
it would be a very difficult, and troublesome task. 
Most of the pleasantest, and most common fruits, can 
be gathered with the hand, and held in it, while we 
are eating them. There is a 'proportion between, them 
and our hands. 

R. Yes, mother, and I was thinking how awkward, 
and incovenient it would be, if apples and pears were 
as large as pumpkins. 

M. There is a proper proportion, also, between 
the size of animals, and that of their young. If the 
little birds, that come out of the eggs, were as large 
as the old ones, or if they grew much faster than they 
do, the nest would not be large enough for them, and 
they would require so much food, that it would be 
very difficult for the old ones to take care of them. 



ON NATURAl. THEOLOGY. 209 

R. Mother, I have just thought about another in- 
stinct that birds must have. 

M. What is that, my son ? 

R. That which directs them to make their nests, 
of the right proportion for the size of their eggs, and 
of the little birds which are to come out of them. 

M. Yes, Robert, that is a striking instance of 
right proportion, and of a curious instinct, at the 
same time. 

You see a similar instance of proportion, and of 
instinct, in the sizes and accommodations of all the 
nests, and hives, and places, which animals prepare 
for their own comfort, and that of their young. 

Who gave them this nice instinct of proportion f 
How happens it to be so certain, so regular, and so 
universal ? Does chance produce exact and suitable 
proportions ? Suppose your uncle John should write 
a letter to a tailor, who never saw him, to have a suit 
of clothes made, and should not send any measure ; 
and the tailor should not know, whether he was a tall 
or a short man, a large, or a small one. The clothes 
might possibly chance to fit, and be proportioned to 
your uncle John's size and shape. But it would be 
a mere chance. The tailor might try a thousand 
times, before he would make the suit of clothes to fit 
exactly. 

But suppose he had to make suits, in the same way, 

B. T. 18* 



210 THE youth's book 

without any measures, for a thousand men. How 
many, then, would their clothes exactly fit? It 
would be a w^onder if the proportion was right, 
even in one instance. 

But millions of birds and insects have made their 
nests, and hives, of the right proportion, for their own 
comfort, and that of their eggs and young, without ta- 
king any measure beforehand, or making any calcu- 
lation, or, indeed, thinking at all about this pro- 
portion. 

How could they do this, unless God had given 
them the instinct of proportion ? 

This instinct proves, that there is a God ; and this, 
and all the other instances of prop or tioji, which you 
see in your own body, and in that of animals, and of 
plants, and in the size, and height, and shape of men, 
and animals, and plants, with regard to each other, 
all show the great wisdom, power, and goodness of 
God. 

When you make a kite, or a bat, or any thing else ; 
you know how much you have to think, and how 
careful you have to be, to get all the proportions 
exactly right. 

And if you could see a person cutting out a statue 
from a large block of marble, and giving it size and 
shape, and all the nice proportions, so as to make it 
look just like a human body, you would greatly ad- 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 211 

mire the design, contrivance, and skilly of the sta- 
tuary. 

And if you could see the great church of St. Peter's 
at Rome, more than 700 feet in length, and 500 in 
breadth, with its immense dome, rising to the height 
of 400 feet ; and all its beautiful and grand parts, 
both without and within ; and the exact proportions 
between these parts and the whole building ; what 
would you think of the design and contrivance of the 
architect who planned this vast temple, and of the 
skill of those who built it ? 

But look at what God has wrought What beauti- 
ful proportions in the stem, the branches, the leaves, 
the buds, the flowers of the rose bush ; in the head, 
the body, the wings, the feathers, the feet of birds ; 
in the head, the horns, the neck, the body, and the 
limbs, of the deer; and above all, in the size and shape, 
and parts, of the human frame ! What useful propor- 
tions, too, in ourselves and in all the beings and things 
with which we are acquainted ! What beautiful and 
grand proportions, in the hills, and valleys and plains, 
and rivers, and trees, and plants, that fill the land- 
scapes which are spread around us ! And astronomy 
would show you still more magnificent and sublime 
proportions, between this earth, on which we live, and 
that sun around which it revolves, and the moon and 
planets, and the hosts of stars ; proportions of shape, 



212 THE youth's book 

and size, and weight, and distance, and attraction, 
— which would fill you with admiration and awe. 

God is the greoi statuary, who has moulded and 
formed all the things and beings which you see. 

God is the great architect, who has built this 
world, and all worlds. 

God has made all those useful^ and beautiful, and 
grand 'proportions, of which this world, and all worlds 
are full. 

Whenever, you admire, or wonder at these pro- 
portions, think of the Author of them. Think of his 
wisdom, and power, which could design and make 
them. This wisdom and power are infinite. Think 
of his goodness, which has thus furnished you with 
a constant source of the purest enjoyment, in looking 
at the thousand beautiful, and grand objects which 
surround you. 

In this way, every thing that is lovely, will have a 
new loveliness ; and every thing that is grand, a new 
grandeur : because you will feel, that they were thus 
made, to promote our happiness, by our Father who 
is in heaven. 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 213 



DIALOGUE XVIII. 

Mother. I told you yesterday, Robert, something 
about the proportions between ourselves, and the dif- 
ferent beings and things which surround us There 
is another subject, something like this, which also 
shows us the great wisdom, power, and goodness 
of God. 

Robert. Will you be so good, mother, as to ex- 
plain it to me. 

M. I will endeavor to do it. 

You know, all animals breathe, and if they did not, 
they could not live. The air which they draw in, goes 
to the lungs ; (that part of the body by which we 
breathe ;) and there it meets the blood, which also 
goes to the lungs, from the heart. The air causes 
some change in the blood, which, after being thus 
changed, goes back again to the heart, and is sent to 
all parts of the body. If the blood did not receive 
this change from the air, it would not nourish and 
give life to all the parts of the body, as it does. 

The heart and the lungs are very curiously made, 
and so are the arteries, which, like tubes, carry the 
blood all over the body, from the heart : and the veins, 
which like tubes, also, carry it back again. You 



214 THE youth's book 

know, when the heart ceases to beat, and the lungs 
to breathe, a person dies. 

R. Do explain to me, mother, how the heart and 
lungs are made ; as you did about the muscles and 
nerves. 

M. I intend to do it, at some future time, my son, 
and to show you all the pictures which are necessary 
to your understanding it. 

At present, it will be enough for you to know that 
the lungs are made on purpose to breathe with, 
and that the heart is made on purpose to send the 
blood to the lungs, and after the blood has received 
its change there, to send it throughout the whole 
body. 

The lungs would be of no use without the heart, 
nor the heart without the lungs ; and neither would 
be of any use, if there were no air for the lungs to 
breathe, or no blood to be prepared by the air, to give 
nourishment and life to the whole body. 

The air is just what is needed for the lungs to 
breathe, and the lungs are made exactly to breathe 
the air. 

Here is another striking instance of design, con- 
trivance, and skill, in thus making one thing suit 
another, which is called adaptation. 

R. Do fishes breathe, mother ? 

M. They do, my son. They breathe with their gills* 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 215 

« 

R. But how can they breathe air, when they are 
under the water ? 

M. The water is drawn in at the mouth of the fish, 
and sent to the gills, where a certain portion of air 
which is in the water, changes the blood, which is 
also sent to the gills, from the heart. 

R. The gills, then, mother, are the lungs of fishes. 

M. They are so, my son ; and the leaves of trees 
and plants, are their lungs, by which they derive 
from the air something which is necessary, for 
their growth and life. Plants, as well as animals, 
cannot live without air. 

R. Have little insects lungs, mother ? 

M. They have not, my son, any lungs which are 
like those of men, beasts, birds, or fishes. But there 
are tubes, or w^ind-pipes, in some insects standing 
out from different parts of their body, through which 
they breathe. In others, as is the case in many 
caterpillars, there are small holes along the sides, 
through which the air passes. 

R. Well, there is a plenty of air, mother, for all 
the animals and plants. 

M. There is so, Robert. The earth, which, you 
know, is a great ball, is entirely surrounded with 
air; and all this air is called the atmosphere. It has 
weight ; and the whole atmosphere presses on the 
surface of the earth with as much force, as water 



216 

« 

would, if it were all round the earth, to the height of 
thirty-four feet. 

R. How much heavier is water than air, mother ? 

M. About eight hundred times. But there are 
some other things about the air, that show how won- 
derfully it is adapted to certain parts of our body, 
which I wish to explain to you. 

You know, we hear sounds through the ear. In- 
side of the ear, there is a thin skin, called the drum 
of the ear^ with four little bones near it, so made, that 
when the drum of the ear vibrates, all the bones are 
put in motion. 

R. Mother, what does vibrate mean ? 

M. See, I am going to stick my penknife, a little 
way into this piece of wood, so that it will stand up 
straight. Now, I will strike the top of the knife with 
my finger. 

You see, how the knife moves quickly back and 
forth. It vibrates. 

When you strike the top of a drum, it vibrates, 
and so does the little drum of the ear. 

R. But what strikes the drum of the ear, mother ? 

M. The air. When the clapper of a bell strikes 
against the side of it, the bell has a great many quick 
vibrations. These vibrations of the bell, make vibra- 
tions in the air around it ; and these make other vi- 
brations, and these, still wider ones ; just as a stone 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 217 

thrown into smooth water, puts the water in motion, 
and makes a little circle round it, and this circle 
makes a larger one, and this one still larger, till the 
water is put in motion for a great distance, and 
strikes against the little plant that is growing 
in the water, near the opposite shore, and ])uts it 
in motion. 

So the vibrations of the air, which the vibrations 
of the bell cause, at last strike against the drum of 
the ear, and put it in motion, and it vibrates. 

This vibration of the drum of the ear, makes the 
four little bones vibrate. 

The vibration of these bones puts a watery fluid 
in motion, which is in a hollow place, back of the 
drum of the ear. 

The vibrations of the watery fluid, somehow or 
other, aflect the end of a nerve ; and this nerve, which 
goes to the brain, carries to it the sensation of sound 
— and we hear, 

R. If you had not told me, mother, I am sure, I 
should not have thought, that there were so many 
curious parts in my ear, and that so much must be 
done, before I can hear a single sound. 

M. Well, my son, what will the atheist say to all 
that I have told you about breathing and hearing ? 

Did the air happen to have just such parts, that, 
if it can be made to meet the blood which flows 

B. T. 19 



218 

through our whole body, it will cause just that 
change in the blood, which is absolutely necessary 
to nourish the body and keep it alive ? 

And did the heart happen to come together just 
so, as to form a curious kind of machine, and every 
time that the blood is brought back to it by the 
veins, to send it to the lungs to meet the air, and, 
after it comes back again, changed by the air, to 
send it all over the body, to nourish it, and keep it 
alive ? 

And did the heart happen to be so 'powerful a 
machine, that it will keep going, and never get out 
of order, for seventy or eighty years, when a person 
lives so long ; and do this, too, although it works 
very hard, all the while, day and night. 

For the heart contracts, and so forces the blood 
out of it, four thousand five hundred times, in one 
hour. You know you can feel it beat, every time 
that it contracts. 

All the blood that is in the body of a grown per- 
son, of common size, weighs about thirty-three 
pounds, and all this passes through the heart and is 
sent all over the bod}^ nearly twenty-three times in 
one hour, or once in a little more than every two 
minutes and a half Did chance make this wonder- 
ful heart ? 

Then the lungs happened to be just suited, both 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 219 

to the heart and to the air, so as to bring the air 
and the blood together, in just the proper quantity, 
and just at the right time, and just often enough. It 
would not do for the lungs to go too fast for the 
heart ; nor the heart too fast for the lungs. To keep 
the body in good health, their motions must be j^fo- 
portioned to each other. 

And did chance make all those parts of the heart, 
the lungs, and the air ; and make them all with the 
right proportions ; and put each together, so as to 
act without any irregularity and confusion ; and set, 
and keep them, in motion, so as to go exactly right; 
and thus adapt them to each other ? 

R. Mother, I think, again, of the text of scripture 
which you repeated to me. 

The fool hath said in his heart, there is no God. 

M. I am sure, my son, that you will never be 
guilty of such folly, after all the proofs which I have 
given you of the being, the wisdom, the power, and 
the goodness of God. And if, when you grow up, 
you meet with any one so foolish and wicked, as to 
doubt, whether there is a God, you will be able to 
give him the proofs, that there is, indeed, a grea. 
and good Being who made him, and all other beings 
and things, and perhaps you may be able to con- 
vince him of this, and, with the blessing of God, 
help to make him a better and a happier man. 



220 THE youth's book 

R. I am sure, mother, I will try to do so, if I ever 
meet with such a person. 

M. I have some other things to tell you about the 
air, Robert, which will still further show you, how 
admirably it is adapted to the convenience and com- 
fort of man. 

R. There seems, mother, to be as much that is 
curious and wonderful about the adaptation of things 
to each other, as there is about what you told me of 
their proportion to each other. 

M. There is, indeed, and the air is one striking 
instance of it. 

If it were not for the air, we could not see differ- 
ent objects as well as we do. 

R. Why not, mother? Is it not the sun which 
gives us light ? I do not see how the air can make 
any difference in that light. 

M. Did you ever take a looking-glass, Robert, and 
hold it so that the sun can shine upon it; and then 
turn it, so that the shining of the sun upon it, may be 
cast on the wall of the room ? 

R. I have, mother, and you know you can make 
the bright spot move about, all sorts of ways, on the 
wall. 

M. Well, we say, that the looking-glass reflects 
the light of the sun, which shines upon it, on the 
wall. 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 221 

Now, suppose, there is a room shut up so tight, 
that it is quite dark in all parts of it, except some very- 
little streams of light, that come through a few holes 
in the window-shutter, as big as the head of a pin. 

That would not give light enough, for you to see 
to do any thing in the room. 

Suppose you could place several looking-glasses, 
so as to reflect these streams of light, in different di- 
rections ; and then, other looking-glasses, to reflect 
again the light coming from the first ; and, then, still 
more, to keep reflecting the light, in all possible 
ways ; this would scatter the light, so completely, 
into all parts of the room, and upon all the things 
in it, that you could see quite well. 

The air does something exactly like this. It is 
made up of millions and millions of little particles, 
smaller, a great deal smaller, than the point of a pin, 
— which rejiect the light, from one to another, in 
all possible ways, and on all the things that we see, 
and throughout all places, however large. If the air 
had not this power of reflecting lights we could see 
nothing, only those things on which the sun shines 
directly; all other things and places would be in 
the dark. 

All the things, too, which we did see, would be 
bright, and many of them dazzling in the midst of 
dark objects around them. How diflJerent this would 

B. T. 19* 



222 THE youth's book 

be, from the soft and pleasant light, which is now re- 
flected by the air, upon all those objects upon which 
the sun does not shine directly. What beautiful 
colors the landscape has, from this mixture of bright- 
er and softer light. So that the air is adapted, you 
see, not only to scatter light enough in all directions, 
to enable us to do what is necessary to be done ; but 
it furnishes us, also, with a constant source of enjoy- 
ment in beholding beautiful tints and colors, and 
shades, in all the objects around us. 

If I had time, I could show you how the different 
parts of the eye are made, and put together, so as to 
receive the light reflected to it from different objects ; 
and, to carry this light on the back part of the eye ; 
and there, to form a most curious Utile picture of the 
things at which we are looking, exactly like them, 
only thousands of times smaller ; and, then, somehow 
or other, to have this little picture affect a nerve, and 
this nerve affect the braiii, and thus enable us to see. 

R. Mother, I do wish to have the different parts 
of the eye explained to me. 

M. I hope to be able to do it, my son, before a 
great while, but I cannot do it now, I will tell you, 
however, some few things more about seeing, before 
we go. 

I have shown you, how the air reflects the light, 
m all directions, and how necessary this is for our 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 223 

convenience, and how much it contributes to our 
enjoj'ment. The air is admirably adapted to this 
purpose. 

But light, also, is most curiously made ; so as to be 
reflected by the air, and received by the eye. You 
know, how very small the particles of air are, that 
reflect the light ; and how small the little hole is in 
the front of the eye, that receives them ; and how 
small the little picture is, on the back part of the eye, 
which affects the nerve and the brain, and enables 
us to see. Now the particles of light are proportion- 
ed to all this, and to the swiftness with which they 
move, so as to enable us quickly to see things, even 
at a very great distance. 

Light goes at the rate of 195,000 miles in one 
second of time, which is faster than a cannon ball 
goes, by one million, five hundred, and fifty thousand 
times. 

The sun is ninety-five millions of miles from the 
earth, and yet light comes to us from the sun, in 
eight minutes, and thirteen seconds. 

R. Mother, I cannot think, how quick light goes. 

M. That is true, my son, and we cannot think how 
very, very small the particles of light are. If they 
were larger than they are, they would injure us very 
much. 

R. How so, mother? 



224 THE youth's book 

M. If I should toss this thimble very gently, against 
your face, would it hurt you? 

R. I do not think it would, but it would hurt me 
a good deal, if you should throw it, as hard as you 
could. 

M. So would, even the head of a pin, if I should 
throw it as hard as I could, into your eye ; and if it 
was shot from a gun, it would destroy the sight of 
your eye, and might, perhaps, kill you. Think, then, 
how small, how very, very, very small the particles 
of light must be so as not to hurt the eye, when they 
strike it, coming as quick as they do, all the way, 
from the sun ! 

If a million of the particles of light, all put to- 
gether, were as large as a small grain of sand, it 
would be as dangerous to have them strike the eye, 
as it would be to have a quantity of sand fired straight 
into the eye from a cannon. 

Now think of all these things ; how wonderfully 
the air is made to reflect light ; and the eye, to re- 
ceive the light, and enable us to see. Think, too, 
how the light itself is made, with its very small 
particles, so as to be easily reflected by the little 
particles of the air, like so many little looking- 
glasses. Think, with what amazing quickness, light 
comes from distant objects, so as to give us the sight 
of them, without any pain or injury, because its 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 225 

particles are so small, that we cannot think how 
small they are ! 

What a wonderful ada'ptation of different things 
to each other ! 

What a wonderful effect is produced by this 
adaptation; — our seeing and knowing, not only 
what is near us, but objects, also, at a great dis- 
tance. We can see the sun, which is 95,000,000 
miles from the earth ; — and we can see a fixed star, 
(another sun, for other worlds,) which is more than 
5,000,000,000,000 miles from the earth. 

In all this, how wonderfully God shows us his 
infinite power and wisdom; and his great goodness, 
too, in doing it all, for the convenience, and comfort, 
of man. 



CONCLUSION. 



Mrs. Stanhope thought somewhat of explaining 
to Robert, about the sun, and earth, and moon, and 
stars, and of thus showing him the wonderful power 
of God, as well as his great wisdom and goodness, 
in the size, and motions, of the heavenly bodies. 



226 

But she thought, on the whole, that it would be bet- 
ter to wait, till he grew a little older, when he would 
be able to understand it much better. 

She expected, too, the next day, to ride with him, 
to his aunt's, where she intended to stay two or three 
weeks ; so she did not talk with Robert, any more, 
at that time, about the wisdom, power, and goodness 
of God, as shown to us, in the beings, and things, 
which he has made, except that, in the evening, just 
before he went to bed, she had the following, short 
conversation with him. 



Mother. I hope, my son, that you will remem- 
ber all that I have been telling you, for several 
days past, — to prove to you that there is a God, and 
that he is a Being of infinite power, wisdom, and 
goodness. 

Robert. I am sure, mother, that I shall never 
forget it. It has been, both, so entertaining, and in- 
structive, to me. 

M. As you gain more knowledge, Robert, of the 
different beings, and things, which God has made, 
you will gain, also, more and more proofs of his 
existence, and of his amazing power, wisdom, and 
goodness. 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 227 

You will, if you live, pursue many studies, and 
read many books, in which not even the name of God 
will he meiitioned ; although these studies, and these 
books, will be full of instances of the most wonderful 
design, contrivance, and skill, and of the most sur- 
prising power, wisdom, and goodness, of God 

It is sad to see that it is so, and that men love so 
little to think, and to converse, and to write, about 
God, — that great and good Being, who made us, and 
who made so many things for our improvement and 
happiness, — and who wishes so much, that we should 
all love and obey him, and be prepared, when we 
die, to go and live with him, and be happy in hea- 
ven, forever. 

But in all your studies, and in all your reading, 1 
hope, you will mark those things very particularly, 
which show you the design, contrivance, and skill, 
— the power, wisdom, and goodness, of God; and 
stop, and think of him, with reverence and awe ; with 
gratitude, and love. 

Let it sink deep into your soul, and form a part of 
your daily thoughts and feelings, — how much kind- 
ness God h^s shown, and is still showing you ; how 
many sources of comfort, and of enjoyment, he gives 
you ; how it grieves him, to see you think, or feel, 
or act wrong; how he loves to see you he good and 
do goody that you may go, after death, to be with him 



22S THE youth's book 

forever, — continually to improve in knowledge, in 
holiness, and in happiness. 

Remember, too, with the liveliest feelings of thank- 
fulness, that God has given you another and a bright- 
er light, to guide you in the way to heaven, than 
that which shines upon you, from the works of his 
hand, — from the beings and the things which he 
has made. 

From these you may learn his amazing power, 
and wisdom, and goodness. But you cannot learn 
from them, a great deal that it is very important for 
you to know about God, and your soul, and whither 
you will go, and what you will be or do, after death. 

God has been very kind, in giving you another 
and a brighter light, to guide you into the know- 
ledge of these important things. 

He has given you the Bible. This holy book, 
which good men wrote, just as God directed them 
to write it, tells you all that it is necessary for you to 
know, with regard to God, and your soul, and your 
existence after death. The more you study it, the 
wiser you will grow. The more you love and obey 
it, the better, and the happier, you will be. 

In the Bible we read of Jesus Christ, the Son of 
God, and the only Savior of sinners. We could 
learn nothing of this Savior, merely from the things 
which God has made. These show us, indeed, the 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 229 

power, wisdom, and goodness of God, but not his 
great love to us, in giving his well-beloved Son to 
die for sinners, such as we are. 

By studying ever so much the wonderful works 
of God in the natural world around us, we could 
never find out, how our sins are to be forgiven, or 
whether they could be forgiven at all. How thank- 
ful, then, we should be to God for giving us the 
Bible. 

While you ought to form the habit of admiring 
and loving God, as you notice the workmanship of 
his hands, in the beings and things which he has 
made; you ought also to form the habit of daily 
going to your Bible, that you may learn more and 
more of Jesus Christ, and of the way of salvation 
through him. 

Unless you feel, my dear son, the need of looking 
10 Christ, and of trusting in him, as your only Sa- 
vior from the awful punishment which your sins 
deserve, all the knowledge that you may gain of the 
works of nature, and all the admiration that you may 
feel of the power, and wisdom, and goodness of God, 
in those works, will be of no use in preparing you 
for heaven. You may see, in this way, how great 
and good a being God is ; but his power and good- 
ness both will have to be shown in banishing you 
forever from his presence, if you do not come to him, 

B. T. 20 



230 

with heart-felt sorrow for your sins, imploring his 
forgiveness on account of what Christ did and suf- 
fered, and relying on this Savior alone for accep- 
tance with God. 

What a solemn thought, that you may live in this 
beautiful world which God has made, and see in it, 
and in the body which he has given you, so many 
proofs of his existence, of his wisdom, of his power, 
and of his goodness, and yet fail of having him for 
your eternal friend ! 

Ah! my son, I should regret the very interesting 
conversations which we haVe had of late on Natural 
Theology, if I did not hope that, with the blessing 
of God, and the influences of his Holy Spirit, they 
would lead you to higher views of his character, and 
to accept the rich offers of his mercy to you through 
Jesus Christ. 

Go to this Savior, sinner, with penitence, humil- 
ity and faith. Trust in him with all your heart. 
Beseech God, for his sake, to give you the Holy 
Spirit, that you may do this, and that you may hence- 
forth be a true disciple of Christ, — loving and obey- 
ing the truths which he has given us in the Bible, 
— imitating his example, — and devoted to his service. 

Then a new beauty and glory will be shed over all 
the works of nature which surround you. While 
you admire them as the workmanship of God, they 



ON NATURAL THEOLOGY. 231 

will lead you to look up to him, not only as the great 
Creator of all things, but as the God and Father of 
our Lord Jesus Christ ; and, through him, the source 
of all your blessings in this life, and of endless hap- 
piness beyond th-e grave. 



THE END. 



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