riously
contrived machine through which the man communicates with the material
world. The eye is but his instrument to see with, the ear is his trumpet
for communicating sound to him, the leg is his steed, and the arm his
soldier. Many of these instruments and parts may be removed, or become
unfit for use, without impairing, in the slightest degree, his distinct
personality and intelligence. The particles of all of them are in a
state of constant flux and renovation, so that man changes his body only
a little more frequently than he does his coat. His whole corporeal
frame is connected with him but for a while, and is then thrown aside,
like an old garment, for which he has no farther use.

But during the period of its existence, how close and intimate in
appearance is this union with the body! Sensation extends to every part
of it, every fibre is instinct with life, and the direction of the will
is absolute and immediate over every muscle and joint, as if the whole
fabric and its tenant were one homogeneous system. The will tires not of
its supremacy, and is not wearied with the number of volitions required
of it to keep every joint in action, and every organ performing its
proper function. It would not delegate the control of the fingers to an
inferior power, nor contrive mechanical or automatic means for moving
the extremities. Within its sphere, it is sole sovereign, and is not
perplexed with the variety and constant succession of its duties,
extending to every part of the complex structure of which it is the
animating and directing spirit. Sensation is not cumbered with the
multitude of impressions it receives, nor is the fineness of perception
dulled by repeated exercise. The sharpness of its edge rather improves
by use, and we become more heedful of its lightest intimations. Is it
irreverent, then, to suppose that this union of body and soul shadows
forth the connection between the material universe and the Infinite One?
How else, indeed, can we attach any meaning to the attributes of
omnipresence and omnipotence? The unity of action, the regularity of
antecedence and consequence in outward events, which we commonly
designate by the lame metaphor of _law_, then become the fitting
expression of the consistent doings of an all-wise Being, in whom there
is no variableness, neither shadow of turning. The Creator, then, is no
longer banished from his creation, nor is the latter an orphan, or a
deserted child. It is no