THE MUSEUM. 263 



many nations perish in the dried channel ; empty even 

 a small lake, and more life is lost than in the wars of 

 a Gengis Khan, or a Napoleon ; root out a tree, and 

 you destroy myriads ; pull but a leaf, and there may be 

 on it the germs of ten thousand lives, all of which 

 would be active and on the wing before the season 

 were over ; touch but a bit of rotten wood or a heap of 

 dust, and the chance is that you disturb the habitation 

 of something that is alive. On the other hand, form a 

 pond of the most limpid water, and one annual visit of 

 the sun will stock it with aquatic plants and aquatic 

 animals ; sow but an unwonted plant and you will find 

 it taken possession of by an unwonted inhabitant. 



Thus the grand principle to which all the glories of 

 the summer are owing, literally, and in its material 

 substance, " walketh in darkness." And how can it 

 be otherwise ? Those glories that are around us in all 

 the luxuriance of the summer beauty, are the museum 

 of " the living God :" extended and free as that benefi- 

 cence with which he breathed into man the breath of 

 life of contemplation, and reflection, and sent him into 

 the midst of this mighty and marvellous creation, to 

 learn to wonder and to worship. 



And who, to whom thought is given, would so con- 

 temn his Maker, or so injure himself, as to be amid all 

 this, and yet let the summer sun go down upon him in 

 a state of ignorance ! aye, who would not spring to it 

 at the grey dawn of the summer morning, while the 

 grass on the hedge is all in gems, and the mountain is 

 veiled in its fleecy mantle ! Who would not hasten to 

 witness an awakening world, to see all nature coming 

 forth from her slumber, and joying to meet the vicegerent 



