I Feign No Hypotheses.

For The Rays, To Speak Properly, Have No Colour. In Them There Is Nothing Else Than A Certain Power And Disposition To Stir Up A Sensation Of This Colour Or That.

God Created Everything By Number, Weight And Measure.

As I Am Writing, Another Illustration Of Ye Generation Of Hills Proposed Above Comes Into My Mind. Milk Is As Uniform A Liquor As Ye Chaos Was. If Beer Be Poured Into It & Ye Mixture Let Stand Till It Be Dry, The Surface Of Ye Curdled Substance Will Appear As Rugged & Mountanous As The Earth In Any Place.

In The Absence Of Any Other Proof, The Thumb Alone Would Convince Me Of God's Existence.

There Are More Sure Marks Of Authenticity In The Bible Than In Any Profane History.