Insects now take the place of the feathered tribe, and, being for the
most part hatched in the spring, they are now in full vigour. It is a
very amusing sight in some of our rural rambles, in a bright evening
after a drizzling summer shower, to see the air filled throughout all
its space with sportive organized creatures, the leaf, the branch, the
bark of the tree, every mossy bank, the bare earth, the pool, the ditch,
all teeming with animal life; and the mind that is ever framed for
contemplation, must awaken now in viewing such a profusion and variety
of existence. One of those poor little beings, the fragile _gnat_,
becomes our object of attention, whether we regard its form or peculiar
designation in the insect world; we must admire the first, and
innocently, perhaps, conjecture the latter. We know that Infinite
Wisdom, which formed, declared it "to be very good;" that it has its
destination and settled course of action, admitting of no deviation or
substitution: beyond this, perhaps, we can rarely proceed, or, if we
sometimes advance a few steps more, we are then lost in the mystery with
which the incomprehensible Architect has thought proper to surround it.
So little is human nature permitted to see, (nor perhaps is it capable
of comprehending much more than permitted,) that it is blind beyond
thought as to secondary causes; and admiration, that pure fountain of
intellectual pleasure, is almost the only power permitted to us. We see
a wonderfully fabricated creature, decorated with a vest of glorious art
and splendour, occupying almost its whole life in seeking for the most
fitting station for its own necessities, exerting wiles and stratagems,
and constructing a peculiar material to preserve its offspring against
natural or occasional injury, with a forethought equivalent to
reason--in a moment, perhaps, with all its splendour and instinct, it
becomes the prey of some wandering bird! and human wisdom and conjecture
are humbled to the dust. We can "see but in part," and the wisest of us
is only, perhaps, something less ignorant than another. This sense of a
perfection so infinitely above us, is the _natural_ intimation of a
Supreme Being; and as science improves, and inquiry is augmented, our
imperfections and ignorance will become more manifest, and all our
aspirations after knowledge only increase in us the conviction of
knowing nothing. Every deep investigator of nature can hardly be
possessed of any other than a humble mind.
* * * * *