incessantly acting and re-acting, or in continual motion, the effects of
which are displayed by extraordinary changes. Thus heat rarifies and
dilates metals, which is evidence deducible that a bar of iron, from the
change of the atmosphere alone, must be in continual motion; that there
is not a single particle in it that can be said to enjoy rest even for a
single moment. In those hard bodies, indeed, the particles of which are
in actual contact, and which are closely united, how is it possible to
conceive, that air, cold, or heat, can act upon one of these particles,
even exteriorly, without the motion being communicated to those which
are most intimate and minute in their union? Without motion, how should
we be able to comprehend the manner in which our sense of smelling is
affected, by emanations escaping from the most solid bodies, of which
all the particles appear to be at perfect rest? How could we, even by
the assistance of a telescope, see the most distant stars, if there was
not a progressive motion of light from these stars to the retina of our
eye?

Observation and reflection ought to convince us, that every thing in
Nature is in continual motion--that there is not a single part, however
small, that enjoys repose--that Nature acts in all--that she would cease
to be Nature if she did not act. Practical knowledge teaches us, that
without unceasing motion, nothing could be preserved--nothing could be
produced--nothing could act in this Nature. Thus the idea of Nature
necessarily includes that of motion. But it will be asked, and not a
little triumphantly, from whence did she derive her motion? Our reply
is, we know not, neither do they--that _we_ never shall, that _they_
never will. It is a secret hidden from us, concealed from them, by the
most impenetrable veil. We also reply, that it is fair to infer, unless
they can logically prove to the contrary, that it is in herself, since
she is the great whole, out of which nothing can exist. We say this