1. We may, in the first place, repeat the observation made in the last chapter, on the confusion which sometimes arises in our minds, and makes us consider the number of the objects of the Divine care as a difficulty in the way of its exercise. If we can conceive this care employed on a million of persons, on the population of a kingdom, of a city, of a street, there is no real difficulty in supposing it extended to every planet in the solar system, admitting each to be peopled as ours is; nor to every part of the universe, supposing each star the centre of such a system. _Numbers_ are nothing in themselves; and when we reject the known, but unessential limits of our own faculties, it is quite as allowable to suppose a million millions of earths, as one, to be under the moral government of God. 2. In the next place we may remark, not only that no reason can be assigned why the Divine care should not extend to a much greater number of individuals than we at first imagine, but that in fact we know that it _does_ so extend. It has been well observed, that about the same time when the invention of the telescope showed us that there might be myriads of other worlds claiming the Creator’s care; the invention of the microscope proved to us that there were in our own world myriads of creatures, before unknown, which this care was preserving. While one discovery seemed to remove the Divine Providence further from us, the other gave us most striking examples that it was far more active in our neighbourhood than we had supposed: while the first extended the boundaries of God’s known kingdom, the second made its known administration more minute and careful. It appeared that in the leaf and in the bud, in solids and in fluids, animals existed hitherto unsuspected; the apparently dead masses and blank spaces of the world were found to swarm with life. And yet, of the animals thus revealed, all, though unknown to us before, had never been forgotten by Providence. Their structure, their vessels and limbs, their adaptation to their situation, their food and habitations, were regulated in as beautiful and complete a manner as those of the largest and apparently most favoured animals. The smallest insects are as exactly finished, often as gaily ornamented, as the most graceful beasts or the birds of brightest plumage. And when we seem to go out of the domain of the complex animal structure with which we are familiar, and come to animals of apparently more scanty faculties, and less developed powers of enjoyment and action, we still find that their faculties and their senses are in exact harmony with their situation and circumstances; that the wants which they have are provided for, and the powers which they possess called into activity. So that Müller, the patient and accurate observer of the smallest and most obscure microscopical animalcula, declares that all classes alike, those which have manifest organs, and those which have not, offer a vast