cate fibres; observe the regular formation of the vessels; note the little mouths at the root by which the plant sucks nutriment from its mother earth. Is not this beautiful? Is there not wondrous skill and wisdom here exhibited—and combined, too, with a soft and loving spirit? For observe, this is no hard, dry machine, made merely for dusty use. It is for ornament: there is plainly a design to give pleasure, here. Else, why be at the pains of so much grace and decoration? If it were placed here only for cattle's food, or even if intended but for fragrance and to perfume the air, why adorn it so elaborately, and paint it with such exquisite colours? It is here set manifestly by a benevolent Being, to delight our eyes with its beauty, as well as our sense of smell by its perfume. In this little object we behold a work both of wisdom and love.
And look over the field: it is covered with them: they are almost infinite in number and variety, giving an idea of the infinity of Him who made them. But if you wish a still more striking image of infinity, pluck a handful of these blades of grass, and examine them. See the pretty stripes with which they are adorned, some wide, some narrow, and of different shades. Now place these blades of grass side by side, and note carefully the arrangement of the stripes. You observe that in no two blades is that arrangement the same; there is perpetual variety; and you may examine the whole field before you, spending months in the labour, and, among the millions here, you will find no two blades alike. Is there not here a picture of infinity?
Throw now again a glance over the general landscape, before we retire. Observe all these objects,—the
