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speak of the effects of design, we more naturally make a reference to these than to natural appearances; yet the latter have an immediate force of themselves to awaken in our minds the perception of intelligence and design, without the intervention of any analogical reasoning from those processes of art with which we are more intimately acquainted.

I believe, Philo, (said Cleanthes,) you have now placed the argument on its true foundation, and I see, that, by so doing, you obviate a great many of those cavils with which you formerly perplexed me. If the argument for the existence of God were to rest entirely on an analogical_resemblance between the works of human art, and the appearances of nature, it would really be difficult to get rid of those methods by which you endeavoured to weaken the analogy. Analogies are faint as well as strong, and a weak analogy is but a slight degree of proof. Besides, I remember, you shewed that there were other analogies in nature, besides that of its resemblance to the works of man. The universe, you said, resembles an animal as much at least as a machine. Why may not the principle of its origin be generation as well as reason?

You see now, Cleanthes, (said Philo,) in what manner a cavil of this kind must fall to the ground. The universe may be a machine, or an animal, or a vegetable, or the production of a concourse of atoms, or whatever the most fanciful philosopher may please to call it; still, whatever it is, the mind reads intelligence in it, and reason was employed in putting together the machine, in generating the animal, in sowing the seeds of vegetation, or in reducing into form and order the irregular dance of atoms.

It is true, Philo, (said I,) the most careless observer must read in nature the indications of design, but can he be certain that he reads right? Is it impossible that he should be mistaken? There are many natural appearances which seem to be the work of design, but which philosophy can explain, and can point out the natural causes which produce the apparent order observed in them. Crystallization, for instance, is a process which produces appearances more regular than human art can imitate, and yet

you surely will not say that there is design in the process.

Indeed, (said Philo,) but I will say so; and I should like to know what philosophy can point out to me, those blind powers of nature which could of themselves produce the appearances which crystallization exhibits? Allowing certain principles to exist, and to operate in a certain manner, you say the forms of crystals follow as a necessary consequence; but I maintain, that design must have been employed in giving to those principles their energies, and the degrees of their energy.

Perhaps, Philo, (said I,) this instance may be of very little moment in our inquiry, yet you will allow me to say, that, if there is any meaning attached to the word fortuitous, the forms produced by crystallization are as for tuitous as any thing else, although they exhibit marks of design. Do you really think there is more evidence of the existence of God to be adduced from the form of crystals, than from that of the most inartificial rock?

If you are right, (said Philo,) all that is to be concluded from your observation is, that regularity of form alone is not sufficient to prove design, although it may be a common indication of it.-Then what is sufficient? (replied I.)—Means, (said he,) employed for the accomplishment of an end. Innumerable instances of this kind occur in nature, and whenever we find them, we cannot hesitate for a moment about the intention. Who doubts that the eye was intended for the purposes of vision ?—I grant, (said I,) the mind naturally forms this conclusion, but still is it a necessary one? Is it impossible that the fact should be otherwise? I may think the universe is conducted by intelligence, and it may be the only natural thought which I can form upon the subject; but am I as certain of this truth, as that two and two are equal to four?

If (said Philo) you ask me, Whether the works of design are as clearly indicative of design, as that two and two make four? I shall answer that they are, because, when you speak of the works of design, you presuppose design, in the same way as when you speak of two and two, you presuppose the idea of four; and the only question is, Whether, on throw

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ing your thoughts over the universe, the eye of your mind has not as clear a perception of the existence of design, as of any truth whatever?

Your idea, then, (said I,) seems to be, that design is rather perceived than inferred. Yet in what manner perceived? Surely we do not know as certainly the existence of design from its effects, as from the consciousness of it in ourselves.

Pretty nearly, (said Philo.) I am about as certain that you are an intelligent being, as that I am one myself. Yet I do not pretend to be conscious of your intelligence. Your words, your actions, convey indications of intelligence which seem to be about as indisputable proofs as consciousness itself.

It is really very difficult (replied I) to catch the exact foundations of some of our daily and invariable opinions, and they may often have a less firm basis than we are willing to allow them. You, I think, are not unaccustomed to the sceptical language, that as agents we must be quite satisfied, while as speculative reasoners we may be allowed to doubt. Perhaps our only ground for believing others to be reasonable beings as well as ourselves, is a kind of analogy drawn from the similarity between ourselves and them. You are conscious of using certain words and gestures with meaning, and you ascribe, in like manner, meaning to others, when you hear their words, or perceive their actions. This is ground enough for conduct and belief, (for we have no other ;) but is it reasonable, or can it be ascribed to any other operation of mind, except the influence of custom?

Then, (said Philo,) you allow that the proofs of design in nature are at least as reasonable a ground for the belief of the existence of God, as the proofs which men exhibit of intelligence are, that they are possessed of that principle; a proof, to my apprehension, tolerably strong.

No, (said I,) the proof for the existence of God is not so strong as the other. There is no reason, we shall suppose, in either case. It is only the bent of my mind, the train of my thought, which leads me to conclude that other men are reasonable beings; but this is a train of thought, with

out which I could not exist for a moment among them: it is necessary for me as an agent. The belief of the existence of God is only necessary for me as a religious being; but it remains to be proved, that religion is a necessary part of human nature. We can go through life without it.

True, (said Philo,) we may in a great measure go through life without the moral sentiments of religion; but I will venture to say no reasonable being can exist without perceiving the fact, that there is design in nature, and without founding all his conduct upon this perception.

Make out this position, (said Cle anthes,) and you will do a great deal.

Pray, Cleanthes, (said Philo,) why do you believe that the sun will rise to-morrow?

There are two answers (said Cleanthes) to your question, between which you may choose. The belief is either instinctive, and no account can be given of it; or it is an effect of custom on the mind. There never yet has been a day without the ap pearance of the sun! I cannot think of to-morrow without supposing this appearance. I therefore believe that the sun will rise to-morrow.

I am not satisfied (replied Philo) with either of these answers. I am conscious of no instinctive belief such as you mention. That the sun will rise to-morrow seems a reasonable belief, and not to rest upon any unaccountable principle. That the principle is not custom, I think, may appear from this, that custom cannot be the principle of any thing. An opinion must exist in the mind before it can be customary. Where it has existed a certain time, I can easily conceive that custom may rivet it more firmly, and may continue it with scarcely any reference to the principle on which it rests. But it must rest on some principle antecedent to all custom; and this, by the way, is an answer to the supposition stated by Pamphilus, that the whole ground for our belief of the intelligence of other men, is derived from a customary habit of thought which leads us to conceive others to be like ourselves. What is the foundation of this habit? Custom may continue it, and we may lose sight of its foundation, but it must rest originally upon perception.

Mind perceives mind. We not only ACCOUNT OF MR FRASER'S JOURNEY think that others are intelligent beings,

but we know them to be so.

But what has all this to do (said Cleanthes) with your question about the sun rising; or rather, why did you ask that question?

If our belief of this common fact (replied Philo) is founded neither on blind instinct, nor on a mere habit of thought, I can see only one ground on which it rests, and that is a very firm one. To me it seems certain, that it rests upon our observation of the plan or order of nature. We perceive that the regular rising of the sun forms a part of the plan of the universe, and we predict, therefore, this event, with entire confidence in the Ruling Mind by which the universe is conducted. Mind perceives mind. If we had no perception that there is mind in nature, we should have no grounds for believing that the sun will rise to-morrow.

I confess, Philo, (said Cleanthes,) you place this argument in a point of view which never occurred to me, and if you are in the right, you interweave the proofs of the existence of God with all the first principles of human belief. But how can you prove so extraordinary a position? Has a child in his mother's arms a perception of the existence of mind in nature ?

I really think so, (said Philo,) and I see nothing at all marvellous in the supposition. Does a child perceive that its mother is a being possessed of feelings and faculties similar to its own? Surely it does whenever it has sense to perceive any thing. Why may it not trace as well indications of order, plan, design, in every thing round about it? A child is not a Deist, does not form to itself an abstract notion of God either as an intelligent or a moral being; but still the merest infant has a perception that there is a system in which it moves. The order of nature, in a word, is accommodated to the human understanding. Mind cannot exist without feeling the impressions of mind from the surrounding universe, and it surrenders itself, almost without its own consciousness, to the sentiments of trust and dependence which those impressions inspire!

(To be continued.)

THROUGH THE HIMALA MOUNTAINS, AND TO THE SOURCES OF THE JUMNA AND GANGES.

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THERE are few routes which af ford objects so well calculated to excite public curiosity, as that through which Mr Fraser passed. The Himalaya, or Himala, that mighty northern barrier of India, has excited extraordinary attention by the newly discovered grandeur of its natural features. Its mountain ranges are now generally understood to surpass even the Andes, so long supposed preeminent over all the other chains in the globe. Its proximity to the British possessions has led to repeated recent attempts to penetrate into its interior; but the obstacles have been so great, as to limit greatly the success of these endeavours. Mr Fraser, in accompanying a military mission, penetrated through tracts which some of his predecessors had been unable to reach. He thus accumulated a large mass of materials, which, if they had been worked up with greater care and skill, might have made a truly interesting work. As it is, a view of some of the most interesting particulars cannot fail, we think, to prove acceptable to our readers.

Mr Fraser begins with a detailed narrative of the war with Nepaul in 1814-15; but as this subject has in a great measure gone by, we shall not be detained by it from the more interesting narrative of his journey through the mountainous countries. The opportunity of exploring the regions of the Himala was afforded by the mission in which Mr Fraser's bro ther engaged, for the purpose of exciting some of the tribes, over whom he possessed influence, to rise and act upon the rear of the Ghoorkhas. That people, after overruning almost all the mountain territory of India, had found their career stopped in the western districts, bordering on Cashmire, whence they had been beat back after general obstinate conflicts. To rouse the slumbering enmity of these hardy mountaineers against their invaders,

Journal of a Tour through part of the Snowy Range of the Himala Mountains, and to the Sources of the Rivers Jumna and Ganges. By James Baillie Fraser, Esq. London, 1820.

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was the object of the present expedition. It was attended by an irregular of 600 men, one-third of whom were themselves Ghoorkhas, and yet were considered equally trustworthy as any of the rest; for, "like other Asiatics, they fight for pay, and whose bread they eat, his cause they will defend against country, friends, and relations.' The party ascended first into the district of Sirmore, situated on the rivers Girree and Tonse, tributaries to the Upper Jumna. The mountains here were not of that tremendous height, to which they afterwards ascend; but they rose from the glens or vallies beneath in very lofty and abrupt ridges, seldom less than 5000 feet high, and thus rendered travelling exceedingly laborious, and not unattended with danger. The travellers were greatly struck by the labour employed in fitting for cultivation the almost perpendicular sides of these mountains. Wherever the smallest portion of earth could be found, it was formed into a terrace, and water conveyed to it sometimes from a considerable distance. The natives contrive to raise tolerable crops of wheat, barley, and in some few places even of rice, very superior in quality to that produced on the plain. Thus a district, which seems destined by nature to be entirely dependent on its neighbours for grain, is enabled even to export that article. Yet the instruments employed are still ruder than in the rest of India, though the loose nature of the soil renders it very easily worked. The Ghoorkhas had occupied and cruelly wasted this region, so that in many places only the relics could be traced of the labours by which it had been rendered fruitful.

In entering the district of Joobul, the mountains rose to a loftier height, particularly the noble ones of Choor and Urructa, covered with the most magnificent forests. Here were found pines of all sorts, and of all ages, from the greenest youth to the most hoary state of decay; hollies and oaks grown to the most enormous size, with sy camore and yew of the most varied forms. A birch was found precisely similar in every respect to that of Scotland. At one spot, a vista opened in the wild and awful forest, through which the whole of the hills in their various ridges, to and beyond the Sutlej, appeared, boldy swelling

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till they faded in the distance. A-
round us the fantastic forms of the
old trees, their rich masses of foliage,
contrasting with the grey bare crags,
and the blasted pines and withered
oaks, formed a foreground for a pic-
ture worthy the pencil of a Salvator."
On reaching the highest pass on the
Urructa, the whole stupendous range
of the Himala burst upon the view,
clear and well defined, bright with
snow, and rising far above all inter-
vening objects. For giving an idea
of this scene, however, the author
trusts chiefly to his drawings. He
"that there is that
only observes,
in the appearance of the Himala range
which every person who has seen them
will allow to be particularly their
own." The only feature which he
specifies, is the fantastic and spiry
form of their summits, with the
wondrous height to which they shoot.

From Joobul, the author ascended
into the state of Bischur, which oc-
cupies the banks of the Sutlej on the
loftiest part of the Himala range.
Here he takes occasion to give a gene-
ral review of the character of the In-
dian mountaineers, painting them, we
are sorry to say, in the most unfavour◄
able colours. To acknowledge wil-
lingly no law but the sword; to en-
gage in deadly feuds; to be prone
to violence and plunder; these are
faults which may be expected among
a rude race set loose from any re-
But
straints of law or subordination.
the hill people, it is asserted, are also
mean and cringing, servile and abject,
and at the same time wholly insincere
in their professions of service. Our
author does not allow them even the
usual mountain virtue of hospitality,
conceiving that the presents of sheep
and goats with which they met the
peace-
English, were only the usual
offerings and'tenders of an inferior so-
liciting protection. In every dealing
they prevaricated, trifled, and endea-
voured to disappoint and deceive; all
was fair promise, without any idea of
fulfilment.

We suspect, however, that Mr Fraser's impressions may have been somewhat tinged by the reception experienced by himself and his party. He complains of their total want of gratitude for the generous efforts of the English to liberate them from the yoke of the Ghoorkha invaders But might there be no apprehension of the English, in their

turn, acting a Ghoorkha part, and only causing them to experience a change of masters? Although this dread was erroneous in the present instance, were there no facts in the political history of India that could tend to inspire it into superficial observers? If the diversion caused by the English, for their own purposes, had been the means of enabling the mountaineers to reassert their independence, their own efforts had been the direct instrument most strenuously employed in effecting it. The Ghoorkha troops, under Kirtee Rana, had established their head quarters in the strong fort of Noagurh, commanded, indeed, by a higher eminence; but this last being believed to be the abode of a Deuta or evil spirit, no native durst approach or offer any annoyance from it. Kirtee Rana, therefore, though deprived of reinforcements, maintained himself well so long as his grain lasted, and as the snow lying on the ground could fürnish drink by its dissolution; but when a thaw came, and the stock of provisions was exhausted, he was obliged to send out parties to forage. These were attacked and cut off in detail, and his force was gradually so much reduced, that he determined to retreat. He was misinformed and betrayed, and coming to a perilous pass, found himself surrounded and his march blocked up by a vast host of mountaineers, to whom, after a vain struggle, he was obliged to surrender. The natives, therefore, having delivered their country immediately by their own valour, might not be fully aware of what they owed to the diversion made by the English, nor might altogether relish seeing a great body of that people enter their territory. Our author particularly murmurs at the perpetual impossibility of inducing them to confess and deliver up their stocks of grain, even at the prices fixed by their own agent: yet might they not dread the scarcity of an article raised with so much labour, and so difficult to transport? A more unequivocal ground of blame is discovered in their proceedings with regard to marriage, in respect to which they proceed upon the Thibetian system of three or four husbands to one wife. Various theories have been formed to account for the adoption in this part of Asia of an arrangement so contrary to nature

and expediency. Major Turner throws out the idea, that the matrimonial yoke is considered so heavy, as to require all the members of a family to lighten by sharing it. Our author, on the contrary, supposes it to proceed solely from motives of economy, since it is easier both to buy and maintain one wife than three or four. He had reason to suspect a more discreditable motive in the practice of selling the females, who are reckoned much the handsomest in this part of India. The natives, indeed, stoutly denied such a mode of disposal; but when the English began to make feigned overtures tending towards a transaction of this nature, there ap peared a very considerable disposition to meet them. In general, the moral feelings of the people upon these subjects appeared to be by no means correct, nor did the females observe strict fidelity even to this large allowance of husbands. These tribes, however, are distinguished by no common degree of industry. In comparing them with the Scottish Highlanders, Mr Fraser observes, that their cultivation is far more extensive and laborious, even though half the produce of it belongs to the sovereign; that their persons are better and more decently clad, and their houses, in point of construction, comfort, and internal cleanliness, beyond comparison supe rior.

The Sutlej, where now traversed by the mission, crosses a part of the Himālā, not quite so lofty as those mighty peaks which give rise to the Ganges, but still of stupendous height. Those on the northern side are barren, brown, burnt up, and rocky, unenlivened by wood or cultivation, with their summits crowned by forts and villages. The river runs through a very deep glen; and Mr Fraser confirms the report, recently received from different quarters, of its rise on the northern side of the Himālā.

It was the intention of Mr Fraser to have traced the Sutlej to its source, and then to have returned into India by the pass of Niti, the same by which Mr Moorcroft penetrated into the Undes and the Lake of Mansarowar; but, the mission under his brother having received orders to proceed into the district of Gurwhal, Mr Fraser was obliged to accompany it, and to give up this more extended circuit.

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