I have now only noticed the external structure of insects; the internal anatomy is yet more wonderful. It must be remembered that these creatures, small as they are, have still the nervous system, originating in the brain, and consisting of two knotted cords running throughout the whole length of the body; that they have the sense of taste, with the organs for gratifying it; that they have an apparatus for the digestion of food; that they have a series of vessels for the circulation of the blood, and other fluids; that they have also all the necessary instruments for respiration; and finally, that they have a muscular system, as complicated as the ropes, masts, blocks and pullies, required for the navigation of a ship of war. The internal structure of the commonest insect, a gnat, wasp, or fly, displays an ingenuity of contrivance, and a skill of execution, infinitely surpassing all the devices of a cotton manufactory with its complication of wheels, bands and cogs.

I do not now propose to go into an account of the wonderful transformations of insects, by which the egg produces the larva or grub, by which the grub produces the pupa or chrysalis, and by which the chrysalis produces the perfect insect. These changes are peculiar to the insect creation, and may, indeed, excite our utmost wonder. I pass by the eggs of these creatures, some of which are not larger than invisible grains of dust, and which have within them all the ingenious mechanism of the future VOL. VIII. No. 8.

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insect. I pass by the diversity of forms, the splendor of color, the beauty and variety of decoration in these creatures. I pass by the amazing instincts by which some of them are possessed of skill, which puts to shame the labors of the deepest mathematician. I content myself with presenting to you a single fly, or wasp, or spider, and ask you to consider its structure, and tell me who made it? Who made this little creature, which as a mere piece of mechanism surpasses the most ingenious of human contrivances? Who framed its assimilated body, shaped its curious head, provided its ten thousand eyes, its jointed and flexible antennæ its airy wing-its ingenious legs and feet? Who devised its instruments of taste, its nervous system, its digestive organs, its thousand muscles? Who fitted all these to each other, and adjusted them so as to produce harmony of action? Who put into this little machine the breath of life, and bade it go forth to hear, to see, to feel, to taste? Remember that the anatomy of a single insect tasked the investigation of a great Philosopher for a series of years. What then is the ingenuity and contrivance displayed in the creation, the formation, the production of 400,000 different species? Nay, remember that these pass through various transformations, and that in each state, there is a peculiar structure, and a peculiar organization. Think of these things, and tell me if such contrivance does not bespeak a contriver; if such ingenuity does not show design; if such combination does not display thought; if such results do not display power and action. Tell me then, is there not a being at work in this branch of animal creation, infinitely beyond the barren idea of nature? Is there not a Being at work here, whose proper designation is God. and is not that God a being of thought, contrivance, design and action? If it tasked a powerful human mind to understand the organization of a single insect, how great must that mind be that has contrived, and put in action 400,000 kinds! Go one step farther, and consider that of these several species, there are individuals in the earth, the air and the sea, more numerous than the myriad sands of the shore, the countless drops of the deep, the unnumbered particles of vapor that float in the cloud, and con

sider that each has its minute and beautiful organization, that each is endued with life, and that each has its organs of smell, taste, feeling and sight-and tell me if here is not a display of intelligence, power and action, which bespeak a Being, whose just characteristics are Omniscience, Omnipresence, and Omnipotence.

Let us now turn our attention to fishes. These inhabit the seas, lakes and rivers; they are of various sizes from the whale to the minow, and of forms as diversified as the very flowers of of the field. But examine the most common of them all, and you will see occasion to admire the skill displayed in its contrivance. Let us take the perch of our own ponds, with which every school boy is familiar. It is covered with a tough skin, to which, a series of scales are nicely fitted and all of which are set on hinges which yield to the motions of the fish. What human ingenuity can match this contrivance? Then look at the fins-thin as silk, and spread on delicate frames made of bone, and all so nicely adjusted as to be to the fish what wings are to the bird. By means of these fins, the fish pushes himself through the water almost as swiftly as an arrow flies through the air, and these enable him to turn hither and thither at his pleasure. If he wishes to rise or sink in the water, he is furnished with an air bladder, which enables him to do it as easily as we draw a breath.

This description will apply to many other fishes, but while some are without scales and are only defended by a slippery skin, others have the protection of shells. Some are more curious than others, but they all exhibit proofs of masterly design in their Creator. They are all beyond the power of man's invention or execution. The little minow of an inch in length, as well as the whale of eighty feet, surpasses the boldest efforts of human genius. We shall look in vain among the inhabitants of the earth for the maker of the humblest of fishes. One and all assure us that a superior Being, one of intelligence and ingenuity infinitely beyond man, must have been the Architect of fishes.

(To be continued.)

For the Mother's Magazine.

NOVEL READING.-(Continued.)

BY HARVEY NEWCOMB.

5. Novel reading strengthens the passions, weakens the virtues, and diminishes the power of self-control. Multitudes may date their ruin from the commencement of this kind of reading; and many more, who have been rescued from the snare, will regret to the end of their days, its influence in the early formation of their character. The novel writer, having no higher object in view than to amuse the reader, and being deficient in moral principle, appeals to the imagination and the passions, as the readiest way of access to the heart. A love affair, of some sort, is indispensable to this species of writing. Indeed, both novel-writers and novel readers seem to be worshippers at the shrine of an imaginary sentiment, denominated love; but which, if traced to its source, would be found to have a much more questionable origin than the sentiment which leads to conjugal union. To a very great extent, these works unite in the same person some of the noblest traits of character, with secret or open immorality; thus clothing vice in a garb of loveliness, and insensibly undermining virtuous principle. Yet, in many of them, the subtle poison is so diffused as not to be seen by its victims, till it is too late to apply a remedy. To substantiate this charge, I shall produce the authority of one whose literary character and position in society, gave her the most ample opportunity of judging correctly. Though the principal drift of the following remarks of Mrs. Hannah More, is directed against a particular class of these writings, yet, from the commencement, it will be seen that she meant to apply them indiscriminately, to novels and romances of every description, at least in their ultimate tendencies. It may be true, that, in regard to some of them, the picture is highly wrought; yet the more covet and insidious the poison, the greater is the danger. If there are any, of the whole tribe of novels and romances, which

are not obnoxious to these charges, they all fall under those already enumerated; and they will all be found tending towards the imminent dangers here portrayed; for the appetite once created, will demand still stronger and stronger stimulus, till it has tasted the whole. It may, however, be safely asserted, that no work of imagination, the incidents of which are interwoven with a love affair, can be wholly free from these dangers.

"Novels," says Mrs. More," which chiefly used to be dangerous in one respect, are now become mischievous in a thousand. They are continually shifting their ground, and enlarging their sphere, and are daily becoming vehicles of wider mischief. Sometimes they concentrate their force, and are at once employed to diffuse destructive politics, deplorable profligacy, and impudent infidelity. Rosseau, was the first popular dispenser of this complicated drug, in which the deleterious infusion was strong, and the affect proportionably fatal; for he does not attempt to seduce the affections, but through the medium of the principles. He does not paint an innocent woman ruined, repenting, and restored; but, with a far more mischievous refinement, he annihilates the value of chastity, and with pernicious subtlety, attempts to make his heroine almost more amiable without it. He exhibits a virtuous woman, the victim, not of temptation, but of reason; not of vice, but of sentiment; not of passion, but of conviction; and strikes at the very root of honor, by elevating a crime into a principle. With a metaphysical sophistry the most plausible, he debauches the heart of woman, by cherishing her vanity, in the erection of a system of male virtues, to which, with a lofty dereliction of those that are her more peculiar and characteristic praise, he tempts her to aspire; powerfully insinuating that, to this splendid system, chastity does not belong; thus corrupting the judgment, and bewildering the understanding, as the most ef fectual way to inflame the imagination and deprave the heart.

"The rare mischief of this author consists in his power of seducing by falsehood those who love truth, but whose minds are still wavering, and whose principles are not yet formed. He allures the warm-hearted to embrace vice, not because they prefer