But these proofs of the immateriality of the human mind may be carried still farther. In all the works of nature there are imperceptible gradations maintained. This truth, which in no other instance admits of exception, is here expressly contradicted. Between the faculties of man and those of the most perfect animal the distance is infinite; an evident proof that man is of a different nature from the brute species, and that of himself he forms a distinct class, between which and that of animals there is an immense chasm. If man belonged to the class of animals, there would be a certain number of beings in nature less perfect than man, and more perfect than beast, in order to complete the gradation from a man to the monkey. But this is not the case; the transition is immediate from the thinking being to the material being; from intellectual faculties to mechanical powers; from order and design to blind motion; from reflection and choice to sensual appetite. Enough has been here advanced to demonstrate the excellence of our nature, and of the immense distance which the bounty of the Creator has placed between man and the brute. The former is a rational being, the latter a being devoid of reason. And as there is no medium between the positive and the negative, between the rational and irrational being, it is evident that man is of a nature entirely different from that of the animal; that all the resemblance he bears to it is merely external; and that to judge of him by this resemblance, is wilfully to shut our eyes against that light, by which we ought to distinguish truth from falsehood. Having thus considered man as to his internal properties, and proved the immateriality of his soul; we shall now proceed to examine his external part, and give the history of his body. We have already traced him from his formation to his birth, and after taking a view of the different ages of his life, we shall conduct him to that period when he must be separated from his body, and then resign him to the common mass of matter to which he belongs. CHAPTER II. OF INFANCY. Nothing can give us a more striking idea of imbecility, than the condition in which an infant appears on its first entrance into the world. Incapable of making use of its organs, or senses, the infant is in want of every assistance. It is an image of pain and misery; it is more helpless than the young of any other animal; it seems as if every moment would finish its doubtful existence; it can neither move nor support itself; hardly has it strength enough to exist or announce, by its cries, the sufferings it experiences; as if nature chose to apprise it, that it was born to suffer, and that it has obtained a place among the human species to partake of its infirmities and sorrows.