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A

HISTORY

OF THE

EARTH,

AND

ANIMATED NATURE.

IN FOUR VOLUMES.

• *

BY OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

VOL. I.

Hontwn :

PKINTED BY HENRY FISHER, AT THE CAXTON-PRESS J
(Printer in Ordinary to His Majesty.)

Published at 38, Newgate-street : Sold by all Booksellers.

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CONTENTS.

VOL. I.

PART I.

Page

CHAP. I. A Sketch of the Universe 9

CHAP. II. A short survey of the Globe, from the light of Astronomy, and

Geography 13

CHAP. III. A view of the surface of the Earth. 17

CHAP. IV. A review of the different Theories of the Earth 20

CHAP. V. Fossil-shells and other extraneous Fossils 30

CHAP. VI. The internal structure of the Earth 36

CHAP. VII. Caves and Subterraneous Passages that sink, but not perpendicularly,

into the Earth 42

CHAP. VIII. Mines, Damps, and Mineral Vapours 48

CHAP. IX. Volcanoes and Earthquakes 56

CHAP. X. Earthquakes 65

CHAP. XI. The appearance of Islands and Tracts; and of the disappearing of

others 76

CHAP. XII. Mountains 82

CHAP. XIII. Water 97

CHAP. XIV. The origin of Rivers 114

CHAP. XV. The Ocean in general ; and of its Saltness 133

CHAP. XVI. The Tides, Motion, and Currents, of the Sea ; with their effects. . . . 145

CHAP. XVII. The changes produced by the Sea upon the Earth 156

CHAP. XVIII. A summary account of the mechanical properties of Air 173

CHAP. XIX. An Essay towards a natural history of the Air 180

CHAP. XX. Winds regular and irregular 194

CHAP . XXI. Meteors, and such appearances as result from a combination of the

Elements 211

CHAP. XXII. The Conclusion, 228

IV

CONTENTS.

PART II.

ANIMALS.

Page

CHAP. I. A comparison of Animals with the inferior ranks of Creation 231

CHAP. II. The generation of Animals 233

CHAP. III. The infancy of Man 253

CHAP. IV. Puberty 268

CHAP. V. The age of Manhood 273

CHAP. VI. Sleep and Hunger 297

CHAP. VII. Seeing 309

CHAP. VIII. Hearing 318

CHAP. IX. Smelling, Feeling, and Tasting 327

CHAP. X. Old Age and Death 335

CHAP. XI. The Varieties in the Human Race 345

CHAP. XII. Monsters 362

CHAP. XIII. Mummies, Wax-works, &c. 375

CHAP. XIV. Animals 386

CHAP. XV. Quadrupeds in general, compared to Man 398

*

-*•

PREFACE.

NATURAL History, considered in its utmost extent, com-
prehends two objects. First, that of discovering, ascertain-
ing, and naming, all the various productions of Nature.
Secondly, that of describing the properties, manners, and
relations, which they bear to us, and to each other. The
first, which is the most difficult part of this science, is
systematical, dry, mechanical, and incomplete. The second
is more amusing, exhibits new pictures to the imagination,
and improves our relish for existence, by widening the pros-
pect of nature around us.

Both, however, are necessary to those who would un-
derstand this pleasing science in its utmost extent. The
first care of every inquirer, no doubt, should be, to see, to
visit, and examine, every object, before he pretends to
inspect its habitudes or its history. From seeing and
observing the thing itself, he is most naturally led to spe-
culate upon its uses, its delights, or its inconveniencies.

Numberless obstructions, however, are found in this part
of his pursuit that frustrate his diligence and retard his
curiosity. The objects in nature are so many, and even
those of the same kind are exhibited in such a variety of
forms, that the inquirer finds himself lost in the exuberance
before him, and, like a man who attempts to count the
stars, unassisted by art, his powers are all distracted in
barren superfluity. '

vol. i. — 83-84. b

vi

PREFACE.

To remedy this embarrassment, artificial systems have
been devised, which grouping into masses those parts of
nature more nearly resembling each other, refer the in-
quirer for the name of the single object he desires to
know, to some one of those general distributions, where
it is to be found by further examination.

If, for instance, a man should in his walks meet with an
animal, the name, and consequently the history, of which
he desires to know, he is taught by systematic writers of
natural history to examine its most obvious qualities,
whether a quadruped, a bird, a fish, or an insect. Having
determined it, for explanation sake, to be an insect, he ex-
amines whether it has wings ; if he finds it possessed of
these, he is taught to examine whether it has two or four ;
if possessed of four, he is taught to observe, whether the
two upper wings are of a shelly hardness, and serve as
cases to those under them ; if he finds the wings composed
in this manner, he is then taught to pronounce, that this
insect is one of the beetle kind : of the beetle kind, there
are three different classes distinguished from each other
by their feelers ; he examines the insect before him, and
finds that the feelers : are clavated or knobbed at the ends ;
of beetles, with feelers thus formed, there are ten kinds ;
and among those he is taught to look for the precise name
of that which is before him. If, for instance, the knob be
divided at the ends, and the belly be streaked with white,
it is no other than the Dorr, or the May-bug ; an animal,
the noxious qualities of which give it a very distinguished
rank in the history of the insect creation. In this manner
a system of natural history may, in some measure, be com-
pared to a dictionary of words. Both are solely intended
to explain the names of tilings ; but with this difference,
that in the dictionary of words we are led from the name

PREFACE.

, • •
Vll

of the thing to its definition; whereas in the system of
natural history, we are led from the definition to find out
the name.

Such are the efforts of writers, who have composed their
works with great labour and ingenuity, to direct the
learner in his progress through nature, and to inform him
of the name of every animal, plant, or fossil substance, that
he happens to meet with : but it would be only deceiving
the reader to conceal the truth, which is, that books alone
can never teach him this art in perfection : and the solitary
student can never succeed. Without a master, and a pre*
vious knowledge of many of the objects of nature, his
book will only serve to confound and disgust him. Few
of the individual plants or animals, that he may happen to
meet with, are in that precise state of health, or that exact
period of vegetation, from whence their descriptions were
taken. Perhaps he meets the plant only with leaves, but
the systematic writer has described it in flower. Perhaps he
meets the bird before it has moulted its first feathers
while the systematic description was made in its state of
full perfection; He thus ranges without an instructor,
confused, and with sickening curiosity, from subject to
subject, till at last he gives up the pursuit, in the multi-
plicity of his disappointments.

Some practice, therefore, much instruction, and diligent
reading, are requisite to make a ready and expert natu-
ralist, who shall be able, even by the help of a system, to
find out the name of every object he meets with. But
when this tedious, though requisite, part of study is at-
tained, nothing but delight and variety attend the rest of
his journey. Wherever he travels, like a man in a country
where he has many friends, he meets with nothing but

PREFACE.

IM

vm

acquaintances and allurements in all the stages of his way.
The mere uninformed spectator passes on in gloomy soli-
tude ; but the naturalist, in every plant, in every insect, and
every pebble, finds something to entertain his curiosity,
and excite his speculation.

From hence it appears, that a system may be considered
as a dictionary in the study of nature. The ancients, how-
ever, who have written most delightfully on this subject,
seem entirely to have rejected those humble and mecha-
nical helps to science. They contented themselves with
seizing upon the great outlines of history, and passing
over what was common, as not worth the detail ; they only
dwelt upon what was new, great, and surprising, and
sometimes even warmed the imagination at the expense of
truth. Such of the moderns as revived this science in
Europe, undertook the task more methodically, though
not in a manner so pleasing. Aldrovandus, Gesner, and
Johnson, seemed desirous of uniting the entertaining and
rich descriptions of the ancients with the dry and syste-
matic arrangement, of which they were the first projectors.
This attempt, however, was extremely imperfect, as the
great variety of nature was, as yet, but very inadequately
known. Nevertheless, by attempting to carry on both ob-
jects at once, first directing us to the name of the thing,
and then giving the detail of its history, they drew out
their works into a tedious and unreasonable length ; and
thus mixing incompatible aims, they have left their labours
rather to be occasionally consulted, than read with delight,
by posterity.

The later moderns, with that good sense which they
have carried into every other part of science, have taken a
different method in cultivating natural history. They have

PREFACE.

ix

been content to give, not only the brevity, but also the
dry and disgusting air of a dictionary, to their systems.
Ray, Klein, Brisson, and Linnseus, have had only one aim,
that of pointing out the object in nature, of discovering
its name, and where it was to be found in those authors
that treated of it in a more prolix and satisfactory manner.
Thus natural history, at present, is carried on in two dis-
tinct and separate channels, the one serving to lead us to
the thing, the other conveying the history of the thing,
as supposing it already known.

The following Natural History is written with only
such an attention to system as serves to remove the reader’s
embarrassments, and allure him to proceed. It can make
no pretensions in directing him to the name of every ob-
ject he meets with ; that belongs to works of a different
kind, and written with very different aims. It will fully
answer my design, if the reader, being already possessed
of the name of any animal, shall find here a short, though
satisfactory, history of its habitudes, its subsistence, its
manners, its friendships, and hostilities. My aim has been
to carry on just as much method as was sufficient to shorten
my descriptions by generalizing them, and never to follow
order where the art of writing, which is but another name
for good sense, informed me that it would only contribute
to the reader’s embarrassment.

Still, however, the reader will perceive that I have formed
a kind of system in the history of every part of animated
nature, directing myself by the great obvious distinctions
that she herself seems to have made ; which, though too
few to point exactly to the name, are yet sufficient to illu-
minate the subject, and remove the reader’s perplexity. Mr.
Buffon indeed, who has brought greater talents to this part

X

PREFACE.

of learning than any other man, has almost entirely rejected
method in classing quadrupeds. This, with great deference
to such a character, appears to me running into the opposite
extreme ; and, as some moderns have of late spent much
time, great pains, and some learning, all to very little pur-
pose, in systematic arrangement, he seems so much dis-
gusted by their trifling, but ostentatious efforts, that he
describes his animals almost in the order they happen to
come before him. This want of method seems to be a
fault ; but he can lose little by a criticism which eveiy dull
man can make, or by an error in arrangement, from which
the dullest are most usually free.

In other respects, as far as this able philosopher has gone,
I have taken him for my guide. The warmth of his style,
and the brilliancy of his imagination, are inimitable. Leav-
ing him, therefore, without a rival in these, and only
availing myself of his information, I have been content to
describe things in my own way ; and though many of the
materials are taken from him, yet I have added, retrenched,
and altered, as I thought proper. It was my intention
at one time, whenever I differed from him, to have men-
tioned it at the bottom of the page ; but this occurred so
often, that I soon found it would look like envy, and
might perhaps convict me of those very errors which I
was wanting to lay upon him. I have, therefore, as being
every way his debtor, concealed my dissent, where my
opinion was different ; but wherever I borrow from him,
I take care at the bottom of the page to express my obliga-
tions. But though my obligations to this writer are many,
they extend to but the smallest part of the work, as he has
hitherto completed only the history of quadrupeds. I was,
therefore, left to my own reading alone, to make out the
history of birds, fishes, and insects, of which the arrange-

PREFACE.

xi

ment was so difficult, and the necessary information so
widely diffused, and so obscurely related when found, that
it proved by much the most laborious part of the under-
taking. Thus having made use of Mr. Buffon’s lights in
the first part of the work, I may with some share of confi-
dence recommend it to the public. But what shall I say
to that part, where I have been entirely left without his
assistance ? As I would affect neither modesty nor con-
fidence, it will be sufficient to say, that my reading upon
this part of the subject has been very extensive ; and that
I have taxed my scanty circumstances in procuring books,
which are on this subject, of all others, the most expensive.
In consequence of this industry, I here offer a work to the
public, of a kind which has never been attempted in ours,
or any other modern language, that I know of. The
ancients, indeed, and Pliny in particular, have anticipated
me in the present manner of treating natural history. Like
those historians who describe the events of a campaign, they
have not condescended to give the private particulars of every
individual that formed the army ; they were content with
characterizing the generals, and describing their operations,
while they left it to meaner hands to carry the muster-roll.
I have followed their manner, rejecting the numerous fables
which they adopted, and adding the improvements of the
moderns, which are so numerous, that they actually make
up the bulk of natural history.

The delight which I found in reading Pliny, first inspired
me with the idea of a work of this nature. Having a taste
rather classical than scientific, and having but little employed
myself in turning over the dry labours of modern system-
makers, my earliest intention was to translate this agreeable
writer, and by the help of a commentary to make my work
as amusing as I could. Let us dignify natural history never

PREFACE.

• l

Xll

so much with the grave appellation of an useful science ,
yet still we must confess, that it is the occupation of the
idle and the speculative, more than of the busy and the
ambitious part of mankind. My intention, therefore, was
to treat what I then conceived to be an idle subject, in an
idle manner ; and not to hedge round plain and simple
narratives with hard words, accumulated distinctions, osten-
tatious learning, and disquisitions that produced no con-
viction. Upon the appearance, however, of Mr. Buffon’s
work, I dropped my former plan, and adopted the present,
being convinced, by his manner, that the best imitation of
the ancients was to write from our own feelings, and to
imitate nature.

It will be my chief pride, therefore, if this work may be
found an innocent amusement for those who have nothing
else to employ them, or who require a relaxation from
labour. Professed naturalists will, no doubt, find it super-
ficial ; and yet I should hope that even these will discover
hints and remarks, gleaned from various reading, not wholly
trite or elementary. I would wish for their approbation.
But my chief ambition is to drag up the obscure and gloomy
learning of the cell to open inspection, to strip it from its
garb of austerity, and to shew the beauties of that form,
which only the industrious and the inquisitive have been
hitherto permitted to approach.

A

HISTORY OF THE EARTH.

CHAP. I.

A SKETCH OF THE UNIVERSE.

The world may be considered as one vast mansion,
where man has been admitted to enjoy, to admire, and to
be grateful. The first desires of savage nature are merely
to gratify the importunities of sensual appetite, and to
neglect the contemplation of things, barely satisfied with
their enjoyment : the beauties of nature, and all the won-
ders of creation, have but little charms for a being taken up
in obviating the wants of the day, and anxious for precari-
ous subsistence.

Philosophers, therefore, who have testified such sur-
prise at the want of curiosity in the ignorant, seem not to
consider that they are usually employed in making pro-
visions of a more important nature ; in providing rather
for the necessities than the amusements of life. It is not
till our more pressing wants are sufficiently supplied, that
we can attend to the calls of curiosity ; so that in every
age scientific refinement has been the latest effort of human
industry.

But human curiosity, though at first slowly excited, be>
ing at last possessed of leisure for indulging its propensity
becomes one of the greatest amusements of life, and gives
higher satisfactions than what even the senses can afford.
A man of this disposition turns all nature into a magnifi-
cent theatre, replete with objects of wonder and surprise,
and fitted up chiefly for his happiness and entertainment :
he industriously examines all things, from the minutest
insect to the most finished animal ; and, when his limited
VOL. i. — 1. B

A HISTORY OF

10

organs can no longer make the disquisition, he sends out his
imagination upon new inquiries.

Nothing, therefore, can be more august and striking
than the idea which his reason, aided by his imagination,
furnishes of the universe around him. Astronomers tell
us, that this earth which we inhabit, forms but a very mi-
nute part in that great assemblage of bodies of which the
world is composed. It is a million of times less than the
sun, by which it is enlightened. The planets also, which,
like it, are subordinate to the sun’s influence, exceed the
earth a thousand times in magnitude. These, which were
at first supposed to wander in the heavens without any fixed
path, and that took their name from their apparent devia-
tions, have long been found to perform their circuits with
great exactness and strict regularity. They have been dis-
covered as forming, with our earth, a system of bodies cir-
culating round the sun, all obedient to one law, and impelled
by one common influence.

Modern philosophy has taught us to believe, that, when
the great Author of nature began the work of creation, he
chose to operate by second causes ; and that, suspending
the constant exertion of his power, he endued matter with
a quality, by which the universal economy of nature
might be continued without his immediate assistance.
This quality is called attraction ; a sort of approximating
influence, which all bodies, whether terrestrial or celestial,
are found to possess ; and which in all increases as the
quantity of matter in each increases. The sun, by far the
greatest body in our system, is, of consequence, possessed
of much the greatest share of this attracting power ; and
all the planets, of which our earth is one, are, of course,
entirely subject to its superior influence. Were this
power, therefore, left uncontrolled by any other, the sun
must quickly have attracted all the bodies of our celestial
system to itself ; but it is equally counteracted by another
power of equal efficacy ; namely, a progressive force,
which each planet received when it was impelled forward
by the divine Architect, upon its first formation. The
heavenly bodies of our system being thus acted upon by
two opposing powers ; namely, by that of attraction , which
draws them towards the sun ; and that of impulsion , which
drives them straight forward into the great void of space ;

THE EARTH.

11

they pursue a track between these contrary directions ; and
each, like a stone whirled about in a sling, obeying two op-
posite forces, circulates round its great centre of heat and
motion.

In this manner, therefore, is the harmony of our planet-
ary system preserved. The sun, in the midst, gives heat,
and light, and circular motion, to the planets which sur-
round it : Mercury, Venus, the Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Sa-
turn, and Herschel, or the Georgium Sidus, perform their
constant circuits at different distances, each taking up a
time to complete its revolutions proportioned to the great-
ness of the circle which it is to describe. The lesser planets
also, which are attendants upon some of the greater, are
subject to the same laws ; they circulate with the same exact-
ness ; and are, in the same manner, influenced by their
respective centres of motion.

Besides those bodies which make a part of our peculiar
system, and which may be said to reside within its great
circumference, there are others that frequently come
among us, from the most distant tracts of space, and that
seem like dangerous intruders upon the beautiful simpli-
city of nature. These are Comets, whose appearance was
once so terrible to mankind; and the theory of which is
so little understood at present : all we know is, that their
number is much greater than that of the planets ; and that,
like these, they roll in orbits, in some measure obedient
to solar influence. Astronomers have endeavoured to
calculate the returning periods of many of them ; but ex-
perience has not, as yet, confirmed the veracity of their
investigations. Indeed, who can tell, when those wan-
derers have made their excursions into other worlds and
distant systems, what obstacles may be found to oppose
their progress, to accelerate their motions, or retard their
return ?

But what we have hitherto attempted to sketch, is but
a small part of that great fabric in which the Deity has
thought proper to manifest his wisdom and omnipotence.
There are multitudes of other bodies, dispersed over the
face of the heavens, that lie too remote for examination :
these have no motion, such as the planets are found to
possess, and are, therefore, called fixed stars ; and from
their extreme brilliancy, and their immense distance.

A HISTORY OF

12

philosophers have been induced to suppose them to be suns*
resembling that which enlivens our system. As the imagi-
nation also, once excited is seldom content to stop, it has
furnished each with an attendant system of planets belong-
ing to itself ; and has even induced some to deplore the fate
of those systems, whose imagined suns, which sometimes
happens, have become no longer visible.

But conjectures of this kind, which no reasoning can
ascertain, nor experiment reach, are rather amusing than
useful. Though we see the greatness and wisdom of the
Deity in all the seeming worlds that surround us, it is our
chief concern to trace him in that which we inhabit. The
examination of the earth, the wonders of its contrivance,
the history of its advantages, or of the seeming defects in
its formation, are the proper business of the natural histo-
rian. A description of this earth , its animals, vegetables ,
and minerals, is the most delightful entertainment the mind
can be furnished with, as it is the most interesting and use-
ful. I would beg leave, therefore, to conclude these com-
mon-place speculations, with an observation which, I hope,
is not entirely so.

An use, hitherto not much insisted upon, that may re-
sult from the contemplation of celestial magnificence, is,
that it will teach us to make an allowance for the apparent
irregularities we find below. Whenever we can examine
the works of the Deity at a proper point of distance, so
as to take in the whole of his design, we see nothing but
uniformity, beauty, and precision. The heavens present
us with a plan, which, though inexpressibly magnificent,
is yet regular beyond the power of invention. Whenever,
therefore, we find any apparent defects in the Earth, which
we are about to consider, instead of attempting to reason
ourselves into an opinion that they are beautiful, it will be
wiser to say, that we do not behold them at the proper point
of distance, and that our eye is laid too close to the objects,
to take in the regularity of their connexion. In short, we
may conclude, that God, who is regular in his great pro-
ductions, acts with equal uniformity in the little.

THE EARTH.

13

CHAP. II.

A SHORT SURVEY OF THE GLOBE, FROM THE LIGHT OF
ASTRONOMY AND GEOGRAPHY.

All the sciences are, in some measure, linked with
each other, and before the one is ended, the other begins.
In a natural history, therefore, of the earth, we must be-
gin with a short account of its situation and form, as given
us by astronomers and geographers : it will be sufficient,
however, upon this occasion, just to hint to the imagina-
tion, what they, by the most abstract reasonings, have
forced upon the understanding. The earth which we in-
habit is, as has been said before, one of those bodies which
circulate in our solar system ; it is placed at a happy middle
. distance from the centre ; and even seems, in this respect,
privileged beyond all other planets that depend upon our
great luminary for their support. Less distant from the sun
than Herschel, or the Georgium Sidus, Saturn, Jupiter,
and Mars, and yet less parched up than Venus and Mer-
cury, that are situate too near the violence of its power, the
Earth seems in a peculiar manner to share the bounty of
the Creator : it is not, therefore, without reason, that man-
kind consider themselves as the peculiar objects of his provi-
dence and regard.

Besides that motion which the earth has round the sun,
the circuit of which is performed in a year, it has another
upon its own axle, which it performs in twenty-four hours.
Thus, like a chariot-wheel, it has a compound motion;
for while it goes forward on its journey, it is all the while
turning upon itself. From the first of these two arise the
grateful vicissitude of the seasons ; from the second, that of
day and night.

It may be also readily conceived, that a body thus
wheeling in circles will most probably be itself a sphere.
The earth, beyond all possibility of doubt, is found to be
so. Whenever its shadow happens to fall upon the moon,
in an eclipse, it appears to be always circular, in whatever
position it is projected : and it is easy to prove, that a body
which in every position makes a circular shadow, must

A HISTORY OF

14

itself be round. The rotundity of the earth may be also
proved from the meeting of two ships at sea: the top-
masts of each are the first parts that are discovered by
both, the under parts being hidden by the convexity of
the globe which rises between them. The ships, in this
instance, may be resembled to two men who approach each
other on the opposite sides of a hill : their heads will first
be seen, and gradually as they come nearer they will come
entirely into view.

However, though the earth’s figure is said to be spheri-
cal, we ought only to conceive it as being nearly so. It
has been found in the last age to be rather flatted at both
poles, so that its form is commonly resembled to that of
a turnip. The cause of this swelling of the equator is
ascribed to the greater rapidity of the motion with which
the parts of the earth are there carried round ; and which,
consequently, endeavouring to fly off, act in opposition to
central attraction. The twirling of a mop may serve as an
homely illustration ; which, as every one has seen, spreads
and grows broader in the middle as it continues to be turned
round.

As the earth receives light and motion from the sun, so
it derives much of its warmth and power of vegetation from
the same beneficent source. However, the different parts
of the globe participate of these advantages in very different
proportions, and accordingly put on very different appear-
ances ; a polar prospect, and a landscape at the equator, are
as opposite in their appearances as in their situation.

The polar regions, that receive the solar beams in a very
oblique direction, and continue for one half of the year in
night, receive but few of the genial comforts which other
0 parts of the world enjoy. Nothing can be more mournful
or hideous than the picture which travellers present of those
wretched regions. The ground,* which is rocky and bar-
ren, rears itself in every place in lofty mountains and in-
accessible cliffs, and meets the mariner’s eye at even forty
leagues from shore. These precipices, frightful in them-
selves, receive an additional horror from being constantly
covered with ice and snow, which daily seem to accumu-
late, and fill all the vallies with increasing desolation. The

* Crantz’s History of Greenland, p. 3.

THE EARTH. 15

few rocks and cliffs that are bare of snow, look at a dis-
tance of a dark brown colour, and quite naked. Upon a
nearer approach, however, they are found replete with
many different veins of coloured stone, here and there
spread over with a little earth, and a scanty portion of
grass and heath. The internal parts of the country are
still more desolate and deterring. In wandering through
these solitudes, some plains appear covered with ice, that,
at first glance, seem to promise the traveller an easy jour-
ney.* But these are even more formidable and more im-
passable than the mountains themselves, being cleft with
dreadful chasms, and every where abounding with pits
that threaten certain destruction. The seas that surround
these inhospitable coasts are still more astonishing, being
covered with flakes of floating ice, that spread like exten-
sive fields, or that rise out of the water like enormous
mountains. These, which are composed of materials as
clear and transparent as glass, -f* assume many strange and
fantastic appearances. Some of them look like churches
or castles, with pointed turrets ; some like ships in full
sail ; and people have often given themselves the fruitless
toil to attempt piloting the imaginary vessels into har-
bour. There are still others that appear like large islands,
with plains, vallies, and hills, which often rear their heads
two hundred yards above the level of the sea ; and although
the height of these be amazing, yet their depth beneath is
still more so ; some of them being found to sink three hun-
dred fathom under water.

The earth presents a very different appearance at the equa-
tor, where .the sun -beams, darting directly downwards, bum
up the lighter soils into extensive sandy deserts, or quicken
all the moister tracts with incredible vegetation. In these
regions, almost all the same inconveniences are felt from
the proximity of the sun, that in the former were endured
from its absence. The deserts are entirely barren, except
where they are found to produce serpents, and that in such
quantities, that some extensive plains seem almost entirely
covered with them.^

It not unfrequently happens also, that this dry soil,
which is so parched and comminuted by the force of the

* Crantz’s History of Greenland, p. 22.
t Ibid. p. 27 . % Adanson’s Description of Senegal.

16

A HISTORY OF

sun, rises with the smallest breeze of wind ; and the sands
being composed of parts almost as small as those of water,
they assume a similar appearance, rolling onward in waves
like those of a troubled sea, and overwhelming all they
meet with inevitable destruction. On the other hand,
those tracts which are fertile, teem with vegetation even
to a noxious degree. The grass rises to such a height as
often to require burning ; the forests are impassable from
underwoods, and so matted above, that even the sun, fierce
as it is, can seldom penetrate.* These are so thick as
scarcely to be extirpated ; for the tops being so bound to-
gether by the climbing plants that grow round them, though
an hundred should be cut at the bottom, yet not one would
fall, as they mutually support each other. In these dark and
tangled forests, beasts of various kinds, insects in astonish-
ing abundance, and serpents of surprising magnitude, find
a quiet retreat from man, and are seldom disturbed except by
each other.

In this manner the extremes of our globe seem equally
unfitted for the comforts and conveniences of life : and al-
though the imagination may find an awful pleasure in
contemplating the frightful precipices of Greenland, 01
the luxurious verdure of Africa, yet true happiness can
only be found in the more moderate climates, where the
gifts of nature may be enjoyed, without incurring danger in
obtaining them.

It is in the temperate zone, therefore, that all the arts
of improving nature, and refining upon happiness, have
been invented: and this part of the earth is, more pro-
perly speaking, the theatre of natural history. Although
there be millions of animals and vegetables in the unex-
plored forests under the line, yet most of these may for
ever continue unknown, as curiosity is there repressed
by surrounding danger. But it is otherwise in these de-
lightful regions which we inhabit, and where this art has
had its beginning. Among us there is scarce a shrub, a
flower, or an insect, without its particular history; scarce
a plant that could be useful, which has not been propa-
gated; nor a weed that could be noxious, which has not
been pointed out.

* Linnaei Amsenit. vol. vi, p. 6J.

THE EARTH.

17

CHAP. III.

A VIEW OF THE SURFACE OF THE EARTH.

When we take a slight survey of the surface of our
globe, a thousand objects offer themselves, which, though
long known, yet still demand our curiosity. The most
obvious beauty that every where strikes the eye is the ver-
dant covering of the earth, which is formed by an happy
mixture of herbs and trees of various magnitudes and
uses. It has been often remarked, that no colour re-
freshes the sight so much as green : and it may be added,
as a further proof of the assertion, that the inhabitants
of those places where the fields are continually white with
snow, generally become blind long before the usual course
of nature.

This advantage, which arises from the verdure of the fields,
is not a little improved by their agreeable inequalities. There
are scarcely two natural landscapes that offer prospects en-
tirely resembling each other ; their risings and depres-
sions, their hills and valleys, are never entirely the same,
but always offer something new to entertain and refresh the
imagination.

But to increase the beauties of the face of nature, the
landscape is enlivened by springs and lakes, and inter-
sected by rivulets. These lend a brightness to the pros-
pect; give motion and coolness to the air; and, what is
much more important, furnish health and subsistence to
animated nature.

Such are the most obvious and tranquil objects that every
where offer : but there are objects of a more awful and mag-
nificent kind ; the Mountain rising above the clouds, and
topped with snow ; the River pouring down its sides, in-
creasing as it runs, and losing itself, at last, in the ocean ;
the Ocean spreading its immense sheet of waters over one
half of the globe, swelling and subsiding at well-known in-
tervals, and forming a communication between the most
distant parts of the earth.

If we leave those objects that seem to be natural to our
earth, and keep the same constant tenor, we are presented
with the great irregularities of nature : the burning mountain ;
vol. i. — 1. " C

A HISTORY OF

18

the abrupt precipice ; the unfathomable cavern ; the head-
long cataract ; and the rapid whirlpool.

If we carry our curiosity a little further, and descend
to the objects immediately below the surface of the globe,
we shall there find wonders still as amazing. We first
perceive the earth, for the most part, lying in regular beds
or layers, every bed growing thicker in proportion as it
lies deeper, and its contents more compact and heavy. W e
shall find, almost wherever we make our subterranean in-
quiry, an amazing number of shells that once belonged to
aquatic animals. Here and there, at a distance from the
sea, beds of oyster-shells, several yards thick, and many
miles over ; sometimes testaceous substances of various
kinds on the tops of mountains, and often in the heart of
the hardest marble. These, which are dug up by the pea-
sants in every country, are regarded with little curiosity ;
for being so very common, they are considered as sub-
stances entirely terrene. But it is otherwise with the in-
quirer after nature, who finds them, not only in shape, but
in substance, every way resembling those that are found
in the sea ; and he, therefore, is at a loss to account for their
removal.

Yet not one part of nature alone, but all her produc-
tions and varieties, become the object of the speculative
fail’s inquiry : he takes different views of nature from the
inattentive spectator ; and scarcely an appearance, how
common soever, but affords matter for his contemplation :
he inquires how and why the surface of the earth has
those risings and depressions which most men call natu-
ral ; he demands in what manner the mountains were
formed, and in what consists their uses ; he asks from
whence springs arise, and how rivers flow round the con-
vexity of the globe ; he enters into an examination of the
ebbings and flowings, and the other wonders of the deep ;
he acquaints himself with the irregularities of nature, and
endeavours to investigate their pauses ; by which, at least,
he will become better versed in their history. The inter-
nal structure of the globe becomes an object of his curio-
sity ; and, although his inquiries can fathom but a very
little way, yet, if possessed with a spirit of theoiy, his
imagination will supply the rest. He will endeavour to
account for the situation of the marine fossils that are

THE EARTH.

19

found in the earth, and for the appearance of the different
beds of which it is composed. These have been the inqui-
ries that have splendidly employed many of the philosophers
of the last and present age,* and, to a certain degree, they
must be serviceable. But the worst of it is, that, as specu-
lations amuse the writer more than facts, they may be often
carried to an extravagant length ; and that time may be
spent in reasoning upon nature, which might be more use-
fully employed in writing her history.

Too much speculation in natural history is certainly
wrong; but there is a defect of an opposite nature that
does much more prejudice ; namely, that of silencing all
inquiry, by alleging the benefits we receive from a thing,
instead of investigating the cause of its production. If I
inquire how a mountain came to be formed ; such a rea-
soner, enumerating its benefits, answers, because God
knew it would be useful. If I demand the cause of an
earthquake, he finds some good produced by it, and al-
leges that as the cause of its explosion. Thus such an in-
quirer has constantly some ready reason for every appear-
ance in nature, which serves to swell his periods, and give
splendour to his declamation ; every thing about him is,
on some account or other, declared to be good; and he
thinks it presumption to scrutinize into its defects, or to
endeavour to imagine how it might be better. Such writers,
and there are many such, add very little to the advance-
ment of knowledge. It is finely remarked by Bacon, that
the investigation of final causes “f* is a barren study ; and,
like a virgin dedicated to the Deity, brings forth nothing.
In fact, those men who want to compel every appearance
and every irregularity in nature into our service, and expa-
tiate on their benefits, combat that very morality which they
would seem to promote. God has permitted thousands of
natural evils to exist in the world, because it is by their inter-
vention that man is capable of moral evil ; and he has per-
mitted that we should be subject to moral evil, that we might
do something to deserve eternal happiness, by shewing that
we had rectitude to avoid it.

* Buffon, Woodward, Burnet, Whiston, Kircher, Bourquat, Leibnitz,
Steno, Ray, &c.

t Investigatio causarum finalium sterilis est, et veluti virgo D$o de-
dicata, nil parit.

20

A HISTORY OF

CHAP. IV.

A REVIEW OF THE DIFFERENT THEORIES OF THE EARTH,

Human invention has been exercised for several ages to
account for the various irregularities of the earth. While
those philosophers, mentioned in the last chapter, see no-
thing but beauty, symmetry, and order ; there are others,
who look upon the gloomy side of nature, enlarge on its de-
fects, and seem to consider the earth, on which they tread,
as one scene of extensive desolation.* Beneath its surface
they observe minerals and waters confusedly jumbled to-
gether ; its different beds of earth irregularly lying upon
each other; mountains rising from places that once were
level and hills sinking into vallies ; whole regions swal-
lowed by the sea, and others again rising out of its bosom.
All these they suppose to be but a few of the changes that
have been wrought in our globe; and they send out the
imagination to describe its primaeval state of beauty.

Of those who have written theories describing the manner
of the original formation of the earth, or accounting for its
present appearances, the most celebrated are Burnet, Whis-
ton, Woodward, and Buffon. As speculation is endless, so
it is not to be wondered that all these differ from each other,
and give opposite accounts of the several changes, which
they suppose our earth to have undergone. As the systems
of each have had their admirers, it is, in some measure, in-
cumbent upon the natural historian to be acquainted, at
least, with their outlines ; and, indeed, to know w-hat
others have even dreamed in matters of science, is very use-
ful, as it may often prevent us from indulging similar delu-
sions ourselves, which we should never have adopted, but
because we take them to be wholly our own. However, as
entering into a detail of these theories is rather furnishing a
history of opinions than things, I will endeavour to be as
concise as I can.

The first who formed this amusement of earth-making
into system, was the celebrated Thomas Burnet, a man of
polite learning and rapid imagination. His Sacred Theory ,

* Buffon’s Second Discourse,
t Senec. Qusest. lib. vi. cap. 21.

THE EARTH.

21

as he calls it, describing the changes which the earth has
undergone, or shall hereafter undergo, is well known for
the warmth with which it is imagined, and the weakness
with which it is reasoned; for the elegance of its style,
and the meanness of its philosophy. “ The earth,” says
he, “ before the deluge, was very differently formed from
what it is at present : it was at first a fluid mass ; a chaos
composed of various substances, differing both in density
and figure : those which were most heavy, sunk to the cen-
tre, and formed in the middle of our globe a hard solid
body ; those of a lighter nature remained next ; and the
waters, which were lighter still, swam upon its surface,
and covered the earth on every side. The air, and all
those fluids which were lighter than water, floated upon this
also ; and in the same manner encompassed the globe ; so
that between the surrounding body of waters, and the cir-
cumambient air, there was formed a coat of oil, and other
unctuous substances, lighter than water. However, as the
air was still extremely impure, and must have carried up
with it many of those earthy particles with which it once
was intimately blended, it soon began to defecate, and to de-
pose these particles upon the oily surface already mentioned,
which soon uniting, the earth and oil formed that crust,
which soon became an habitable surface, giving life to
vegetation, and dwelling to animals.

“ This imaginary antediluvian abode was very different
from what we see it at present. The earth was light and
rich ; and formed of a substance entirely adapted to the
feeble state of incipient vegetation ; it was an uniform
plain, every where covered with verdure ; without moun-
tains, without seas, or the smallest inequalities. It liad no
difference of seasons, for its equator was in the plane of
the ecliptie, or, in other words, it turned directly opposite
to the sun, so that it enjoyed one perpetual and luxuriant
spring. However, this delightful face of nature did not
long continue in the same state ; for, after a time, it be-
gan to crack and open in fissures ; a circumstance which
always succeeds when the sun exhales the moisture from
rich or marshy situations. The crimes of mankind had
been for some time preparing to draw down the wrath of
Heaven ; and they, at length, induced the Deity to defer
repairing these breaches in nature. Thus the chasms of

A HISTORY OF

22

the earth eveiy day became wider, and, at length, they pene-
trated to the great abyss of waters ; and the whole earth, in
a manner, fell in. Then ensued a total disorder in the uni-
form beauty of the first creation, the terrene surface of the
globe being broken down : as it sunk the waters gushed out
in its place ; the deluge became universal ; all mankind, ex-
cept eight persons, were destroyed, and their posterity con-
demned to toil upon the ruins of desolated nature.”

It only remains to mention the manner in which he re-
lieves the earth from this universal wreck, which would
seem to be as difficult as even its first formation : “ These
great masses of earth falling into the abyss, drew down with
them vast quantities also of air ; and, by dashing against
each other, and breaking into small parts by the repeated
violence of the shock, they, at length, left between them
large cavities, filled with nothing but air. These cavities
naturally offered a bed to receive the influent waters ; and in
proportion as they filled, the face of the earth became once
more visible. The higher parts of its broken surface, now
become the tops of mountains, were the first that appeared ;
the plains soon after came forward, and, at length, the
whole globe was delivered from the waters, except the
places in the lowest situations ; so that the ocean and the
seas are still a part of the ancient abyss, that have not had
a place to return. Islands and rocks are fragments of the
earth’s former crust; kingdoms and continents are larger
masses of its broken substance ; and all the inequalities that
are to be found on the surface of the present earth, are owing
to the accidental confusion into which both earth and waters
were then thrown.”

The next theorist was Woodward, who, in his Essay to-
wards a Natural History of the Earth, which was only de-
signed to precede a greater work, has endeavoured to give a
more rational account of its appearances ; and was, in fact,
much better furnished for such an undertaking than any of
his predecessors, being one of the most assiduous natur-
alists of his time. His little book, therefore, contains many
important facts, relative to natural history, although his
system may be weak and groundless.

He begins by asserting that all terrene substances are
disposed in beds of various natures, lying horizontally one
over the other, somewhat like the coats of an onion ; that

A HISTORY OF

300

conjectures of all those that preceded him, ascribes hunger
to the united effect of both these causes ; and asserts, that the
pungency of the gastric juices, and the attrition of its coats
against each other, cause those pains, which nothing but
food can remove. These juices continuing still to be sepa-
rated in the stomach, and every moment becoming more
acrid, mix with the blood, and infect the circulation : the
circulation being thus contaminated, becomes weaker, and
more contracted ; and the whole nervous frame sympa-
thizing, an hectic fever, and sometimes madness, is produced ;
in which state the faint wretch expires. In this manner, the
man who dies of hunger, may be said to be poisoned by the
juices of his own body ; and is destroyed less by the want of
nourishment, than by the vitiated qualities of that which he
had already taken.

However this may be, we have but few instances of
men dying, except at sea, of absolute hunger. The de-
cline of those unhappy creatures who are destitute of
food, at land, being more slow and unperceived. These,
from often being in need, and as often receiving an acciden-
tal supply, pass their lives between surfeiting and repin-
ing; and their constitution is impaired by insensible de-
grees. Man is unfit for a state of precarious expectation.
That share of provident precaution which incites him to
lay up stores for a distant day, becomes his torment, when
totally unprovided against an immediate call. The lower
race of animals, when satisfied, for the instant moment,
are perfectly happy : but it is otherwise with man ; his mind
anticipates distress, and feels the pangs of want even before
it arrests him. Thus the mind, being continually
harassed by the situation, it at length influences the con-
stitution, and unfits it for all its functions. Some cruel
disorder, but no way like hunger, seizes the unhappy suf-
ferer ; so that almost all those men who have thus long
lived by chance, and whose every day may be considered
as an happy escape from famine, are known at last to
die in reality of a disorder caused by hunger; but
which, in the common language, is often called a broken
heart . Some of these I have known myself, when very
little able to relieve them : and I have been told, by a
very active and worthy magistrate, that the number of
such as die in London for want, is much greater than one

THE EARTH.

23

they are replete with shells, and other productions of the
sea; these shells being found in the deepest cavities, and
on the tops of the highest mountains. From these ob-
servations, which are warranted by experience, he pro-
ceeds to observe, that these shells and extraneous fossils
are not productions of the earth, but are all actual re-
mains of those animals which they are known to resem-
ble; that all the beds of the earth lie under each other,
in the order of their specific gravity; and that they are
disposed as if they had been left there by subsiding wa-
ters. All these assertions he affirms with much earnest-
ness, although daily experience contradicts him in some
of them; particularly we find layers of stone often over
the lightest soils, and the softest earth under the hardest
bodies. However, having taken it for granted, that all
the layers of the earth are found in the order of their spe-
cific gravity, the lightest at the top, and the heaviest next
the centre, he consequently asserts, and it will not im-
probably follow, that all the substances of which the earth
is composed, were once in an actual state of dissolution.
This universal dissolution he takes to have happened at
the time of the flood. He supposes, that at that time a
body of water which was then in the centre of the earth,
uniting with that which was found on the surface, so far
separated the terrene parts as to mix all together in one
fluid mass ; the contents of which afterwards sinking ac-
cording to their respective gravities, produced the present
appearances of the earth. Being aware, however, of an
objection, that fossil substances are not found dissolved,
he exempts them from this universal dissolution, and, for
that purpose, endeavours to show that the parts of animals
have a stronger cohesion than those of minerals ; and that,
while even the hardest rocks may be dissolved, bones and
shells may still continue entire.

So much for W oodward ; but of all the systems which
were published respecting the earth’s formation, that of
Whiston was most applauded, and most opposed. Nor
need we wonder : for being supported with all the parade
of deep calculation, it awed the ignorant, and produced
the approbation of such as would be thought otherwise;
as it implied a knowledge of abstruse learning, to be even
thought capable of comprehending what the writer aimed

#

A HISTORY OF

24

at. In fact, it is not easy to divest this theory of its mathe-
matical garb : but those who have had leisure, have found
the result of our philosopher’s reasoning to be thus : He
supposes the earth to have been originally a comet ; and
he considers the history of the creation, as given us in scrip-
ture, to have its commencement just when it was, by the
hand of the Creator, more regularly placed as a planet in our
solar system. Before that time he supposes it to have been
a globe without beauty or proportion ; a world in disorder ;
subject to all the vicissitudes which comets endure ; some
of which have been found, at different times, a thousand
times hotter than melted iron ; at others, a thousand times
colder than ice. These alterations of heat and cold, conti-
nually melting and freezing the surface of the earth, he sup-
poses to have produced, to a certain depth, a chaos entirely
resembling that described by the poets, surrounding the
solid contents of the earth, which still continued unchanged
in the midst, making a great burning globe of more than
two thousand leagues in diameter. This surrounding chaos,
however, was far from being solid : he resembles it to a
dense, though fluid atmosphere, composed of substances
mingled, agitated, and shocked against each other ; and in
this disorder he describes the earth to have been just at the
eve of creation.

But upon its orbit being then changed, when it was
more regularly wheeled round the sun, every thing took
its proper place ; every part of the surrounding fluid then
fell into a situation, in proportion as it was light or heavy.
The middle, or central part, which always remained un-
changed, still continued so, retaining* a part of that heat
which it received in its primaeval approaches towards the
sun ; which heat, he calculates, may continue for about six
thousand years. Next to this fell the heavier parts of the
chaotic atmosphere, which serve to sustain the lighter :
but as in descending they could not entirely be separated
from many watery parts, with which they were intimately
mixed, they drew down a part of these also with them ;
and these could not mount again after the surface of the
earth was consolidated : they, therefore, surrounded the
heavy first-descending parts in the same manner as these
surround the central globe. Thus the entire body of the
earth is composed internally of a great burning globe :

-I

THE EARTH.

25

next which is placed a heavy terrene substance, that encom-
passes it; round which also is circumfused a body of water.
Upon this body of water, the crust of earth, which we inha-
bit, is placed : so that, according to him, the globe is com-
posed of a number of coats, or shells, one within the other,
all of different densities. The body of the earth being thus
formed, the air, which is the lightest substance of all, sur-
rounded its surface ; and the beams of the sun, darting
through, produced that light which, we are told, first obeyed
the Creator’s command.

The whole economy of the creation being thus adjusted,
it only remained to account for the risings and depressions
on the surface of the earth, with the other seeming irregula-
rities of its present appearance. The hills and valleys are
considered by him as formed by their pressing upon the
internal fluid, which sustains the outward shell of earth, with
greater or less weight: those parts of the earth which are
heaviest sink into the subjacent fluid more deeply, and be-
come valleys : those that are lightest, rise higher upon the
earth’s surface, and are called mountains.

Such was the face of nature before the deluge : the
earth was then more fertile and populous than it is at
present ; the life of man and animals was extended to ten
times its present duration ; and all these advantages arose
from the superior heat of the central globe, which ever
since has been cooling. As its heat was then in full
power, the genial principle was also much greater than
at present ; vegetation and animal increase were carried
on with more vigour ; and all nature seemed teeming with
the seeds of life. But these physical advantages were only
productive of moral evil ; the warmth which invigorated
the body increased the passions and appetites of the mind;
and, as man became more powerful, he grew less innocent.
It was found necessary to punish this depravity; and all
living creatures were overwhelmed by the deluge in universal
destruction.

This deluge, which simple believers are willing to as-
cribe to a miracle, philosophers have long been desirous
to account for by natural causes ; they have proved that
the earth could never supply from any reservoir towards
its centre, nor the atmosphere by any discharge from
above, such a quantity of water as would cover the surface

VOL. I. — 1. D

26

A HISTORY OF

of the globe to a certain depth over the tops of our highest
mountains. Where, therefore, was all this water to be
found P Whiston has found enough, and more than a suffi-
ciency, in the tail of a comet ; for he seems to allot comets a
very active part in the great operations of nature.

He calculates, with great seeming precision, the year, the
month, and the day of the week, on which this comet (which
has paid the earth some visits since, though at a kinder dis-
tance,) involved our globe in its tail. The tail he supposed
to be a vaporous fluid substance, exhaled from the body of
the comet by the extreme heat of the sun, and increasing in
proportion as it approached that great luminary. It was in
this that our globe was involved at the time of the deluge ;
and, as the earth still acted by its natural attraction, it drew
to itself all the watery vapours which were in the comet’s tail ;
and the internal waters being also at the same time let loose,
in a very short space the tops of the highest mountains were
laid under the deep.

The punishment of the deluge being thus completed, and
all the guilty destroyed, the earth, which had been broken by
the eruption of the internal waters, was also enlarged by it ;
so that, upon the comet’s recess, there was found room suffi-
cient in the internal abyss for the recess of the superfluous
waters; whither they all retired, and left the earth unco-
vered, but in some respects changed, particularly in its
figure, which, from being round, was now become ob-
late. In this universal wreck of nature, Noah survived, by
a variety of happy causes, to re-people the earth, and to give
birth to a race of men slow in believing ill-imagined theories
of the earth.

After so many theories of the earth which have been pub-
lished, applauded, answered, and forgotten, Mr. BufFon
ventured to add one more to the number. This philosopher
was, in every respect, better qualified than any of his prede-
cessors for such an attempt, being furnished with more
materials, having a brighter imagination to find new proofs,
and a better style to clothe them in. However, if one so ill
qualified as I am may judge, this seems the weakest part of
his admirable work ; and I could wish that he had been con-
tent with giving us facts instead of systems ; that, instead of
being a reasoner, he had contented himself with being
merely an historian.

*

THE EARTH

27

He begins his system by making a distinction between
the first part of it and the last; the one being founded
only on conjecture, the other depending entirely upon
actual observation. The latter part of his theory may,
therefore, be true, though the former should be found
erroneous.

“ The planets,” says he, “ and the earth among the
number, might have been formerly (he only offers this as
conjecture) a part of the body of the sun, and adherent to
its substance. In this situation, a comet falling in upon
that great body, might have given it such a shock, and
so shaken its whole frame, that some of its particles might
have been driven off like streaming sparkles from red-hot
iron ; and each of these streams of fire, small as they wTere
in comparison of the sun, might have been large enough
to have made an earth as great, nay, many times greater,
than our’s. So that in this manner the planets, together
with the globe which we inhabit, might have been driven
off from the body of the sun by an impulsive force: in
this manner also they would continue to recede from it
for ever, were they not drawn back by its superior power
of attraction ; and thus, by the combination of the two
motions, they are wheeled round in circles.

“ Being in this manner detached at a distance from the
body of the sun, the planets, from having been at first
globes of liquid fire, gradually became cool. The earth
also, having been impelled obliquely forward, received
a rotatory motion upon its axis at the very instant
of its formation ; and this motion being greatest at the
equator, the parts there acting against the force of gra-
vity, they must have swollen out, and given the earth an
oblate or flatted figure.

“As to its internal substance, our globe, having once
belonged to the sun, it continues to be an uniform mass
of melted matter, very probably vitrified in its primaeval
fusion. But its surface is very differently composed.
Having been in the beginning heated to a degree equal
to, if not greater, than what comets are found to sustain ;
like them it had an atmosphere of vapours floating round
it, and which, cooling by degrees, condensed and subsid-
ed upon its surface. These vapours formed, according
to their different densities, the earth, the water, and the

A HISTORY OF

28

air ; the heavier parts falling first, and the lighter remaining
still suspended.”

Thus far our philosopher is, at least, as much a system-
maker as Whiston or Burnet ; and, indeed, he fights his
way with great perseverance and ingenuity, through a
thousand objections that naturally arise. Having, at
last, got upon the earth, he supposes himself on firmer
ground, and goes forward with greater security. Turn-
ing his attention to the present appearance of things upon
this globe, he pronounces from the view, that the whole
earth was at first under water. This water he supposes
to have been the lighter parts of its former evaporation,
which, while the earthy particles sunk downwards by their
natural gravity, floated on the surface, and covered it for a
considerable space of time.

“ The surface of the earth,” says he,* “ must have been
in the beginning much less solid than it is at present ; and,
consequently, the same causes which at this day produce
but very slight changes, must then, upon so complying a
substance, have had very considerable effects. We have
no reason to doubt but that it was then covered with the
waters of the sea ; and that those waters were above the
tops of our highest mountains : since, even in such ele-
vated situations, we find shells and other marine produc-
tions in very great abundance. It appears also that the
sea continued for a considerable time upon the face of the
earth: for as these layers of shells are found so very fre-
quent at such great depths, and in such prodigious quan-
tities, it seems impossible for such numbers to have been
supported all alive at one time ; so that they must have
been brought there by successive depositions. These shells
also are found in the bodies of the hardest rocks, where they
could not have been deposited, all at once, at the time of
the deluge, or at any such instant revolution ; since that
would be to suppose, that all the rocks in which they are
found, were, at that instant, in a state of dissolution, which
would be absurd to assert. The sea, therefore, deposited
them wheresoever they are now to be found, and that by
slow and successive degrees.

“ It will appear also, that the sea covered the whole

* Theurie cle la lerrc, vol. i. p. 111.

THE EARTH.

29

earth, from the appearance of its layers, which lying re-
gularly one above the other, seem all to resemble the se-
diment formed at different times by the ocean. Hence,
by the irregular force of its waves, and its currents driving
the bottom into sand-banks, mountains must have been
gradually formed within this universal covering of waters ;
and these successively raising their heads above its sur-
face, must, in time, have formed the highest ridges of
mountains upon land, together with continents, islands,
and low grounds, all in their turns. This opinion will
receive additional weight by considering, that in those
parts of the earth where the power of the ocean is great-
est, the inequalities on the surface of the earth are high-
est. The ocean’s power is greatest at the equator, where
its winds and tides are most constant ; and, in fact, the
mountains at the equator are found to be higher than in
any other part of the world. The sea, therefore, has pro-
duced the principal changes in our earth : rivers, volca-
noes, earthquakes, storms, and rain, having made but slight
alterations, and only such as have affected the globe to very
inconsiderable depths.”

This is but a very slight sketch of Mr. Buffon’s theory
of the earth ; a theory which he has much more power-
fully supported, than happily invented ; and it would be
needless to take up the reader’s time from the pursuit of
truth in the discussion of plausibilities. In fact, a thou-
sand questions might be asked this most ingenious phi-
losopher, which he would not find it easy to answer ;
but such is the lot of humanity, that a single Goth can in
one day destroy the fabric which Caesars were employed
an age in erecting. We might ask, How mountains, which
are composed of the most compact and ponderous sub-
stances, should be the first whose parts the sea began to
remove ? We might ask, How fossil- wood is found deeper
even than shells ? which argues, that trees grew upon the
places he supposes once to have been covered with the ocean.
But we hope this excellent man is better employed than to
think of gratifying the petulance of incredulity, by answering
endless objections.

30

A HISTORY OF

CHAP. V.

OF FOSSIL-SHELLS, AND OTHER EXTRANEOUS FOSSILS.

We may affirm of Mr. Buffon, that which has been said
of the chemists of old ; though he may have failed in at-
taining his principal aim, of establishing a theory, yet he
has brought together such a multitude of facts relative to
the history of the earth, and the nature of its fossil pro-
ductions, that curiosity finds ample compensation, even
while it feels the want of conviction.

Before, therefore, I enter upon the description of those
parts of the earth which seem more naturally to fall
within the subject, it will not be improper to give a short
history of those animal productions that are found in such
quantities, either upon its surface, or at different depths
below it. They demand our curiosity ; and, indeed, there
is nothing in natural history that has afforded more scope
for doubt, conjecture, and speculation. Whatever depths
of the earth we examine, or at whatever distance within
land we seek, we most commonly find a number of fossil-
shells, which being compared with others from the sea,
of known kinds, are found to be exactly of a similar shape
and nature.* They are found at the very bottom of quar-
ries and mines, in the retired and inmost parts of the
most firm and solid rocks, upon the tops of even the
highest hills and mountains, as well as in the valleys and
plains ; and this not in one country alone, but in all places
where there is any digging for marble, chalk, or any other
terrestrial matters, that are so compact as to fence off the
external injuries of the air, and thus preserve these shells
from decay.

These marine substances, so commonly diffused, and
so generally to be met with, were for a long time consi-
dered by philosophers as productions, not of the sea, but
of the earth. “ As we find that spars,” said they, “ always
shoot into peculiar shapes, so these seeming snails, coc-
kles, and mussel-shells, are only sportive forms that na-

* Woodward’s Essay towards a Natural History, p. 16.

THE EARTH.

31

ture assumes amongst others of its mineral varieties : they
have the shape of fish, indeed, but they have always been
terrestrial substances.”*

With this plausible solution mankind were for a long
time content; but upon closer inquiry, they were obliged
to alter their opinion. It was found that these shells had
in every respect the properties of animal, and not of mineral
nature. They were found exactly of the same weight with
their fellow shells upon shore. They answered all the che-
mical trials in the same manner as sea-shells do. Their
parts, when dissolved, had the same appearance to view, the
same smell and taste. They had the same effects in medi-
cine, when inwardly administered ; and, in a word, were so
exactly conformable to marine bodies, that they had all the
accidental concretions growing to them, (such as pearls,
corals, and smaller shells,) which are found in shells just
gathered on the shore. They were, therefore, from these
considerations, given back to the sea; but the wonder was,
how to account for their coming so far from their own
natural element upon land.^

As this naturally gave rise to many conjectures, it is
not to be wondered that some among them have been
very extraordinary. An Italian, quoted by Mr. Buffon,
suppose., them to have been deposited in the earth at the
time of the crusades, by the pilgrims who returned from
Jerusalem ; who gathering them upon the sea-shore, in
their return carried them to their different places of habi-
tation. But this conjecturer seems to have but a very
inadequate idea of their numbers. At Touraine, in France,
more than a hundred miles from the sea, there is a plain
of about nine leagues long, and as many broad, whence
the peasants of the country supply themselves with marl
for manuring their lands. They seldom dig deeper than
twenty feet ; and the whole plain is composed of the same
materials, which are shells of various kinds, without the
smallest portion of earth between them. Here then is a
large space, in which are deposited millions of tons of
shells, that pilgrims could not have collected, though
their whole employment had been nothing else. England

* Lowthorp’s Abridgment, Phil. Trans, vol. ii. p. 4 26.
f Woodward, p. 43.

A HISTORY OF

32

is furnished with its beds, which, 'though not quite so exten-
sive, yet are equally wonderful. “ Near Reading, in Berk-
shire, for many succeeding generations, a continued body of
oyster-shells has been found through the whole circumfer-
ence of five or six acres of ground. The foundation of
these shells is a hard rocky chalk ; and above this chalk,
the oyster-shells lie in a bed of green sand, upon a level,
as nigh as can possibly be judged, and about two feet thick-
ness.”* These shells are in their natural state, but they
were found also petrified, and almost in equal abundance ~j~
in all the Alpine rocks, in the Pyrenees, on the hills of
France, England, and Flanders. Even in all quarries from
whence marble is dug, if the rocks be split perpendicularly
downwards, petrified shells and other marine substances will
be plainly discerned.

“ About a quarter of a mile from the river Medway, in
the county of Kent, after the taking off the coping of a
piece of ground there, the workmen came to a blue mar-
ble, which continued for three feet and a half deep, or
more, and then beneath appeared a hard floor, or pave- v
ment, composed of petrified shells crowded closely toge-
ther. This layer was about an inch deep, and several
yards over ; and it could be walked upon as upon a
beach. These stones, of which it was composed, (the
describer supposes them to have always been stones,)
were either wreathed as snails, or bivalvular like cockles.
The wreathed kinds were about the size of a hazel-nut,
and were filled with a stony substance of the colour of
marie ; and they themselves, also, till they were washed,
were of the same colour; but when cleaned, they ap-
peared of the colour of bezoar, and of the same polish.
After boiling in water they became whitish, and left a ' chalki-
ness upon the fingers.”^

In several parts of Asia and Africa, travellers have ob-
served these shells in great abundance. In the mountains
of Castravan, which lie above the city Barut, they quarry
out a white stone, every part of which contains petrified,
fishes in great numbers, and of surprising diversity. The}
also seem to continue in such preservation, that their fins.

* Phil. Trans, vol. ii. p. 427. t Buffon, vol. i. p. 407

x Phil. Trans, p. 426.

THE EARTH. 33

scales, and all the minutest distinctions of their make, can
be perfectly discerned.*

From all these instances we may conclude, that fossils
are very numerous ; and, indeed, independent of their situ-
ation, they afford no small entertainment to observe them
as preserved in the cabinets of the curious. The varieties
of their kinds are astonishing. Most of the sea-shells
which are known, and many others to which we are entirely
strangers, are to be seen either in their natural state, or in
various degrees of petrifaction.^ In the place of some
we have mere spar, or stone, exactly expressing all the linea-
ments of animals, as having been wholly formed from them.
For it has happened, that the shells dissolving by very slow
degrees, and the matter having nicely and exactly filled all
the cavities within, this matter, after the shells have
perished, has preserved exactly and regularly the whole print
of their internal surface. Of these there are various kinds
found in our pits ; many of them resembling those of our
own shores ; and many others that are only to be found on
the coasts of other countries. There are some shells re-
sembling those that are never stranded upon our coasts
but always remain in the deep : || and many more there are
which we can assimulate with no shells that are known
amongst us. But we find not only shells in our pits, but
also fishes and corals in great abundance ; together with
almost every sort of marine production.

It is extraordinary enough, however, that the common
red coral, though so very frequent at sea, is scarcely seen
in the fossil world ; nor is there any account of its having
ever been met with. But to compensate for this, there
are all the kinds of the white coral now known, and many
other kinds of that substance with which we are unac-
quainted. Of animals there are various parts : the ver-
tebrae of whales, and the mouths of lesser fishes; these,
with teeth also of various kinds, are found in the cabinets
of the curious ; where they receive long Greek names,
which it is neither the intention nor the province of this
work to enumerate. Indeed, few readers would think
themselves much improved, should I proceed with enu-

* Buffon, vol. i. p. 408. + Hill, p. 646.

t Littorales. || Pelagii.

VOL. I.— 2.

E

A HISTORY OF

34

merating the various classes of the Conicthyodontes, Po-
lyleptoginglimi, or the Orthoceratites. These names,
which mean no great matter when they are explained,
may serve to guide in the furnishing a cabinet ; but they are
of very little service in furnishing the page of instructive
history.

From all these instances we see in what abundance pe-
trefactions are to be found ; and, indeed, Mr. Buffo n, to
whose accounts we have added some, has not been sparing
in the variety of his quotations, concerning the places
where they are mostly to be found. However, I am sur-
prised that he should have omitted the mention of one,
which, in some measure, more than any of the rest, would
have served to strengthen his theory. We are informed,
by almost every traveller,* that has described the pyra-
mids of Egypt, that one of them is entirely built of a kind
of free-stone, in which these petrified shells are found in
great abundance. This being the case, it may be conjec-
tured, as we have accounts of these pyramids among the
earliest records of mankind, and of their being built so long
before the age of Herodotus, who lived but fifteen hun-
dred years after the flood, that even the Egyptian priests
could tell neither the time nor the cause of their erection ;
I say, it may be conjectured that they were erected but a
short time after the flood. It is not very likely, therefore,
that the marine substances found in one of them, had
time to be formed into a part of the solid stone, either
during the deluge, or immediately after it ; and, conse-
quently, their petrefaction must have been before that pe-
riod, And this is the opinion Mr. Buffon has so strenu-
ously endeavoured to maintain ; having given specious rea-
sons to prove, that such shells were laid in the beds where
they are now found, not only before the deluge, but even
antecedent to the formation of man, at the time when the
whole earth, as he supposes, was buried beneath a covering
of waters.

But while there are many reasons to persuade us that
these extraneous fossils have been deposited by the sea,
there is one fact that will abundantly serve to convince
us, that the earth was habitable, if not inhabited, before
these marine substances came to be thus deposited. For

- Hasselqiust, Sarnlys.

THE EARTH.

35

we find fossil-trees, which no doubt once grew upon the
earth, as deep, and as much in the body of solid rocks, as
these shells are found to be. Some of these fallen trees
also have lain at least as long, if not longer, in the earth,
than the shells, as they have been found sunk deep in a
marly substance, composed of decayed shells and other
marine productions. Mr. BufFon has proved, that fossil-
shells could not have been deposited in such quantities all
at once by the flood ; and I think, from the above instance,
it is pretty plain, that, howsoever they were deposited, the
earth was covered with trees before their deposition ; and,
consequently, that the sea could not have made a very per-
manent stay. How then shall we account for these extra-
ordinary appearances in nature ? A suspension of all assent
is certainly the first, although the most mortifying conduct.
For my own part, were I to offer a conjecture, and all that
has been said upon this subject is but conjecture, instead of
supposing them to be the remains of animals belonging to
the sea, I would consider them rather as bred in the numer-
ous fresh-water lakes, that in primeval times covered the
face of uncultivated nature. Some of these shells we know
to belong to fresh waters ; some can be assimilated to none
of the marine shells now known ;* why, therefore, may we
not as w’ell ascribe the production of all to fresh waters,
where we do not find them, as we do that of the latter to
the sea only, where we never find them ? We know that
lakes, and lands also, have produced animals that are now
no longer existing ; why, therefore, might not these fossil
productions be among the number? I grant that this is
making a very harsh supposition ; but I cannot avoid
thinking, that it is not attended with so many embarass-
ments as some of the former, and that it is much easier to
believe that these shells were bred in fresh water, than that
the sea had for a long time covered the tops of the highest
mountains.

* Hill’s Fossils, p. 41

36

A HISTORY OF

CHAP. VI.

OF THE INTERNAL STRUCTURE OF THE EARTH.

Having, in some measure, got free from the regions
of conjecture, let us now proceed to a description of the
earth as we find it by examination, and observe its in-
ternal composition, as far as it has been the subject of ex-
perience, or exposed to human inquiry. These inquiries,
indeed, have been carried but to a very little depth below
its surface, and even in that disquisition men have been
conducted more by motives of avarice than of curiosity.
The deepest mine, which is that at Cotteberg in Hungary,*
reaches not more than three thousand feet deep ; but what
proportion does that bear to the depth of the terrestrial
globe, down to the centre, which is above four thousand
miles ? All, therefore, that has been said of the earth, to a
deeper degree, is merely fabulous or conjectural : we may
suppose with one, that it is a globe of glass with another,
a sphere of heated iron ; J with a third, a great mass of
waters; || and with a fourth, one dreadful volcano but let
us at the same time shew our consciousness, that all these
are but suppositions.

Upon examining the earth, where it has been opened
to any depth, the first thing that occurs, is the different
layers or beds of which it is composed ; these all lying
horizontally one over the other, like the leaves of a book,
and each of them composed of materials that increase in
weight in proportion as they lie deeper. This is, in general,
the disposition of the different materials, where the earth
seems to have remained unmolested ; but this order is fre-
quently inverted ; and we cannot tell whether from its ori-
ginal formation, or from accidental causes. Of different
substances, thus disposed, the far greatest part of our globe
consists, from its surface downwards to the greatest depths
we ever dig or mine.^[

The first layer, most commonly found at the surface,
is that light coat of blackish mould, which is called by

* Boyle, vol. iii. p. 240. f Buffon. J Whiston.

|| Burnet. § Kircher. Woodward, p. 9.

THE EARTH.

37

some garden earth. With this the earth is every where in-
vested, unless it be washed off by rains, or removed by
some other external violence. This seems to have been
formed from animal and vegetable bodies decaying, and
thus turning into its substance. It also serves again as a
storehouse, from whence animal and vegetable nature are
renewed ; and thus are all vital blessings continued with
unceasing circulation. This earth, however, is not to be
supposed entirely pure, but is mixed with much stony and
gravelly matter, from the layers lying immediately beneath
it. It generally happens, that the soil is fertile in propor-
tion to the quantity that this putrified mould bears to the
gravelly mixture ; and as the former predominates, so far
is the vegetation upon it more luxuriant. It is this ex-
ternal covering that supplies man with all the true riches
he enjoys. He may bring up gold and jewels from greater
depths ; but they are merely the toys of a capricious being,
things upon which he has placed an imaginary value, and
for which fools alone part with the more substantial bless-
ings of life. “ It is this earth,” says Pliny,* “ that, like a
kind mother, receives us at our birth, and sustains us when
born.” It is this alone, of all the elements around us, that
is never found an enemy to man. The body of waters de-
luge him with rains, oppress him with hail, and drown him
with inundations. The air rushes in storms, prepares the
tempest, or lights up the volcano ; but the earth, gentle
and indulgent, ever subservient to the wants of man,
spreads his walks with flowers, and his table with plenty ;
returns with interest every good committed to her care ; and
though she produces the poison, she still supplies the anti-
dote ; though constantly teased more to furnish the luxuries
of man than his necessities, yet, even to the last, she con-
tinues her kind indulgence, and, when life is over, she piously
covers his remains in her bosom.

Phis external and fruitful layer which covers the earth,
is, as was said, in a state of continual change. Vege-
tables, which are naturally fixed and rooted to the same
place, receive their adventitious nourishment from the sur-
rounding earth and water ; animals, which change from
place to place, are supported by these, or by each other.

* 1’linii Historia Naturalis, lib. ii. cap. 63.

A HISTORY OF

38

Both, however, having for a time enjoyed a life adapted
to their nature, give back to the earth those spoils, which
they had borrowed for a very short space, yet still to be
quickened again into fresh existence. But the deposits
they make are of very dissimilar kinds, and the earth is
very differently enriched by their continuance : those

countries that have for a long time supported men and
other animals, having been observed to become every day
more barren ; while, on the contrary, those desolate places,
in which vegetables only are abundantly produced, are
known to be possessed of amazing fertility. “ In regions
which are uninhabited,” * says Mr. Buffon, “ where the
forests are not cut down, and where animals do not feed
upon the plants, the bed of vegetable earth is constantly
increasing. In all woods, and even in those which are
often cut, there is a layer of earth of six or eight inches
thick, which has been formed by the leaves, branches, and
bark, which fall and rot upon the ground. I have fre-
quently observed on a Roman way, which crosses Bur-
gundy, for a long extent, that there is a bed of black earth,
of more than a foot thick, gathered over the stony pave-
ment, on which several trees, of a very considerable size,
are supported. This I have found to be nothing else than
an earth formed by decayed leaves and branches, which
have been converted by time into a black soil. Now as
vegetables draw much more of their nourishment from the
air and water than they do from the earth, it must follow,
that in rotting upon the ground, they must give more to
the soil than they have taken from it. Hence, therefore,
in woods kept a long time without cutting, the soil be-
low increases to a considerable depth ; and such we ac-
tually find the soil in those American wilds, where the
forests have been undisturbed for ages. But it is other-
wise where men and animals have long subsisted: for as
they make a considerable consumption of wood and
plants, both for firing and other uses, they take more from
the earth than they return to it ; it follows, therefore, that
the bed of vegetable earth, in an inhabited country, must
be always diminishing; and must at length resemble the
soil of Arabia Petrea, and other provinces of the East,

* Buffon, vol. i. p.353.

THE EARTH.

39

which having been long inhabited, are now become plains
of salt and sand ; the fixed salt always remaining, while the
other volatile parts have flown away.”

If from this external surface we descend deeper, and
view the earth cut perpendicularly downwards, either in
the banks of great rivers, or steepy sea-shores, or, going
still deeper, if we observe it in quarries or mines, we shall
find its layers regularly disposed in their proper order.
We must not expect, however, to find them of the same
kind or thickness in every place, as they differ in different
soils and situations. Sometimes marl is seen to be over
sand, and sometimes under it. The most common dis-
position is, that under the first earth is found gravel or
sand, then clay or marl, then chalk or coal, marbles, ores,
sands, gravels ; and thus an alteration of these sub-
stances, each growing more dense as it sinks deeper. The
clay, for instance, found at the depth of a hundred feet,
is usually more heavy than that found not far from the
surface. In a well which was dug at Amsterdam, to the
depth of two hundred and thirty feet, the following sub-
stances were found in succession :* seven feet of vegetable
earth, nine of turf, nine of soft clay, eight of sand, four of
earth, ten of clay, four of earth, ten of sand, two of clay,
four of white sand, one of soft earth, fourteen of sand,
eight of clay mixed with sand, four of sea-sand mixed with
shells, then a hundred and two feet of soft clay, and then
thirty-one feet of sand.

In a well dug at Marly, to the depth of a hundred feet
Mr. Buffon gives us a still more exact enumeration of its
layers of earth. “ Thirteen of a reddish gravel, two of
gravel mingled with a vitrifiable sand, three of mud or slime,
two of1 marl, four of marly stone, five of marl in dust mix-
ed with vitrifiable sand, six of very fine vitrifiable sand,,
three of earthy marl, three of hard marl, one of gravel, one
of eglantine, a stone of the hardness and grain of marble,
one of gravelly marl, one of stony marl, one of a coarser
kind of stony marl, two of a coarser kind still, one of vi-
trifiable sand mixed with fossil-shells, two of fine gravel,
three of stony marl, one of coarse powdered marl, one of
stone calcinable like marble, three of gray sand, two of
white sand, one of red sand streaked with white, eight of
* Varenius, as quoted by Mr. Buffon, p. 358.

40

A HISTORY OF

gray sand with shells, three of very fine sand, three of a
hard gray stone, four of red sand streaked with white, three
of white sand, and fifteen of reddish vitrifiable sand.

In this manner the earth is every wrhere found in beds
over beds ; and, what is still remarkable, each of them, as
far as it extends, always maintains exactly the same thick-
ness. It is found also, that as we proceed to considerable
depths, every layer grows thicker. Thus in the adduced
instances we might have observed, that the last layer was
fifteen feet thick, while most of the others were not above
eight ; and this might have gone much deeper, for aught
we can tell, as before they got through it the workmen ceased
digging.

These layers are sometimes very extensive, and often are
found to spread over a space of some leagues in circumfer-
ence. But it must not be supposed that they are uni-
formly continued over the whole globe without any inter-
ruption : on the contrary, they are ever, at small intervals,
cracked through as it were by perpendicular fissures ; the
earth resembling, in this respect, the muddy bottom of a
pond, from whence the water has been dried off by the
sun, and thus gaping in several chinks, which descend in a
direction perpendicular to its surface. These fissures are
many times found empty, but oftener closed up with ad-
ventitious substances, that the rain, or some other acciden-
tal causes, have conveyed to fill their cavities. Their open-
ings are not less different than their contents, some being
not above half an inch wide, some a foot, and some several
hundred yards asunder. Which last form those dreadful
chasms that are to be found in the Alps, at the edge of
which the traveller stands dreading to look down at the
immeasurable gulph below. These amazing clefts are well
known to such as have past these mountains, where a
chasm frequently presents itself several hundred feet deep,
and as many over, at the edge of which the way lies. It
often happens also, that the road leads along the bottom,
and then the spectator observes on each side frightful pre-
cipices several hundred yards above him ; the sides of which
correspond so exactly with each other, that they evidently
seem torn asunder.

But these chasms, to be found in the Alps, are nothing
to what Ovalle tells us are to be seen in the Andes. These

'THE EARTH.

41

amazing mountains, in comparison of which the former are
but little hills, have their fissures in proportion to their
greatness. In some places they are a mile wide, and deep
in proportion ; and there are some others, that, running
under ground, in extent resemble a province.

Of this kind also is that cavern called Eldenhole, in Der-
byshire, which Dr. Plott tells us, was sounded by a line of
eight and twenty hundred feet, without finding the bottom,
or meeting with water : and yet the mouth at the top is not
above forty yards over.* This immeasurable cavern runs
perpendicularly downward ; and the sides of it seem to tally
so plainly as to shew that they once were united. Those
who come to visit the place, generally procure stones to be
thrown into its mouth; and these are heard for several
minutes, falling and striking against the sides of the cavern,
producing a sound that resembles distant thunder, dying
away as the stone goes deeper.

Of this kind also is that dreadful cavern described by
iElian ; his account of which the reader may not have met
with.'f~ “ In the country of the Arrian Indians, is to be
seen an amazing chasm, which is called, The Gulph of
Pluto . The depth and the recesses of this horrid place
are as extensive as they are unknown. Neither the na-
tives, nor the curious who visit it, are able to tell how it
was first made, or to what depths it descends. The Indians
continually drive thither great multitudes of animals, more
than three thousand at a time, of different kinds, sheep*
horses, and goats ; and, with an absurd superstition, force
them into the cavity, from whence they never return. Their
several sounds, however, are heard as they descend; the
bleating of sheep, the lowing of oxen, and the neighing of
horses, issuing up to the mouth of the cavern. Nor do
these sounds cease, as the place is continually furnished
with a fresh supply.”

There are many more of these dreadful perpendicular
fissures in different parts of the earth ; with accounts of
which, Kircher, Gaffarellus, and others, who have given
histories of the wonders of the subterranean world, abun-
dantly supply us. The generality of readers, however.

* Phil. Trans, vol. ii. p. 370.
t Jiliani Var. Hist. lib. xvi. cap. 16

F

VOL. I. — 2.

A HISTORY OP

42

will consider them with less astonishment when they are
informed of their being common all over the earth ; that
in every field, in every quarry, these perpendicular fissures
are to be found, either still gaping, or filled with matter
that has accidently closed their interstices. The inat-
tentive spectator neglects the inquiry, but their being com-
mon is partly the cause that excites the philosopher’s at-
tention to them ; the irregularities of nature he is often
content to let pass unexamined ; but when a constant and
a common appearance presents itself, every return of the
object is a fresh call to his curiosity ; and the chink in the
next quarry becomes as great a matter of wonder as the
chasm in Eldenhole. Philosophers have long, therefore,
endeavoured to find out the cause of these perpendicular
fissures, which our own countrymen, Woodward and Ray,
were the first that found to be so common and universal.
Mr. BufFon supposes them to be cracks made by the sun,
in drying up the earth, immediately after its emersion
from the deep. The heat of the sun is very probably a
principal cause ; but it is not right to ascribe to one only,
what we find may be the result of many. Earthquakes,
severe frosts, bursting waters, and storms tearing up the
roots of trees, have, in our own times, produced them ;
and to this variety of causes we must, at present, be con-
tent to assign those that have happened before we had
opportunities for observation.

CHAP. VII.

OF CAVES AND SUBTERRANEOUS PASSAGES THAT SINK,
BUT NOT PERPENDICULARLY, INTO THE EARTH.

In surveying the subterranean wonders of the globe,
besides those fissures that descend perpendicularly, we fre-
quently find others that descend but a little way, and then
spread themselves often to a great extent below the surface.
Many of these caverns, it must be confessed, may be the
production of art and human industry; retreats made to
protect the oppressed, or shelter the spoiler. The famous
labyrinth of Candia, for instance, is supposed to be entirely
the work of art. Mr. Tournefort assures us, that it bears
the impression of human industry, and that great pains

THE EARTH

43

have been bestowed upon its formation. The stone-quarry
of Maestricht is evidently made by labour : carts enter at
its mouth, and load within, then return, and discharge
their freight into boats that lie on the brink of the river
Maese. This quarry is so large, that forty thousand peo-
ple may take shelter in it : and it in general serves for this
purpose, when armies march that way ; becoming then an
impregnable retreat to the people that live thereabout.
Nothing can be more beautiful than this cavern, when
lighted up with torches : for there are thousands of square
pillars, in large level walks, about twenty feet high ; and
all wrought with much neatness and regularity. In this
vast grotto there is very little rubbish ; which shews both
the goodness of the stone and the carefulness of the work-
men. To add to its beauty, there also are, in various
parts of it, little pools of water, for the convenience of the
men and cattle. It is remarkable also, that no droppings
are seen to fall from the roof, nor are the walks any way
wet under foot, except in cases of great rains, where the
water gets in by the air-shafts. The salt mines in Poland
are still more spacious than these. Some of the cata-
combs, both in Egypt and Italy, are said to be very ex-
tensive. But no part of the world has a greater number
of artificial caverns than Spain, which were made to
serve as retreats to the Christians against the fury of the
Moors, when the latter conquered that country. How-
ever, an account of the works of art does not properly be-
long to a natural history. It will be enough to observe,
that though caverns be found in every country, far the
greatest part of them have been fashioned by the hand of
nature only. Their size is found beyond the power of
man to have effected, and their forms but ill adapted to
the conveniences of a human habitation. In some places,
indeed, we find mankind still make use of them as houses ;
particularly in those countries where the climate is very
severe but in general they are deserted by every race of
meaner animals, except the bat ; these nocturnal solitary
creatures are usually the only inhabitants ; and these only
in such whose descent is sloping, or, at least, not directly
perpendicular.

* Phil. Trans, vol. ii. p. 36S.

A HISTORY OF

44

There is scarcely a country in the world without its na-
tural caverns ; and many new ones are discovered every
day. Of those in England, Oakey-hole, the Devil’s -hole,
and Penpark-hole, have been often described. The former,
which lies on the south side of Mendip-hills,* within a
mile of the town of Wells, is much resorted to by travel-
lers. To conceive a just idea of this, we must imagine a
precipice of more than a hundred yards high, on the side
of a mountain which shelves away a mile above it. In
this is an opening not very large, into which you enter,
going along upon a rocky uneven pavement, sometimes
ascending, and sometimes descending. The roof of it, as
you advance, grows higher; and, in some places, is fifty
feet from the floor. In some places, however, it is so low
that a man must stoop to pass. It extends itself, in length,
about two hundred yards: and from every part of the roof
and the.floor, there are formed sparry concretions of various
figures, that by strong imaginations have been likened
to men, lions, and organs. At the farthest part of this
cavern rises a stream of water, well stored with fish, large
enough to turn a mill, and which discharges itself near the
entrance.

Penpark-hole, in Gloucestershire, is almost as remarkable
as the former. Captain Sturmy descended into this by a
rope, twenty-five fathoms perpendicular, and at the bottom
found a very large vault in the shape of a horse- shoe.
The floors consisted of a kind of white stone enamelled
with lead ore, and the pendant rocks were glazed with spar.
Walking forward on this stony pavement, for some time,
he came to a great river, twenty fathoms broad, and eight
fathoms deep ; and having been informed that it ebbed
and flowed with the sea, he remained in this gloomy abode
for five hours, to make an exact observation. He did not
find, however, any alteration whatsoever in its appear-
ance. But his curiosity was ill requited ; for it cost this
unfortunate gentleman his life : immediately after his
return he was seized with an unusual and violent head-
ache, which threw him into a fever, of which he died soon
after.

But of all the subterranean caverns now known, the

* Phil. Trans, vol. ii. p. 368.

THE EARTH. 45

grotto of Antiparos is the most remarkable, as well for its
extent as for the beauty of its sparry incrustations. This
celebrated cavern was first discovered by one Magni, an
Italian traveller, about an hundred years ago, at Antipa-
ros, an inconsiderable island of the Archipelago.* The
account he gives of it is long and inflated, but upon the
whole amusing. “ Having been informed,” says he, “ by
the natives of Paros, that in the little island of Antiparos,
which lies about two miles from the former, of a gigantic
statue that was to be seen at the mouth of a cavern in that
place, it was resolved that we (the French consul and
himself) should pay it a visit. In pursuance of this re-
solution, after we had landed on the island, and walked
about four miles through the midst of beautiful plains,
and sloping woodlands, we at length came to a little hill,
on the side of which yawned a most horrid cavern, that
with its gloom at first struck us with terror, and almost
represt curiosity. Recovering the first surprise, however,
we entered boldly ; and had not proceeded above twenty
paces, when the supposed statue of the giant presented
itself to our view. We quickly perceived, that what the
ignorant natives had been terrified at as a giant, was no-
thing more than a sparry concretion, formed by the water
dropping from the roof of the cave, and by degrees hard-
ening into a figure that their fears had formed into a mon-
ster. Incited by this extraordinary appearance, we were
induced to proceed still farther, in quest of new adventures
in this subterranean abode. As we proceeded, new wonders
offered themselves ; the spars, formed into trees and shrubs,
presented a kind of petrified grove ; some white, some
green ; and all receding in due perspective. They struck
us with the more amazement, as we knew them to be mere
productions of Nature, who, hitherto in solitude, had, in
her playful moments, dressed the scene as if for her own
amusement.

But we had as yet seen but a few of the wonders of
the place ; and were introduced only into the portico of
this amazing temple. In one corner of this half-illumi-
nated recess, there appeared an opening of about three

de?c ^h*nd. sub. 112. I have translated a part of Ivircher’s

an hvn T’ -ather t^ian ^ ournefort’s, as the latter was written to support

A HISTORY OF

46

feet wide, which seemed to lead to a place totally dark,
and that, one of the natives assured us, contained nothing
more than a reservoir of water. Upon this we tried, by
throwing down some stones, which rumbling along the
sides of the descent for some time, the sound seemed at
last quashed in a bed of water. In order, however, to be
more certain, we sent in a Leventine mariner, who, by the
promise of a good reward, with a flambeaux in his hand,
ventured into this narrow aperture. After continuing within
it for about a quarter of an hour, he returned, carrying some
beautiful pieces of white spar in his hand, which art could
neither imitate nor equal. Upon being informed by him
that the place was full of these beautiful incrustations, I
ventured in once more with him for about fifty paces,
anxiously and cautiously descending by a steep and danger-
ous way. Finding, however, that we came to a precipice
which led into a spacious amphitheatre, if I may so call it,
still deeper than any other part, we returned, and being
provided with a ladder, flambeaux, and other things to
expedite our descent, our whole company, man by man,
ventured into the same opening, and descending one after
another, we at last saw ourselves altogether in the most
magnificent part of the cavern.

“ Our candles being now all lighted up, and the whole
place completely illuminated, never could the eye be pre-
sented with a more glittering, or a more magnificent scene.
The roof all hung with solid icicles, transparent as glass,
yet solid as marble. The eye could scarcely reach the
lofty and noble ceiling; the sides were regularly formed
with spars ; and the whole presented the idea of a magni-
ficent theatre, illuminated with an immense profusion of
lights. The floor consisted of solid marble ; and in seve-
ral places magnificent columns, thrones, altars, and other
objects appeared, as if nature had designed to mock the
curiosities of art. Our voices, upon speaking or singing,
were redoubled to an astonishing loudness ; and upon the
firing of a gun, the noise and reverberations were almost
deafening. In the midst of this grand amphitheatre rose
a concretion of about fifteen feet high, that, in some mea-
sure, resembled an altar ; from which, taking the hint, we
caused mass to be celebrated there. The beautiful co-
lumns that shot up round the altar, appeared like candle-

THE EARTH. 47

sticks ; and many other natural objects represented the
customary ornaments of this sacrament.

“ Below even this spacious grotto there seemed another
cavern ; down which I ventured with my former mariner,
and descended about fifty paces by means of a rope. I at
last arrived at a small spot of level ground, where the bot-
tom appeared different from that of the amphitheatre, being
composed of a soft clay, yielding to the pressure, and
in which I thrust a stick to about six feet deep. In this
however, as above, numbers of the most beautiful crys-
tals were formed, one of which particularly resembled a
table. Upon our egress from this amazing cavern, we
perceived a Greek inscription upon a rock at the mouth,
but so obliterated by time that we could not read it. It
seemed to import that one Antipater, in the time of Alex-
ander, had come thither ; but whether he had penetrated
into the depths of the cavern, he does not think fit to in-
form us.”

Such is the account of this beautiful scene, as commu-
nicated in a letter to Kircher. We have another, and a
more copious description of it, by Tournefort, which is in
every body’s hands ; hut I have given the above, both be-
cause it was communicated by the first discoverer, and
because it is a simple narrative of facts, without any rea-
soning upon them. According to Tournefort’s account,
indeed, we might conclude, from the rapid growth of the
spars in this grotto, that it must every year be growing
narrower, and that it must in time be choaked up with
them entirely; but no such thing has happened hitherto,
and the grotto at this day continues as spacious as we ever
knew it.

This is not a place for an inquiry into the seeming ve-
getation of those stoney substances, with which this and
almost every cavern are incrusted : it is enough to observe,
m general, that they are formed by an accumulation of
that little gritty matter which is carried thither by the waters,
and which in time acquires the hardness of marble. What
in this place more imports us to know is, how these amazing
hollows in the earth came to be formed. And I think,
in the three instances above mentioned, it is pretty evident,
that their excavation has been owing to water. These
finding subterraneous passages under the earth, and by

A HISTORY^ OF

48

long degrees hollowing the beds in which they flowed, the
ground above them has slipt down closer to their surface,
leaving the upper layers of the earth or stone still sus-
pended : the ground that sinks upon the face of the waters
forming the floor of the cavern ; the ground or rock, that
keeps suspended, forming the roof : and, indeed, there are
but few of these caverns found without water, either within
them, or near enough to point out their formation.

CHAP. VIII.

OF MINES, DAMPS, AND MINERAL VAPOURS.

The caverns, which we have been describing, generally
carry us but a very little way below the surface of the earth.
Two hundred feet, at the utmost, is as much as the lowest
of them is found to sink. The perpendicular fissures run
much deeper ; but few persons have been bold enough to
venture down to their deepest recesses ; and some few
who have tried, have been able to bring back no tidings of
the place, for unfortunately they left their lives below.
The excavations of art have conducted us much farther
into the bowels of the globe. Some mines in Hungary
are known to be a thousand yards perpendicular downwards ;
and I have been informed, by good authority, of a coal-
mine in the north of England, an hundred yards deeper
still.

It is beside our present purpose to inquire into the pe-
culiar contrivance and construction of these, which more
properly belongs to the history of fossils. It will be suf-
ficient to observe in this place, that as we descend into the
mines, the various layers of earth are seen as we have al-
ready described them ; and in some of these are always
found the metals or minerals for which the mine has
been dug. Thus frequently gold is found dispersed and
mixed with clay and gravel ;* sometimes it is mingled with
other metallic bodies, stones, or bitumens and sometimes
united with that most obstinate of all substances, platina,
from which scarce any art can separate it. Silver is

* Ulloa, vol. ii. p. 470.

t Ulloa, ibid.

THE EARTH.

49

sometimes found quite pure,* sometimes mixed with other
substances and minerals. Copper is found in beds mixed
with various substances, marbles, sulphurs, and pyrites.
Tin, the ore of which is heavier than that of any other metal,
is generally found mixed with every kind of matter lead is
also equally common ; and iron we well know can be ex-
tracted from all the substances upon earth.

The variety of substances which are thus found in the
bowels of the earth, in their native state, have a very different
appearance from what they are afterwards taught to assume
by human industry. The richest metals are very often
less glittering and splendid than the most useless marcasites ;
and the basest ores are generally the most beautiful to the
eye.

This variety of substances, which compose the internal
parts of our globe, is productive of equal varieties, both above
and below its surface. The combination of the different
minerals with each other, the heats which arise from their
mixture, the vapours they diffuse, the fires which they
generate, or the colds which they sometimes produce, are
all either noxious or salutary to man ; so that in this great
elaboratory of nature, a thousand benefits and calamities are
forging, of which we are wholly unconscious ; and it is happy
for us that we are so.

Upon our descent into mines of considerable depth, the
cold seems to increase from the mouth as we descend
but after passing very low down, we begin by degrees to
come into a warmer air, which sensibly grows hotter as we
go deeper, till, at last, the labourers can scarcely bear any
covering as they continue working.

This difference in the air was supposed by Boyle to pro-
ceed from magazines of fire that lay nearer the centre, and
that diffused their heat to the adjacent regions. But we
now know that it may be ascribed to more obvious causes.
In some mines, the composition of the earth all around is of
such a nature, that, upon the admission of water or air, it
requently becomes hot, and often bursts out into eruptions,
i esi es ^ lls> as the external air cannot readily reach the
o om, 01 be renewed there, an observable heat is perceived

Macquer’s Chymistry, vol. i. p. 316. f Hill’s Fossils, p. 623.

+ Boyle, vol. iii. p. 232.

G

VOL. I. 2.

A HISTORY OF

50

below, without the necessity of recurring to the central heat
for an explanation.

Hence, therefore, there are two principal causes of the
warmth at the bottom of mines : the heat of the sub-
stances of which the sides are composed ; and the want
of renovation in the air below. Any sulphureous sub-
stance, mixed with iron, produces a very great heat, by
the admission of water. If, for instance, a quantity of
sulphur be mixed with a proportionable share of iron fil-
ings, and both kneaded together into a soft paste, with
water, they will soon grow hot, and at last produce a
flame. This experiment, produced by art, is very com-
monly effected within the bowels of the earth by nature.
Sulphurs and irons are intimately blended together, and
want only the mixture of water or air to excite their heat ;
and this, when once raised, is communicated to all bodies
that lie within the sphere of their operation. Those beau-
tiful minerals called marcasites and pyrites , are often of
this composition ; and wherever they are found, either by
imbibing the moisture of the air, or having been bv any
means combined with water, they render the mine consi-
derably hot.*

The want of fresh air also, at these depths, is, as we
have said, another reason for their being found much hot-
ter. Indeed, without the assistance of art, the bottom of
most mines would, from this cause, be insupportable. To
remedy this ^inconvenience, the miners are often obliged to
sink, at some convenient distance from the mouth of the
pit where they are at work, another pit, which joins the
former below, and which, in Derbyshire, is called an air-
shaft. Through this the air circulates ; and thus the
workmen are enabled to breathe freely at the bottom of
the place ; which becomes, as Mr. Boyle affirms, very
commodious for respiration, and also very temperate as
to heat and cold.-f- Mr. Locke, however, who has left us
an account of the Mendip mines, seems to present a dif-
ferent picture. “ The descent into these is exceedingly
difficult and dangerous ; for they are not sunk like wells,
perpendicularly, but as the crannies of the rocks happen
to run. The constant method is to swing down by a rope

* Kircher Mund. Subt. vol. ii. p. 216.

f Boyle, vol. iii. p. 238.

THE EARTH.

51

placed under the arms, and clamber along by applying both
feet and bands to the sides of the narrow passage. The air
is conveyed into them through a little passage that runs
along the sides from the top, where they set up some turfs,
on the lee-side of the hole, to catch and force it down.
These turfs being removed to the windy side, or laid over
the mouth of the hole, the miners below presently want
breath, and faint ; and if sweet-smelling flowers chance to
be placed there, they immediately lose their fragrancy, and
stink like carrion.” An air so putrifying can never be very
commodious for respiration.

Indeed, if we examine the complexion of most miners,
we shall be very well able to form a judgment of the un-
wliolesomeness of the place where they are confined.
Their pale and sallow looks shew how much the air is
damaged by passing through those deep and winding-
ways, that are rendered humid by damps, or warmed with
noxious exhalations. But although every mine is unwhole-
some, all are not equally so. Coal-mines are generally less
noxious than those of tin ; tin than those of copper ; but
none are so dreadfully destructive as those of quicksilver.
At the mines near the village of Idra, nothing can ade-
quately describe the deplorable infirmities of such as fill
the hospital there ; emaciated and crippled, every limb
contracted or convulsed, and some in a manner transpiring
quicksilver at every pore. There was one man, says Dr.
Pope,* who was not in the mines above half a year, and
yet whose body was so impregnated with this mineral,
that putting a piece of brass money in his mouth, or
lubbing it between his fingers, it immediately became as
white as if it had been washed over with quicksilver. In
this manner all the workmen are killed sooner or later;
first becoming paralytic, and then dying consumptive :
and all this they sustain for the trifling reward of seven pence
a day.

But these metallic mines are not so noxious from their
own vapours, as from those of the substances with which
the ores are usually united, sucn as arsenic, cinnabar,
bitumen, or vitriol. From the fumes of these, variously
combined, and kept inclosed, are produced those various

* Phil. Trans, vol. ii. p. 573.

52

A HISTORY OF

damps, that put on so many dreadful forms, and are usu-
ally so fatal. Sometimes those noxious vapours are per-
ceived by the delightful fragrance of their smell,* some-
what resembling the pea-blossom in bloom, from whence
one kind of damp has its name. The miners are not de-
ceived, however, by its flattering appearances ; but as
they have thus timely notice of its coming, they avoid it
while it continues, which is generally during the whole
summer season. Another shews its approach by the
burning of the candles, which seem to collect their flame
into a globe of light, and thus gradually lessen, till they
are quite extinguished. From this, also, the miners fre-
quently escape ; however, such as have the misfortune to
be caught in it, either swoon away, and are suffocated, or
slowly recover in excessive agonies. Here also is a third,
called the fulminating damp, much more dangerous than
either of the former, as it strikes down all before it like a
flash of gunpowder, without giving any warning of its
approach. But there is another, more deadly than all the
rest, which is found in those places where the vapour has
been long confined, and has been, by some accident, set
free. The air rushing out from thence, always goes upon
deadly errands : and scarce any escape to describe the symp-
toms of its operations.

Some colliers in Scotland, working near an old mine
that had been long closed up, happened, inadvertently, to
open a hole into it, from the pit where they were then em-
ployed. By great good fortune, they at that time per-
ceived their error, and instantly fled for their lives. The
next day, however, they were resolved to renew their
work in the same pit, and eight of them ventured down,
without any great apprehensions ; but they had scarcely
got to the bottom of the stairs that led to the pit, but,
coming within the vapour, they all instantly dropped
down dead, as if they had been shot. Amongst these
unfortunate poor men, there was one whose wife was in-
formed he was stifled in the mine ; and, as he happened
to be next the entrance, she so far ventured down as to
see where he lay. As she approached the place, the
sight of her husband inspired her with a desire to rescue

*

* Phil. Trans, vol. ii. p. 375.

THE EARTH.

53

him, if possible, from that dreadful situation ; though a
little reflection might have shown her it was then too late.
But nothing could deter her ; she ventured forward, and
had scarce touched him with her hand, when the damp
prevailed, and the misguided, but faithful creature, fell dead
by his side.

Thus, the vapours found beneath the surface of the earth
are very various in their effects upon the constitution : and
they are not less in their appearances. There are many
kinds that seemingly are no way prejudicial to health, but
in which the workmen breathe freely ; and yet in these,
if a lighted candle be introduced, they immediately take
fire, and the whole cavern at once becomes one furnace
of flame. In mines, therefore, subject to damps of this
kind, they are obliged to have recourse to a very peculiar
contrivance to supply sufficient light for their operations.
This is by a great wheel ; the circumference of which is
beset with flints, which striking against steels placed for
that purpose at the extremity, a stream of fire is produced,
which affords light enough, and yet which does not set fire
to the mineral vapour.

Of this kind are the vapours of the mines about Bristol :
on the contrary, in other mines, a single spark struck out
from the collision of flint and steel, would set the whole
shaft in a flame. In such, therefore, every precaution is
used to avoid a collision ; the workmen making use only
of wooden instruments in digging ; and being cautious,
before they enter the mine, to take out even the nails from
their shoes. Whence this strange difference should arise,
that the vapours of some mines catch fire with a spark,
and others only with a flame, is a question that we must
be content to leave in obscurity, till we know more of the
nature both of mineral vapour and of fire. This only we
may observe, that gunpowder will readily fire with a spark,
but. not with the flame of a candle; on the other hand,
spirits of wine will flame with a candle, but not with a spark :

ut even here the cause of this difference as vet remains a
secret.

As from this account of mines, it appears that the in-
ternal parts of the globe are filled with vapours of various

111 ,s’ ^ *s 110t surprising that they should, at different times,
reac 1 the surface, and there put on various appearances.

A HISTORY OF

54

In fact, much of the salubrity, and much of the unwhole-
someness, of climates and soils, is to be ascribed to these
vapours, which make their way from the bowels of the earth
upwards, and refresh or taint the air with their exhalations.
Salt mines, being naturally cold,* send forth a degree of
coldness to the external air, to comfort and refresh it : on
the contrary, metallic mines are known, not only to warm
it with their exhalations, but often to destroy all kinds of
vegetation by their volatile corrosive fumes. In some mines,
dense vapours are plainly perceived issuing from their
mouths, and sensibly warm to the touch. In some places,
neither snow nor ice will continue on the ground that covers
a mine ; and over others the fields are found destitute of
verdure. -f- The inhabitants, also, are rendered dreadfully
sensible of these subterraneous 'exhalations, being affected
with such a variety of evils proceeding entirely from this
cause, that books have been professedly written upon this
class of disorders.

Nor are these vapours, which thus escape to the sur-
face of the earth, entirely unconfined ; for they are fre-
quently, in a manner, circumscribed to a spot. The grotto
Del Cane, near Naples, is an instance of this ; the noxious
effects of which have made that cavern so very famous.
This grotto, which has so much employed the attention of
travellers, lies within four miles of Naples, and is situated
near a large lake of clear wholesome water. ^ Nothing
can exceed the beauty of the landscape which this lake
affords ; being surrounded with hills covered with forests
of the most beautiful verdure, and the whole bearing
a kind of amphitheatrical appearance. However, this
region, beautiful as it appears, is almost entirely unin-
habited ; the few peasants that necessity compels to reside
there, looking quite consumptive and ghastly, from the
poisonous exhalations that rise from the earth. The
famous grotto lies on the side of a hill, near which place
a peasant ‘ resides, who keeps a number of dogs for the
purpose of shewing the experiment to the curious. These
poor animals always seem perfectly sensible of the ap-
proach of a stranger, and endeavour to get out of the
way. However, their attempts being perceived, they are

* Phil. Trans, vol. ii. p. 523 t Boyle, Vol. iii. p. 238

\ Kircher, Mund, Subt. vol. i. p. 101.

THE EARTH.

taken and brought to the grotto ; the noxious effects of which
they have so frequently experienced. Upon entering this
place, which is a little cave, or hole rather, dug into the
hill, about eight feet high, and twelve feet long, the ob-
server can see no visible mark of its pestilential vapour ;
only to about a foot from the bottom, the wall seems to be
tinged with a colour resembling that which is given by
stagnant waters. When the dog, this poor philosophical
martyr, as some have called him, is held above this mark,
he does not seem to feel the smallest inconvenience ; but
when his head is thrust down lower, he struggles to get
free for a little ; but in the space of four or five minutes he
seems to lose all sensation, and is taken out seemingly
without life. Being plunged in the neighbouring lake, he
quickly recovers, and is permitted to run home, seemingly
without the smallest injury.

This vapour, which thus for a time suffocates, is of the
humid kind, as it extinguishes a torch, and sullies a look-
ing-glass ; but there are other vapours perfectly inflam-
mable, and that only require the approach of a candle to
set them blazing. Of this kind was the burning well at
Brosely, which is now stopped up ; the vapour of which,
when a candle was brought within about a foot of the
surface of the water, caught flame like spirits of wine, and
continued blazing for several hours after. Of this kind,
also, are the perpetual fires in the kingdom of Persia.
In that province, where the worshippers of fire hold their
chief mysteries, the whole surface of the earth, for some
extent, seems impregnated with inflammable vapours. A
reed stuck into the ground continues to burn like a flambeau ;
a hole made beneath the surface of the earth, instantly
becomes a furnace, answered all the purposes of a culinary
fire. There they make lime by merely burying the stones in
the earth ; and watch with veneration the appearances of a
flame that has not been extinguished for times immemorial.
Plow different are men in various climates ! This deluded
people worship these vapours as a deity, which in other

parts of the world are considered as one of the greatest

evils. 6

56 A HISTORY OF

CHAP. IX,

OF VOLCANOES AND EARTHQUAKES.

Mines and caverns, as we have said, reach but a very
little way under the surface of the earth, and ue have hi-
therto had no opportunities of exploring further. With-
out all doubt, the wonders that are still unknown surpass
those that have been represented, as there are depths of
thousands of miles which are hidden from our inquiry.
The only tidings we have from those unfathomable regions
are by means of volcanoes, those burning mountains that
seem to discharge their materials from the lowest abysses
of the earth.* A volcano may be considered as a cannon
of immense size, the mouth of which is often near two
miles in circumference. From this dreadful aperture are
discharged torrents of flame and sulphur, and rivers of
melted metal. Whole clouds of smoke and ashes, with
rocks of enormous size, are discharged to many miles dis-
tance; so that the force of the most powerful artillery, is
but as a breeze agitating a feather in comparison. In the
deluge of fife and melted matter which runs down the sides
of the mountain, whole cities are sometimes swallowed up
and consumed. Those rivers of liquid fire are sometimes
two hundred feet deep ; and, when they harden, frequently
form considerable hills. Nor is the danger of these confined
to the eruption only: but the force of the internal fire
struggling for vent, frequently produces earthquakes through
the whole region where the volcano is situated. So dread-
ful have been these appearances, that men’s terrors have
added new horrors to the scene, and they have regarded as
prodigies, what we know to be the result of natural causes.
Some philosophers have considered them as vents com-
municating with the fires of the centre ; and the ignorant,
as the mouths of hell itself. Astonishment produces fear,
and fear superstition : the inhabitants of Iceland believe
the bellowings of Hecla are nothing else but the cries of the
damned, and that its eruptions are contrived to increase
their tortures.

* Buffon, vol. i. p. 291.

THE EARTH.

57

But if we regard this astonishing scene of terror with a
more tranquil and inquisitive eye, we shall find that these
conflagrations are produced by very obvious and natural
causes. We have already been apprised of the various
mineral substances in the bosom of the earth, and their
aptness to burst out into flames. Marcasites and pyrites,
in particular, by being humified with water or air, con-
tract this heat, and often endeavour to expand with irre-
sistible explosion. These, therefore, being lodged in the
depths of the earth, or in the bosom of mountains, and
being either washed by the accidental influx of waters
below, or fanned by air, insinuating itself through per-
pendicular fissures from above, take fire at first by only
heaving in earthquakes, but at length by bursting through
every obstacle, and making their dreadful discharge in a
volcano.

These volcanoes are found in all parts of the earth : In
Europe there are three that are very remarkable ; AEtna
in Sicily, Vesuvius in Italy, and Hecla in Iceland. iEtna
has been a volcano for ages immemorial. Its eruptions
are very violent, and its discharge has been known to cover,
for a certain space around, eighty-six feet deep. In the
year 1537, an eruption of this mountain produced an earth-
quake through the whole island for twelve days, overturned
many houses, and at last formed a new aperture, which
overwhelmed all within five leagues round. The cinders
thrown up were driven even into Italy, and its burnings
were seen at Malta, at the distance of sixty leagues.
“ There is nothing more awful,” says Kircher, “ than the
eruptions of this mountain, nor nothing more dangerous
than attempting to examine its appearances, even long
after the eruption has ceased. As we attempt to clamber
up its steepy sides, every step we take upwards, the feet
sink back half way. Upon arriving near the summit,
ashes and snow, with an ill-assorted conjunction, present
nothing but objects of desolation. Nor is this the worst,
for, as all places are covered over, many caverns are en-
tirely hidden from the sight, into which, if the inquirer
happens to fall, he sinks to the bottom, and meets inevita-
ble destruction. Upon coming to the edge of the great
crater, nothing can sufficiently represent the tremendous
magnificence of the scene. A gulph two miles over, and so
VOL. I.— 3. H

A HISTORY OF

58

deep that no bottom can be seen ; on the sides pyramidical
rocks starting out between apertures that emit smoke and
flame ; all this accompanied with a sound that never ceases,
louder than thunder, strikes the bold with horror, and the
religious with veneration for him that has power to control
its burnings.”

In the descriptions of Vesuvius or Hecla, we shall find
scarcely any thing but a repetition of the same terrible
objects, but rather lessened, as these mountains are not
so large as the former. The crater of Vesuvius is but a
mile across, according to the same author ; whereas that
of iEtna is two. On this particular, however, we must
place no dependence, as these caverns every day alter;
being lessened by the mountain’s sinking in at one erup-
tion, and enlarged by the fury of another. It is not one of
the least remarkable particulars respecting Vesuvius, that
Pliny the naturalist was suffocated in one of its eruptions ;
for his curiosity impelled him too near, he found himself
involved in smoke and cinders when it was too late to
retire; and his companions hardly escaped to give an ac-
count of the misfortune. It was in that dreadful eruption
that the city of Herculaneum was overwhelmed ; the ruins
of which have lately been discovered at sixty feet distance
below the surface, and, what is still more remarkable, forty
feet below the bed of the sea. One of the most remarkable
eruptions of this mountain was in the year 1707, which is
finely described by Valetta ; a part of whose description 1
shall beg leave to translate.

“ Towards the latter end of summer, in the year 1707,
the mount Vesuvius, that had for a long time been silent,
now began to give some signs of commotion. Little more
than internal murmurs at first were heard, that seemed to
contend within the lowest depths of the mountain ; no
flame, nor even any smoke, was as yet seen. Soon after
some smoke appeared by day, and a flame by night,
which seemed to brighten all the campania. At intervals,
also, it shot off substances with a sound very like that of
artillery, but which, even at so great a distance as we
were at, infinitely exceeded them in greatness. Soon after
- it began to throw up ashes, which becoming the sport of
the winds, fell at great distances, and some many miles.
To this succeeded showers of stones, which killed many

THE EARTH,

59

of tne inhabitants of the valley, but made a dreadful ravage
among the cattle. Soon after a torrent 'of burning matter
began to roll down the sides of the mountain, at first
with a slow and gentle motion, but soon with increased
celerity. The matter thus poured out, when cold, seemed
upon inspection to be of vitrified earth, the whole united
into a mass of more than stony hardness. But what was
particularly observable was, that upon the whole surface
of these melted materials, a light spongy stone seemed
to float, while the lower body was of the hardest substance
of which our roads are usually made. Hitherto there
were no appearances but what had been often remarked
before ; but on the third or fourth day, seeming flashes of
lightning were shot forth from the mouth of the mountain,
with a noise far exceeding the loudest thunder. These
flashes, in colour and brightness, resembled what we usually
see in tempests, but they assumed a more twisted and
serpentine form. After this followed such clouds of smoke
and ashes, that the whole city of Naples, in the midst of
the day, was involved in nocturna* darkness, and the
nearest friends were unable to distinguish each other in
this frightful gloom. If any person attempted to stir out
without torch-light, he was obliged to return, and every
part of the city was filled with supplications and terror.’
At length, after a continuance of some hours, about one
o’clock at midnight, the wind blowing from the north, the
stars began to be seen ; the heavens, though it was night,
began to grow brighter; and the eruptions, after a con-
tinuance of fifteen days, to lessen. The torrent of melted
matter was seen to extend from the mountain down to
the shore ; the people began to return to their former
dwellings, and the whole face of nature to resume its former
appearance.”

The famous Bishop Berkeley gives an account of one of
these eruptions in a manner something different from the
former.* “ In the year 1717, and the middle of April,
with much difficulty I reached the top of Mount Vesuvius,
in which I saw a vast aperture full of smoke, which hin-
dered me from seeing its depth and figure. I heard within
that horrid gulph certain extraordinary sounds, which

* Phil. Trans, vol. ii. p. 209.

60

A HISTORY OF

seemed to proceed from the bowels of the mountain, a
sort of murmuring, sighing, dashing sound ; and, between
whiles, a noise like that of thunder or cannon, with a
clattering like that of tiles falling from the tops of houses
into the streets. Sometimes, as the wind changed, the
smoke grew thinner, discovering a very ruddy flame, and
the circumference of the crater streaked with red and se-
veral shades of yellow. After an hour’s stay, the smoke,
being moved by the wind, gave us short and partial pros-
pects of the great hollow ; in the flat bottom of which I
could discern two furnaces almost contiguous ; that on the
left seeming about three yards over, glowing with ruddy
flame, and throwing up red-hot stones with a hideous noise,
which, as they fell back, caused the clattering already
taken notice of. — May 8, in the morning, I ascended
the top of Vesuvius a second time, and found a different
face of things. The smoke ascending upright, gave a full
prospect of the crater, which, as I could judge, was about
a mile in circumference, and a hundred yards deep. A
conical mount had been formed, since my last visit, in
the middle of the bottom, which I could see was made
by the stones, thrown up and fallen back again into the
crater. In this new hill remained the two furnaces already
mentioned. The one was seen to throw up every three
or four minutes, with a dreadful sound, a vast number of
red-hot stones, at least three hundred feet higher than my
head, as I stood upon the brink ; but as there was no
wind, they fell perpendicularly back from whence they
had been discharged. The other was filled with red-hot
liquid matter, like that in the furnace of a glass-house,
raging and working like the waves of the sea, with a short
abrupt noise. This matter would sometimes boil over,
and run down the side of the conical hill, appearing at
first red hot, but changing colour as it hardened and
cooled. Had the wind driven in our faces, we had been
in no small danger of stifling by the sulphureous smoke,
or being killed by the masses of melted minerals that were
shot from the bottom. But as the wind was favourable,
I had an opportunity of surveying this amazing scene for
above an hour and a half together. On the fifth of June,
after a horrid noise, the mountain was seen at Naples to
work over ; and, about three days after, its thunders were

THE EARTH.

61

renewed so, that not only the windows in the city, but all
the houses, shook. From that time it continued to over-
flow, and sometimes at night were seen columns of fire
shooting upward from its summit. On the tenth, when
all was thought to be over, the mountain again renewed
its terrors, roaring and raging most violently. One can-
not form a juster idea of the noise, in the most violent fits
of it, than by imagining a mixed sound made up of the
raging of a tempest, the murmur of a troubled sea,
and the roaring of thunder and artillery, confused all to-
gether. Though we heard this at a distance of twelve
miles, yet it was very terrible. I therefore resolved to
approach nearer to the mountain ; and, accordingly, three
or four of us got into a boat, and were set ashore at a
little town situated at the foot of the mountain. From
thence we rode about four or five miles, before we came
to the torrent of fire that was descending from the side of
the volcano ; and here the roaring grew exceedingly loud
and terrible as we approached. I observed a mixture of
colours in the cloud, above the crater, green, yellow, red,
and blue. There was likewise a ruddy dismal light in
the air, over that tract where the burning river flowed.
These circumstances, set off and augmented by the hor-
ror of the night, made a scene the most uncommon and
astonishing I ever saw; which still increased as we ap-
proached the burning river. Imagine a vast torrent of
liquid fire, rolling from the top down the side of the moun-
tain, and with irresistible fury bearing down and consum-
ing vines, olives, and houses ; and divided into different
channels, according to the inequalities of the mountain.
The largest stream seemed half a mile broad at least, and
five miles long. I walked so far before my companions
up the mountain, along the side of the river of fire, that
I was obliged to retire in great haste, the sulphureous
stream having surprised me, and almost taken away my
breath. During our return, which was about three o’clock
in the morning, the roaring of the mountain was heard all
the way, while we observed it throwing up huge spouts
of fire and burning stones, which, falling, resembled the
stars in a rocket. Sometimes I observed two or three
distinct columns of flame, and sometimes one only, that
was large enough to fill the whole crater. These burning

62

A HISTORY OF

columns, and fiery stones, seemed to be shot a thousand
feet perpendicular above the summit of the volcano ; and
in this manner the mountain continued raging for six or
eight days after. On the 18th of the same month, the
whole appearance ended, and the mountain remained per-
fectly quiet, without any visible smoke or flame.”

The matter which is found to roll down from the mouth
of all volcanoes in general, resembles the dross that is
thrown from a smith’s forge. But it is different, perhaps,
in various parts of the globe ; for, as we have already said,
there is not a quarter of the world that has not its volca-
noes. In Asia, particularly in the islands of the Indian
Ocean, there are many. One of the most famous is that
of Albouras, near Mount Taurus, the summit of which is
continually on fire, and covers the whole adjacent coun-
try with ashes. In the island of Ternate there is a vol-
cano, which, some travellers assert, burns most furiously
in the times of the equinoxes, because of the winds which
then contribute to increase the flames. In the Molucco
islands, there are many burning mountains ; they are also
seen in Japan, and the islands adjacent ; and in Java and
Sumatra, as well as in other of the Philippine Islands.
In Africa there is a cavern, near Fez, which continually
sends forth either smoke or flames. In the Cape de
Verde islands, one of them, called the Island del Fuego ,
continually burns ; and the Portuguese, who frequently
attempted a settlement there, have as often been obliged
to desist. The Peak of Teneriffe is, as every body knows,
a volcano, that seldom desists from eruptions. But of all
parts of the earth, America is the place where those dread-
ful irregularities of nature are the most conspicuous. Ve-
suvius, and iEtna itself, are but mere fire-works in eofn-
parison to the burning mountains of the Andes ; which,
as they are the highest mountains of the world, so also
are they the most formidable for their eruptions. The
mountain of Arequipa in Peru, is one of the most cele-
brated ; Carassa, and Malahallo, are very considerable ;
but that of Cotopaxi, in the province of Quito, exceeds
any thing we have hitherto read or heard of. The moun-
tain of Cotopaxi, as described by Ulloa,* is more than
three miles perpendicular from the sea ; and it became a

* Ulloa, vol. i. p. 442,

THE EARTH.

(33

volcano at the time of the Spaniards’ first arrival in that
country. A new eruption of it happened in the year
1743, having been some days preceded by a continual
roaring in its bowels. The sound of one of these moun-
tains is not, like that of the volcanoes in Europe, confined
to a province, but is heard at a hundred and fifty miles
distance.* “ An aperture was made in the summit of
this immense mountain ; and three more about equal
heights near the middle of its declivity, which was at that
time buried under prodigious masses of snow. The ignited
substances ejected on that occasion, mixed with a prodigious
quantity of ice and snow, melting amidst the flames, were
carried down with such astonishing rapidity, that in an
instant the valley from Callo to Latucunga was overflowed ;
and besides its ravages in bearing down the houses of the
Indians, and other poor inhabitants, great numbers of
people lost their lives. The river of Latucunga was the
channel of this terrible flood ; till being too small for re-
ceiving such a prodigious current, it overflowed the adjacent
country, like a vast lake, near the town, and carried away
all the buildings within its reach. The inhabitants retired
into a spot of higher ground behind the town, of which
those parts which stood within the limits of the current were
totally destroyed. The dread of still greater devastations
did not subside for three days ; during which the volcano
ejected cinders, while torrents of melted ice and snow poured
down its sides. The eruption lasted several days, and was
accompanied with terrible roarings of the wind, rushing
through the volcano, still louder than the former rumblings
in its bowels. At last all was quiet, neither fire nor smoke
to be seen, nor noise to be heard ; till, in the ensuing year,
the flames again appeared with recruited violence, forcing
their passage through several other parts of the mountain,
so that in clear nights the flames being reflected by the
transparent ice, formed an awfully magnificent illumi-
nation.”

Such is the appearance and the effect of those fires
which proceed from the more inward recesses of the earth :
for that they generally come from deeper regions than
man has hitherto explored, I cannot avoid thinking, con-
trary to the opinion of Mr. Buffon, who supposes them

* Ulloa, vol. i. p. 442.

64 A HISTORY OF

.v.4pP®. s\

rooted but a very little way below the bed of the moun-
tain. “ We can never suppose,” says this great naturalist,
“ that these substances are ejected from any great dis-
tance below, if we only consider the great force already
required to fling them up to such vast heights above the
mouth of the mountain ; if we consider the substances
thrown up, which we shall find upon inspection to be the
same with those of the mountain below ; if we take into
our consideration, that air is always necessary to keep up
the flame ; but, most of all, if we attend to one circum-
stance, which is, that if these substances were exploded
from a vast depth below, the same force required to shoot
them up so high, would act against the sides of the vol-
cano, and tear the whole mountain in pieces.” To all
this specious reasoning, particular answers might be easily
given ; as, that the length of the funnel increases the force
of the explosion ; that the sides of the funnel are actually
often burst with the great violence of the flame ; that air
may be supposed at depths at least as far as the perpen-
dicular fissures descend. But the best answer is a well-
known fact ; nainely, that the quantity of matter discharged
from iEtna alone, is supposed, upon a moderate compu-
tation, to exceed twenty times the original bulk of the
mountain.* The greatest part of Sicily seems covered with
its eruptions. The inhabitants of Catanea have found, at
the distance of several miles, streets and houses sixty feet
deep, overwhelmed by the lava or matter it has discharged.
But what is still more remarkable, the walls of these very
houses have been built of materials evidently thrown up
by the mountain. The inference from all this is very
obvious ; that the matter thus exploded cannot belong to
the mountain itself, otherwise it would have been quickly
consumed ; it cannot be derived from moderate depths,
since its amazing quantity evinces, that all the places near
the bottom must have long since been exhausted ; nor can
it have an extensive, and, if I may so call it, a superficial
spread, for then the country round would be quickly under-
mined ; it must, therefore, be supplied from the deeper
regions of the earth ; those undiscovered tracts where the
' Deity performs his wonders in solitude, satisfied with self-
approbation !

* Kircher, Mund. Subt. vol. i. p. 202.

THE EARTH

\

65

CHAP. X.

OF EARTH&UAKES.

Having given the theory of volcanoes, we have in some
measure given also that of earthquakes. They both seem to
proceed from the same cause, only with this difference, that
the fury of the volcano is spent in the eruption ; that of an
earthquake spreads wider, and acts more fatally by being
confined. The volcano only affrights a province; earth-
quakes have laid whole kingdoms in ruin.

Philosophers* have taken some pains to distinguish be-
tween the various kinds of earthquakes, such as the tremu-
lous, the pulsative, the perpendicular, and the inclined;
but these are rather the distinctions of art than of nature,
mere accidental differences arising from the situation of
the country or of the cause. If, for instance, the confined
fire* acts directly under a province or a town, it will heave
the earth perpendicularly upward, and produce a perpen-
dicular earthquake. If it acts at a distance, it will raise
that tract obliquely, and thus the inhabitants will perceive
an inclined one.

Nor does it seem to me that there is much greater reason
for Mr. Buffon’s distinction of earthquakes ; one kind of
which he supposes^ to be produced by fire in the manner
of volcanoes, and confined but to a very narrow circum-
ference. The other kind he ascribes to the struggles of
confined air, expanded by heat in the bowels of the earth,
and endeavouring to get free. For how do these two causes
differ ? Fire is an agent of no power whatsoever without
air. It is the air, which being at first compressed, and then
dilated in a cannon, that drives the ball with such' force.
It is the air struggling for vent in a volcano, that throws up
its contents to such vast heights. In short, it is the air
confined in the bowels of the earth, and acquiring elasticity
v heat, that produces all those appearances which are
generally ascribed to the operation of fire. When, there-
°re, we are told that there are two causes of earthquakes,
"e only learn that a greater or smaller quantity of heat
produces those terrible effects ; for air is the only active
operator in either.

Aristotle, Agricola, Buffon. + Buffon, vol. ii. p. 328.

voi.r.— 3. I F

A . HISTORY OF

m

Some philosophers, however, have been willing to give the
air as great a share in producing these terrible efforts as they
could ; and, magnifying its powers, have called in but a very
moderate degree of heat to put it in action. Although ex-
perience tell us that the earth is full of inflammable mate-
rials, and that fires are produced wherever we descend ;
although it tells us that those countries where there are
volcanoes, are most subject to earthquakes ; yet they step
out of their way, and so find a new solution. These only
allow but just heat enough to produce the most dreadful
phenomena, and, backing their assertions with long cal-
culations, give theory an air of demonstration. Mr. Amon-
tons* has been particularly sparing of the internal heat in
this respect; and has shown, perhaps accurately enough,
that a very moderate degree of heat may suffice to give the
air amazing powers of expansion.

It is amazing enough, however, to trace the progress of
a philosophical fancy let loose in imaginary speculations.
They run thus : “A very moderate degree of heat may
bring the air into a condition capable of producing earth-
quakes ; for the air, at the depth of forty-three thousand
five hundred and twenty-eight fathom below the surface
of the earth, becomes almost as heavy as quicksilver.
This, however, is but a very slight depth in comparison
of the distance to the centre, and is scarcely a seventieth
part of the way. The air, therefore, at the centre, must
be infinitely heavier than mercury, or any body that we
know of. This granted, we shall take something more,
and say, that it is very probable there is nothing but air
at the centre. Now let us suppose this air heated, by some
means, even to the degree of boiling water, as we have
proved that the density of the air is here very great, its
elasticity must be in proportion ; a heat, therefore, which
at the surface of the earth would have produced but a
slight expansive force, must, at the centre, produce one
very extraordinary, and, in short, be perfectly irresistible.
Hence, this force may, with great ease, produce earth-
quakes ; and, if increased, it may convulse the globe ; it
may (by only adding figures enough to the calculation)
destroy the solar system, and even the fixed stars them-
selves.” These reveries generally produce nothing; for,
* Memoires de l’Academie de Sciences, An. 1703.

THE EARTH.

67

as I have ever observed, increased calculations, while they
seem to tire the memoiy, give the reasoning faculty perfect
repose.

However, as earthquakes are the most formidable minis-
ters of nature, it is not to be wondered that a multitude of
writers have been curiously employed in their consideration.
Woodward has ascribed the cause to a stoppage of the
waters below the earth’s surface by some accident. These
being thus accumulated, and yet acted upon by fires, which
he supposes still deeper, both contribute to heave up the
earth upon their bosom. This, he thinks, accounts for the
lakes of water produced in an earthquake, as well as for
the fires that sometimes burst from the earth’s surface upon
those dreadful occasions. There are others who have
supposed that the earth may be itself the cause of its own
convulsions. “ When,” say they, “ the root or basis of
some large tract is worn away by a fluid underneath, the
earth sinking therein, its weight occasions a tremor of the
adjacent parts, sometimes producing a noise, and sometimes
an inundation of water.” Not to tire the reader with a
history of opinions instead of facts, some have ascribed
them to electricity, and some to the same causes that pro-
duce thunder.

It would be tedious, therefore, to give all the various
opinions that have employed the speculative on this sub-
ject. The activity of the internal heat seems alone suffi-
cient to account for every appearance that attends these
tremendous irregularities of nature. To conceive this
distinctly, let us suppose, at some vast distance under
the earth, large quantities of inflammable matter, pyrites,
bitumens, and marcasites, disposed, and only waiting for
the aspersion of water, or the humidity of the air, to put
their fires in motion : at last, this dreadful mixture arrives ;
waters find their way into those depths, through the
perpendicular fissures ; or air insinuates itself through
the same minute apertures : instantly new appearances
ensue ; those substances, which for ages before lay dor-
mant, now conceive new apparent qualities ; they grow
hot, produce new air, and only want room for expansion.
However, the narrow apertures by which the air or water
had at first admission, are now closed up ; yet as new air
18 continually generated, and as the heat every moment

A HISTORY OF

68

gives this air new elasticity, it at length bursts, and dilates
all round ; and, in its struggles to get free, throws all above
it into similar convulsions. Thus an earthquake is pro-
duced, more or less extensive, according to the depth or
the greatness of the cause.

But before we proceed with the causes, let us take a
short view of the appearances which have attended the
most remarkable earthquakes. By these we shall see how
far the theorist corresponds with the historian. The
greatest we find in antiquity is that mentioned by Pliny,*
in which twelve cities in Asia Minor were swallowed up
in one night: he tells us also of another, near the lake
Thrasymene, which was not perceived by the armies of
the Carthaginians and Romans, that were then engaged
near that lake, although it shook the greatest part of Italy.
In another place'f- he gives the following account of an
earthquake of an extraordinary kind. “ When Lucius
Marcus and Sextus Julius were consuls, there appeared a
very strange prodigy of the earth, (as I have read in the
books of ^Etruscan discipline,) which happened in the
province of Mutina. Two mountains shocked against each
other, approaching and retiring with the most dreadful
noise. They, at the same time, and in the midst of the
day, appeared to cast forth fire and smoke, while a vast
number of Roman knights and travellers from the iEmilian
Way, stood and continued amazed spectators. Several
towns were destroyed by this shock ; and all the animals
that were near them were killed.” In the times of Trajan,
the city of Antioch, and a great part of the adjacent
country, was buried by an earthquake. About three
hundred years after, in the times of Justinian, it was
once more destroyed, together with forty thousand inha-
bitants ; and, after an interval of sixty years, the same
ill-fated city was a third time overturned, with the loss of
not less than sixty thousand souls. In the year 1182,
most of the cities of Syria, and the kingdom of Jerusalem,
were destroyed by the same accident. In the year 1594,
the Italian historians describe an earthquake at Puteoli,
which caused the sea to retire two hundred yards from its
former bed.

But one of those most particularly described in history,
* Pirn. lib. ii. cap. 80. f Ibid- lib. iii. cap. 85.

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69

is that of the year 1 693 ; the damages of which were chieflv
felt in Sicily, but its motion perceived in Germany, France,
and England. It extended to a circumference of two thou-
sand six hundred leagues ; chiefly affecting the sea-coast
and great rivers ; more perceivable also upon the moun-
tains than in the vallies. Its motions were so rapid, that
those who lay at their length were tossed from side to side,
as upon a rolling billow.* The walls were dashed from
their foundations ; and no less than fifty-four cities, with
an incredible number of villages, were either destroyed or
greatly damaged. The city of Catanea, in particular, was
utterly overthrown. A traveller, who was on his way
thither, at the distance of some miles, perceived a black
cloud, like night, hanging over the place. The sea, all of
a sudden, began to roar ; Mount iEtna to send forth great
spires of flame ; and soon after a shock ensued, with a
noise as if all the artillery in the world had been at once
discharged. Our traveller, being obliged to alight, instantly
felt himself raised a foot from the ground ; and turning
his eyes to the city, he, with amazement, saw nothing
but a thick cloud of dust in the air. The birds flew about
astonished ; the sun was darkened ; the beasts ran howling
from the hills ; and although the shock did not continue
above three minutes, yet near nineteen thousand of the
inhabitants of Sicily perished in the ruins. — Catanea,
to which city the describer was travelling, seemed the
principal scene of ruin ; its place only was to be found ;
and not a footstep of its former magnificence was to be seen
remaining.

The earthquake which happened in Jamaica, in 1692,
was very terrible, and its description sufficiently minute.
“ In two minutes’ time it destroyed the town of Port
Royal, and sunk the houses in a gulph forty fathoms deep.
It was attended with a hollow rumbling noise, like that
of thunder ; and, in less than a minute, three parts of the
houses, and their inhabitants, were all sunk quite under
water. While they were thus swallowed up on one side
of the street, on the other the, houses were thrown into
heaps ; the sand of the streets rising like the waves of the
sea, lifting up those that stood upon it, and immediately

* Phil. Trans.

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70

overwhelming them in pits. All the wells discharged their
waters with the most vehement agitation. The sea felt
an equal share of turbulence, and, bursting over its mounds,
deluged all that came in its way. The fissures of the earth
were, in some places, so great, that one of the streets
appeared twice as broad as formerly. In many places,
however, it opened and closed again, and continued this
agitation for some time. Of these openings, two or three
hundred might be seen at a time; in some whereof the
people were swallowed up ; in others, the earth closing,
caught them by the middle, and thus crushed them instantly
to death. Other openings, still more dreadful than the rest,
swallowed up whole streets ; and others, more formidable,
spouted up whole cataracts of water, drowning such as the
earthquake had spared. The whole was attended with the
most noisome stench ; while the thundering of the distant
falling mountains, the whole sky overcast with a dusky
gloom, and the crash of falling habitations, gave unspeak-
able horror to the scene. After this dreadful calamity was
over, the whole island seemed converted into a scene of
desolation ; scarcely a planter’s house was left standing ;
almost all were swallowed up ; houses, people, trees, shared
one universal ruin ; and in their places appeared great
pools of water, which when dried up by the sun, left
only a plain of barren sand, without any vestige of former
inhabitants. Most of the rivers, during the earthquake,
were stopt up by the falling in of the mountains ; and it
was not till after some time that they made themselves
new channels. The mountains seemed particularly at-
tacked by the force of the shock ; and it was supposed
that the principal seat of the concussion was among them.
Those who were saved got on board ships in the harbour,
where many remained above two months ; the shocks con-
tinuing, during that interval, with more or less violence
every day.”

As this description seems to exhibit all the appearances
that usually make up the catalogue of terrors belonging to
an earthquake, I will suppress the detail of that which
happened at Lisbon in our own times, and which is too
recent to require a description. In fact there are few par-
ticulars in the accounts of those who were present at that
scene of desolation, that we have not more minutely and

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accurately transmitted to us by former writers, wnose nar-
ratives I have for that reason preferred. I will therefore close
this description of human calamities with the account of
the dreadful earthquake at Calabria, in 1638. It is related
by the celebrated Father Kircher, as it happened while he
was on his journey to visit Mount iEtna, and the rest of the
wonders that lie towards the south of Italy. I need scarcely
inform the reader, that Kircher is considered, by scholars, as
one of the greatest prodigies of learning.

“ Having hired a boat, in company with four more, two
friars of the order of St. Francis, and two seculars, we
launched, on the twenty-fourth of March, from the har-
bour of Messina, in Sicily, and arrived the same day at
the promontory of Pelorus. Our destination was for the
city of Euphsemia, in Calabria, where we had some busi-
ness to transact, and where we designed to tarry for
some time. However, Providence seemed willing to cross
our design ; for we were obliged to continue for three days
at Pelorus, upon account of the weather ; and though -we
often put out to sea, yet we were as often driven back.
At length, however, wearied with the delay, we resolved
to prosecute our voyage ; and, although the sea seemed
more than usually agitated, yet we ventured forward.
The gulph of Charybdis, which we approached, seemed
whirled round in such a manner, as to form a vast hol-
low, verging to a point in the centre. Proceeding on-
ward, and turning my eyes to iEtna, I saw it cast forth
large volumes of smoke, of mountainous sizes, which
entirely covered the whole island, and blotted out the
very shores from my view. This, together with the
dreadful noise, and the sulphureous stench, which was
strongly perceived, filled me with apprehensions that
some more dreadful calamity was impending. The sea
itself seemed to wear a very unusual appearance ; those
who have seen a lake in a violent shower of rain covered
all over with bubbles, will conceive some idea of its agi-
tations. My surprise was still increased by the calmness
and serenity of the weather ; not a breeze, not a cloud,
which might be supposed to put all nature thus into
motion. I therefore warned my companions that an earth-
quake was approaching ; and, after some time, making
for the shore with all possible diligence, we landed at

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72

Tropae, happy and thankful for having escaped the threaten-
ing dangers of the sea.

“ But our triumphs at land were of short duration ; for
we had scarcely arrived at the Jesuits’ College in that city,
when our ears were stunned with a horrid sound, resem-
bling that of an infinite number of chariots driven fiercely
forward, the wheels rattling, and the thongs cracking.
Soon after this, a most dreadful earthquake ensued, so
that the whole tract upon which we stood, seemed to vi-
brate, as if we were in the scale of a balance that conti-
nued wavering. This motion, however, soon grew more
violent ; and being no longer able to keep my legs, I was
thrown prostrate upon the ground. In the mean time, the
universal ruin round me redoubled my amazement. The
crash of falling houses, the tottering of towers, and the
groans of the dying, all contributed to raise my terror and
despair. On every side of me I saw nothing but a scene
of ruin, and danger threatening wherever I should fly. I
commended myself to God, as my last great refuge. At
that hour, O how vain was every sublunary happiness !
wealth, honour, empire, wisdom, all mere useless sounds,
and as empty as the bubbles in the deep. Just standing on
the threshold of eternity, nothing but God was my pleasure ;
and the nearer I approached, I only loved him the more. —
After some time, however, finding that I remained unhurt
amidst the general concussion, I resolved to venture for
safety, and running as fast as I could, reached the shore, but
almost terrified out of my reason. I did not search long
here till I found the boat in which I had landed, and my
companions also, whose terrors were even greater than mine.
Our meeting was not of that kind where every one is desir-
ous of telling his owp happy escape ; it was all silence, and
a gloomy dread of impending terrors.

“ Leaving this seat of desolation, we prosecuted our voyage
along the coast, and the next day came to Rochetta, where
we landed, although the earth still continued in violent
agitations. But we were scarcely arrived at our inn, when
we were once more obliged to return to the boat, and in
about half an hour we saw the greatest part of the town, and
the inn at which we had set up, dashed to the ground, and
burying all its inhabitants beneath its ruins.

“ In this mapner, proceeding onward in our little ves-

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73

sel, finding no safety at land, and yet, from the smallness of
our boat, having but a very dangerous continuance at sea,
we at length landed at Lopizium, a castle midway between
Tropse and Eupheemia, the city to which, as I said before,
we were bound. Here, wherever I turned my eyes, nothing
but scenes of ruin and horror appeared ; towns and castles
levelled to the ground; Strombolo, though at sixty miles
distance, belching forth flames in an unusual manner, and
with a noise which I could distinctly hear. But my attention
was quickly turned from more remote to contiguous danger.
The rumbling sound of an approaching earthquake, which
we by this time were grown acquainted with, alarmed us
for the consequences ; it every moment seemed to grow
louder, and to approach more near. The place on which
we stood now began to shake most dreadfully, so that being
unable to stand, my companions and I caught hold of what-
ever shrub grew next us, and supported ourselves in that
manner.

“ After some time, this violent paroxysm ceasing, we
again stood up, in order to prosecute our voyage to Eu-
phsemia, that lay within sight. In the mean time, while
we were preparing for this purpose, I turned my eyes to-
wards the city, but could see only a frightful dark cloud
that seemed to rest upon the place. This the more sur-
prised us, as the weather was so very serene. We waited,
therefore, till the cloud was passed away ; then turning to
look for the city, it was totally sunk. Wonderful to tell !
nothing but a dismal and putrid lake was to be seen where
it stood. We looked about to find some one that could tell
us of its sad catastrophe, but could see none ! All was be-
come a melancholy solitude ! a scene of hideous desola-
tion ! Thus proceeding pensively along, in quest of some
human being that could give us some little information,
we at length saw a boy sitting by the shore, and appear-
ing stupified with terror. Of him, therefore, we inquired
concerning the fate of the city, but he could not be in-
duced to give us an answer. We intreated him with
every expression of tenderness and pity to tell us : but his
senses were quite wrapt up in the contemplation of the
danger he had escaped. We offered him some victuals,
but he seemed to loathe the sight. We still persisted in
°ur offices of kindness ; but he only pointed to the place
vol. i.— 3. K

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74

of the city, like one out of his senses ; and then running
up into the woods, was never heard of after. Such was
the fate of the city of Euphaemia ! and as we continued our
melancholy course along the shore, the whole coast, for
the space of two hundred miles, presented nothing but
the remains of cities, and men scattered, without an ha-
bitation, over the fields. Proceeding thus along, we at
length ended our distressful voyage by arriving at Naples,
after having escaped a thousand dangers both at sea and
land.”

The reader, I hope, will excuse me for this long trans-
lation from a favourite writer, and that the sooner, as it
contains some particulars relative to earthquakes not to
be found elsewhere. From the whole of these accounts
we may gather, that the most concomitant circumstances
are these :

A rumbling sound before the earthquake. This proceeds
from the air or fire, or both, forcing their way through the
chasms of the earth, and endeavouring to get free ; which is
also heard in volcanoes.

A violent agitation or heaving of the sea, sometimes before
and sometimes after that at land. This agitation is only a
similar effect produced on the waters with that at land, and
may be called, for the sake of perspicuity, a seaquake ; and
this also is produced by volcanoes.

A spouting up of waters to great heights. It is not easy
to describe the manner in which this is performed : but
volcanoes also perform the same ; Vesuvius being known
frequently to eject a vast body of water.

A rocking of the earth to and fro, and sometimes a per-
pendicular bouncing, if it may be so called, of the same.
This difference chiefly arises from the situation of the place
with respect to the subterranean fire. Directly under, it
lifts ; at a farther distance, it rocks.

Some earthquakes seem to travel onward, and are felt
in different countries at different hours the same day.
This arises from the great shock being given to the earth
at one place, and that being communicated onward by an
undulatory motion, successively affects different regions in
its progress ; as the blow given by a stone falling in a lake,
is not perceived at the chores till some time after the first
concussion,

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75

'ilie shock is sometimes instantaneous, like the explosion
of gunpowder ; and sometimes tremulous, and continuing
for several minutes. The nearer the place where the shock
is first given, the more instantaneous and simple it appears.
At a greater distance, the earth redoubles the first blow with
a sort of vibratory continuation.

As waters have generally so great a share in producing
earthquakes, it is not to be wondered that they should
generally follow those breaches made by the force of fire,
and appear in the great chasms which the earthquake has
opened.

These are some of the most remarkable phenomena of
earthquakes, presenting a frightful assemblage of the most
terrible effects of air, earth, fire, and water.

The valley of Solfatara, near Naples, seems to exhibit,
in a minuter degree, whatever is seen of this horrible kind
on the great theatre of nature. This plain, which is about
twelve hundred feet long, and a thousand broad, is embo-
somed in mountains, and has in the middle of it a lake of
noisome blackish water, covered with a bitumen, that floats
upon its surface. In every part of this plain, caverns ap-
pear smoking with sulphur, and often emitting flames.
The earth, wherever we walk over it, trembles beneath the
feet. Noises of flames, and the hissing of waters, are heard
at the bottom. The water sometimes spouts up eight or
ten feet high. The most noisome fumes, foetid water, and
sulphureous vapours, offend the smell. A stone thrown
into any of the caverns, is ejected again with considerable
violence. These appearances generally prevail when the sea
is any way disturbed ; and the whole seems to exhibit the
appearance of an earthquake in miniature. However, in
this smaller scene of wonders, as well as in the greater, there
are many appearances for which, perhaps, we shall never
account ; and many questions may be asked, which no
conjectures can thoroughly resolve. It was the fault of the
philosophers of the last age, to be more inquisitive after
the causes of things than after the things themselves.
They seemed to think that a confession of ignorance can-
celled their claims to wisdom ; they, therefore, had a solution
for every demand. But the present age has grown, if not
more inquisitive, at least more modest ; and none are now
ashamed of that ignorance, which labour can neither remedy
nor remove.

76

A HISTORY OF

CHAP. XI.

OF THE APPEARANCE OF NEW ISLANDS AND TRACTS ; AND
OF THE DISAPPEARING OF OTHERS.

Hitherto we have taken a survey only of the evils which
are produced by subterranean fires, but we have mentioned
nothing of the benefits they may possibly produce. They
may be of use in warming and cherishing the ground, in
promoting vegetation, and giving a more exquisite flavour
to the productions of the earth. The imagination of a
person who has never been out of our own mild region, can
scarcely reach to that luxuriant beauty with which all nature
appears clothed in those very countries that we have but
just now described as desolated by earthquakes, and under-
mined by subterranean fires. It must be granted, therefore,
that though in those regions they have a greater share in the
dangers, they have also a larger proportion in the benefits
of nature.

But there is another advantage arising from subterranean
fires, which, though hitherto disregarded by man, yet may
one day become serviceable to him ; I mean, that while they
are found to swallow up cities and plains in one place, they
are also known to produce promontories and islands in
another. We have many instances of islands being thus
formed in the midst of the sea, which though for a long
time barren, have afterwards become fruitful seats of hap-
piness and industry.

New islands are formed in two ways ; either suddenly,
by the action of subterraneous fires ; or more slowly, by
the deposition of mud, carried down by rivers, and stop-
ped by some accident.* With respect particularly to the
first, ancient historians, and modern travellers, give us
such accounts as we can have no room to doubt of. Se-
neca assures us, that in his time the island of Therasia
appeared unexpectedly to some mariners, as they were
employed in another pursuit. Pliny assures us, that thir-
teen islands in the Mediterranean appeared at once
emerging from the water ; the cause of which he ascribes
rather to the retiring of the sea in those parts, than to any
subterraneous elevation. However, he mentions the island

* Buffon, vol. ii. p. 343.

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77

of Hiera, near that of Therasia, as formed by subterraneous
explosions ; and adds to his list several others formed in the
same manner. In one of which he relates that fish in great
abundance were found, and that all those who ate of them
died shortly after.

“ On the twenty-fourth of May,* in the year 1707, a
slight earthquake was perceived at Santorin ; and the day
following, at sun-rising, an object was seen by the inhabi-
tants of that island, at two or three miles distance at sea,
which appeared like a floating rock. Some persons, desirous
either of gain, or incited by curiosity, went there, and found,
even while they stood upon this rock, that it seemed to
rise beneath their feet. They perceived also, that its sur-
face was covered with pumice-stones and oysters, which
it had raised from the bottom. Every day after, until the
fourteenth of June, this rock seemed considerably to in-
crease ; and then was found to be half a mile round,
and about thirty feet above the sea. The earth of which
it was composed seemed whitish, with a small proportion
of clay. Soon after this the sea again appeared troubled,
and steams arose which were very offensive to the inha-
bitants of Santorin. But on the sixteenth of the succeeding
month, seventeen or eighteen rocks more were seen
to rise out of the sea, and at length to join together.
All this was accompanied with the most terrible noise,
and fires which proceeded from the island that was newly
formed. The whole mass, however, of all this new-
formed earth, uniting, increased every day, both in height
and breadth, and, by the force of its explosions, cast forth
rocks to seven miles distance. This continued to bear
the same dreadful appearances till the month of November
in the same year; and it is at present a volcano, which
sometimes renews its explosions. It is about three miles
in circumference ; and more than from thirty-five to forty
feet high.”

It seems extraordinary, that, about this place in parti-
cular, islands have appeared at different times, particularly
that of Hiera, mentioned above, which has received con-
siderable additions in succeeding ages. Justin tells us,-}-
that at the time the Macedonians were at war with the
Homans, a new island appeared between those of Thera-
* Hist, de l’Acad. an. 1708. p. 23. f Justin, lib. xxx. cap. 4.

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78

menes and Therasia, by means of an earthquake. We are
told that this became half as large again about a thousand
years after, another island rising up by its side, and joining
to it, so as scarcely at present to be distinguished from the
former.

A new island was formed, in the year 1/20, near that of
Tercera, near the continent of Africa, by the same causes.
In the beginning of December, at night, there was a terrible
earthquake at that place, and the top of a new island ap-
peared, which cast forth smoke in vast quantities. rIhe
pilot of a ship, who approached it, sounded on one side of
this island, and could not find ground at sixty fathom : at
the other side the sea was totally tinged of a different colour,
exhibiting a mixture of white, blue, and green ; and was
very shallow. This island, on its first appearance, was
larger than it is at present ; for it has since that time sunk
in such a manner, as to be scarcely above water.*

A traveller, whom these appearances could not avoid
affecting, speaks of them in this manner:^ “What can
be more surprising than to see fire not only break out of
the bowels of the earth, but also to make itself a passage
through the waters of the sea ! What can be more extra-
ordinary, or foreign to our common notions of things,
than to see the bottom of the sea rise up into a mountain
above the water, and become so firm an island as to be
able to resist the violence of the greatest storms ! I know
that subterraneous fires, when pent in a narrow passage,
are able to raise up a mass of earth as large as an island :
but that this should be done in so regular and exact a
manner that the water of the sea should not be able to

* In the spring of 1783, a volcanic island was formed about 30 miles
from the south-west point of Iceland. The discoverer. Captain Von
Lowenhorn, in the Danish service, who arrived just at the time of the
first eruption, when smoke and flames ascended out of the sea, relates
that no island or any land could be seen, from which these flames could
originate. No wonder, then, that he fell into the greatest consternation,
when, as he expresses himself, he saw the waves on fire. The following
year, the Danish government directed, that all ships bound to Iceland
should examine the new- formed island ; but so entirely had it vanished’,
that none of them either saw or could discover the smallest trace ot it.
However, towards the end of the next year, a Danish ship of war, of 64
guns, was wrecked on this rock 5 which is now no longer visible, but re-
mains a most dangerous rock, nearly level with the surface of the water.

f Phil. Trans, vol. v. p. 1 97.

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79

penetrate and extinguish those fires ; that after having
made so many passages, they should retain force enough
to raise the earth ; and, in fine, after having been ex-
tinguished, that the mass of earth should not fall down,
or sink again with its own weight, but still remain in a
manner suspended over the great arch below ! This is
what to me seems more surprising than any thing that
has been related of Mount AEtna, Vesuvius, or any other
volcano.”

Such are his sentiments : however, there are few of these
appearances any way more extraordinary than those at-
tending volcanoes and earthquakes in general. We are
not more to be surprised that inflammable substances
should be found beneath the bottom of the sea, than at
similar depths at land. These have all the force of fire
giving expansion to air, and tending to raise the earth at
the bottom of the sea, till it at length heaves above water.
These marine volcanoes are not so frequent ; for, if we
may judge of the usual procedure of nature, it must very
often happen, that before the bottom of the sea is elevated
above the surface, a chasm is opened in it, and then the
water pressing in, extinguishes the volcano before it has
time to produce its effects. This extinction, however, is
not effected without very great resistance from the fire
beneath. The water, upon dashing into the cavern, is very
probably at first ejected back with great violence ; and thus
some of those amazing water-spouts are seen, which have so
often astonished the mariner, and excited curiosity. But of
these in their place.

Besides the production of those islands by the action
of fire, there are others, as was said, produced by rivers
or seas carrying mud, earth, and such like substances,
along with their currents ; and at last depositing them in
some particular place. At the mouths of most great rivers,
there are to be seen banks, thus formed by the sand
and mud carried down with the stream, which have rested
at that place, where the force of the current is diminished
by its junction with the sea. These banks, by slow de-
giees, increase at the bottom of the deep : the water in
those places, is at first found by mariners to grow more
shallow ; the bank stfon heaves up above the surface ; it
18 considered, for a while, as a tract of useless and barren

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80

sand ; but the seeds of some of the more hardy vegetables
are driven thither by the wind, take root, and thus bind-
ing the sandy surface, the whole spot is clothed in time
with a beautiful verdure. In this manner there are de-
lightful and inhabited islands at the mouths of many rivers,
particularly the Nile, the Po, the Mississippi, the Ganges,
and the Senegal. There has been, in the memory of man,
a beautiful and large island formed in this manner at the
mouth of the river Nanquin, in China, made from depo-
sitions of mud at its opening; it is not less than sixty
miles long, and about twenty broad. La Loubere informs
us,* in his voyage to Siam, that these sand-banks increase
every day, at the mouths of all the great rivers in Asia :
and hence, he asserts, that the navigation up these rivers
becomes every day more difficult, and will, at one time or
other, be totally obstructed. The same may be remarked
with regard to the Wolga, which has at present seventy
openings into the Caspian sea ; and of the Danube, which
has seven into the Buxine. We have had an instance of
the formation of a new island not very long since at the
mouth of the Humber, in England. “ It is yet within
the memory of man,” says the relator, 'f' “ since it began
to raise its head above the ocean. It began its appear-
ance at low water, for the space of a few hours, and was
buried again till the next tide’s retreat. Thus succes- *
sively it lived and died, until the year 1666, when it began
to maintain its ground against the insult of the waves,
and then first invited the aid of human industry. A bank
was thrown about its rising grounds, and being thus de-
fended from the incursions of the sea, it became firm and
solid, and, in a short time, afforded good pasturage for
cattle. It is about nine miles in circumference, and is
worth to the proprietor about eight hundred pounds a
year.” It would be endless to mention all the islands
that have been thus formed, and the advantages that have
been derived from them. However, it is frequently found,
that new islands may often be considered as only turning
the rivers from their former beds ; so that in proportion
as land is gained at one part, it is lost by the overflowing
of some other.

* Lettres Curieuses et Edifiantes, sec. xi. p. 234

f Phil. Trans, vol. iv. p. 251,

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81

Little, therefore, is gained by such accession ; nor is
there much more by the new islands which are sometimes
formed from the spoils of the continent. Mariners assure
us, that there are sometimes whole plains unrooted from
the main lands, by floods and tempests. These being
carried out to sea, with all their trees and animals upon
them, are frequently seen floating in the ocean, and exhi-
biting a surprising appearance of rural tranquillity in the
midst of danger. The greatest part, however, having the
earth at their roots at length washed away, are dispersed,
and their animals drowned ; but now and then some are
found to brave the fury of the ocean, till being stuck either
among rocks or sands, they again take firm footing, and
become permanent islands.

As different causes have thus concurred to produce new
islands, so we have accounts of others, that the same causes
have contributed to destroy. We have already seen the
power of earthquakes exerted in sinking whole cities, and
leaving lakes in their room. There have been islands,
and regions also, that have shared the same fate ; and have
sunk with their inhabitants never more to be heard of.
Thus Fausanias* tells us of an island called Chryses, that
was sunk near Lemnos. Pliny mentions several ; among
others, the island of Cea, for thirty miles, having been
washed, away, with several thousands of its inhabitants.
But of all the noted devastations of this kind, the total
submersion of the island of Atalantis, as mentioned by
Plato, has been most the subject of speculation. Mankind,
in general, now consider the whole of his description as an
ingenious fable ; but when fables are grown famous by time
and authority, they become an agreeable, if not a necessary,
part of literary information.

“ About nine thousand years are passed,” says Plato, ■'f*
“ since the island of Atalantis was in being. The priests
of Egypt were well acquainted with it ; and the first heroes
of Athens gained much glory in their wars with the
inhabitants. This island was as large as Asia Minor and
kyria united; and was situated beyond the Pillars of Her-
cules, in the Atlantic ocean. The beauty of the buildings,
and the fertility of the soil, were far beyond any thing a!

* Pausanias, L 8. in Arcad. p. 509. f Plato in Critia.

VOL. I. 4. L

32

A HISTORY OF

•

modern imagination can conceive: gold and ivory were
every where common ; and the fruits of the earth offered
themselves without cultivation. The arts and the cou-
rage of the inhabitants, were not inferior to the happiness
of their situation ; and they were frequently known to
make conquests, and overrun the continents of Europe
and Asia.” The imagination of the poetical philosopher
riots in the description of the natural and acquired ad-
vantages, which they long enjoyed in this charming re-
gion. “ If,” says he, “ we compare that country to our
own, ours will appear a mere wasted skeleton, when op-
posed to it. Their mountains, to the very tops, were clothed
with fertility, and poured down rivers to enrich the plains
below.”

However, all these beauties and benefits were destroyed
in one day by an earthquake sinking the earth, and the sea
overwhelming it. At present not the smallest vestiges of
such an island are to be found ; Plato remains as the only
authority for its existence ; and philosophers dispute about
its situation. It is not for me to enter into the controversy,
when there appears but little probability to support the fact ;
and, indeed, it would be useless to run back nine thousand
years in search of difficulties, as we are surrounded with
objects that more closely affect us, and that demand admi-
ration at our very doors. When I consider, as Lactantius
suggests, the various vicissitudes of nature ; lands swallowed
by yawning earthquakes, or overwhelmed in the deep ;
rivers and lakes disappearing, or dried away ; mountains
levelled into plains ; and plains swelling up into mountains ;
I cannot help regarding this earth as a place of very little
stability ; as a transient abode of still more transitory
beings.

CHAP. XII.

OF MOUNTAINS.

Having at last, in some measure, emerged from the
deeps of the earth, we come to a scene of greater splen-
dour; the contemplation of its external appearance. In
this survey, its mountains are the first objects that strike
the imagination, and excite our curiosity. There is not>
perhaps, any thing in all nature that impresses an imac-

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83

customed spectator with such ideas of awful solemnity, as
these immense piles of Nature’s erecting, that seem to mock
the minuteness of human magnificence.

In countries where there are nothing but plains, the
smallest elevations are apt to excite wonder. In Holland,
which is all a flat, they shew a little ridge of hills, near the
sea-side, which Boerhaave generally marked out to his
pupils, as being mountains of no small consideration.
What would be the sensations of such an auditory, could
they at once be presented with a view of the heights and
precipices of the Alps or the Andes ! Even among us in
England, we have no adequate ideas of a mountain-pros-
pect ; our hills are generally sloping from the plain, and
clothed to the very top with verdure : we can scarcely,
therefore, lift our Imaginations to those immense piles, whose
tops peep up behind intervening clouds, sharp and precipi-
tate, and reach to heights that human avarice or curiosity
have never been able to ascend.

We, in this part of the world, are not, for that reason,
so immediately interested in the question which has so long
been agitated among philosophers, concerning what gave
rise to these inequalities on the surface of the globe. In
our own happy region, we generally see no inequalities but
such as contribute to use and beauty; and we therefore
are aipazed at a question, inquiring how such necessary
inequalities came to be formed, and seeming to express a
wonder how the globe comes to be so beautiful as we find
it. But though with us there may be no great cause for
such a demand, yet in those places where mountains deform
the face of nature, where they pour down cataracts, or
give fury to tempests, there seems to be good reason for
inquiry either into their causes or their uses. It has
been, therefore, asked by many, in what manner moun-
tains have come to be formed ; or for what uses they are
designed ?

To satisfy curiosity in these respects, much reasoning
has been employed, and very little knowledge propagated.
With regard to the first part of the demand, the manner
ln which mountains were formed, we have already seen
the conjectures of different philosophers on that head.
One supposing that they were formed from the earth’s
broken shell at the time of the deluge ; another, that they

84

A HISTORY OF

existed from the creation, and only acquired their defor-
mities in process of time ; a third, that they owed their
original to earthquakes ; and still a fourth, with much
more plausibility than the rest, ascribing them entirely to
the fluctuations of the deep, which he supposes in the be-
ginning to have covered the whole earth. Such as are
pleased with disquisitions of this kind, may consult Bur-
net, Whiston, Woodward, or Buffon. Nor would I be
thought to decry any mental amusements, that at worst
keep us innocently employed ; but, for my own part, I
cannot help wondering how the opposite demand has never
come to be made ; and why philosophers have never asked
how we come to have plains ? Plains are sometimes more
prejudicial to man than mountains. Upon plains, an
inundation has greater power ; the beams of the sun are
often collected there with suffocating fierceness ; they are
sometimes found desert for several hundred miles together,
as in the country east of the Caspian sea, although otherwise
fruitful, merely because there are no risings or depressions'
to form reservoirs, or collect the smallest rivulet of wrater.
The most rational answer, therefore, why either moun-
tains or plains were formed, seems to be that they were thus
fashioned by the hand of Wisdom, in order that pain and
pleasure should be so contiguous, as that morality might
be exercised either in bearing the one, or communicating
the other.

Indeed, the more I consider this dispute respecting the
formation of mountains, the more I am struck with the
futility of the question. There is neither a straight line,
nor an exact superficies, in all nature. If we consider a
circle, even with mathematical precision, we shall find it
formed of a number of small right lines, joining at angles
together. These angles, therefore, may be considered in
a circle as mountains are upon our globe ; and to demand
the reason for the one being mountainous, or the othei
angular, is only to ask, why a circle is a circle, or a globe is
a globe. In short, if there be no surface without inequality
in nature, why should we be surprised that the earth has
such ? It has often been said, that the inequalities of its
surface are scarce distinguishable, if compared to its mag-
nitude ; and I think we have every reason to be content with
the answer.

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85

Some, however, have avoided the difficulty by urging
the final cause. They allege, that mountains have been
formed merely because they are useful to man. This
carries the inquirer but a part of the way ; for no one can
affirm, that in all places they are useful. The contrary is
known, by horrid experience, in those vallies that are sub-
ject to their influence. However, as the utility of any part
of our earthly habitation is a very pleasing and flattering
speculation to every philosopher, it is not to be wondered
that much has been said to prove the usefulness of these.
For this purpose many conjectures have been made, that
have received a degree of assent even beyond their evi-
dence ; for men were unwilling to become more miserably
wise.

It has been alleged, as one principal advantage that we
derive from them, that they serve, like hoops or ribs, to
strengthen our earth, and to bind it together. In con-
sequence of this theory, Kircher has given us a map of the
earth, in this manner hooped with its mountains ; which
might have a much more solid foundation, did it entirely
correspond with truth.

Others have found a different use for them, especially
when they run surrounding our globe ; which is, that they
stop the vapours which are continually travelling from the
equator to the poles ; for these being urged by the heat of
the sun, from the warm regions of the line, must all be
accumulated at the poles, if they were not stopped in their
way by those high ridges of mountains which cross their
direction. But an answer to this may be, that all the great
mountains in America lie lengthwise, and therefore do not
cross their direction.

But to leave these remote advantages, others assert,
that not only the animal but vegetable part of the crea-
tion would perish for want of convenient humidity, were
it not for their friendly assistance. Their summits are,
by these, supposed to arrest, as it were, the vapours which
float in the regions of the air. Their large inflections and
channels are considered as so many basons prepared for
the reception of those thick vapours, and impetuous
rains, which descend into them. The huge caverns be-
neath are so many magazines or conservatories of water
for the peculiar service of man ; and those orifices by

A HISTORY OF

86

which the water is discharged upon the plain, are so situated
as to enrich and render them fruitful, instead of returning
through subterraneous channels to the sea, after the per-
formance of a tedious and fruitless circulation.*

However this be, certain it is, that almost all our great
rivers find their source among mountains ; and, in general,
the more extensive the mountain, the greater the river :
thus the river Amazon, the greatest in the world, has its
source among the Andes, which are the highest mountains
on the globe ; the river Niger travels a long course of several
hundred miles from the Mountains of the Moon, the highest
in all Africa ; and the Danube and the Rhine proceed from
the Alps, which are probably the highest mountains of
Europe.

It needs scarcely be said, that, with respect to height,
there are many sizes of mountains, from the gently rising
upland, to the tall craggy precipice. The appearance is
in general different in those of different magnitudes. The
first are clothed with verdure to the very tops, and only
seem to ascend to improve our prospects, or supply us with
a purer air : but the lofty mountains of the other class have
a very different aspect. At a distance their tops are seen,
in wavy ridges, of the very colour of the clouds, and only
to be distinguished from them by their figure ; which, as
I have said, resembles the billows of the sea.'f-' As we
approach, the mountain assumes a deeper colour ; it
gathers upon the sky, and seems to hide half the horizon
behind it. Its summits also are become more distinct,
and appear with a broken and perpendicular line. What
at first seemed a single hill, is now found to be a chain
of continued mountains, whose tops running along in
ridges, are embosomed in each other ; so that the curva-
tures of one are fitted to the prominences of the opposite
side, and form a winding valley between, often of several
miles in extent ; and all the way continuing nearly of the
same breadth.

Nothing can be finer, or more exact, than Mr. Pope’s
description of a traveller straining up the Alps. Every
mountain he comes to he thinks will be the last ; he finds,
however, an unexpected hill rise before him ; and that

* Nature Displayed, vol. iii. p. 88.
t Lettres Philosophiques sur la Formation, &c. p. 106.

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87

being scaled, he finds the highest summit almost at as
great a distance as before. Upon quitting the plain, he
might have left a green and fertile soil, and a climate
warm and pleasing. As he ascends, the ground assumes
a more russet colour ; the grass becomes more mossy,
and the weather more moderate. Still as he ascends, the
weather becomes more cold, and the earth more barren.
In this dreary passage he is often entertained with a little
valley of surprising verdure, caused by the reflected heat
of the sun collected into a narrow spot on the surrounding,
heights. But it much more frequently happens that he
sees only frightful precipices beneath, and lakes of amaz-
ing depths ; from whence rivers are formed, and fountain
derive their original. On those places next the highest
summits, vegetation is scarcely carried on ; here and there a
few plants of the most hardy kind appear. The air is in-
tolerably cold ; either continually refrigerated with frosts,
or disturbed with tempests. All the ground here wears;
an eternal covering of ice, and snows that seem constantly
accumulating. Upon emerging from this war of the ele-
ments, he ascends into a purer and a serener region, where
vegetation is entirely ceased ; where the precipices, com-
posed entirely of rocks, rise perpendicularly above him
while he views beneath him all the combat of the ele-
ments ; clouds at his feet, and thunders darting upwards;
from their bosoms below.* A thousand meteors, which
are never seen on the plain, present themselves. Circular
rainbows ^ mock suns the shadow of the mountain pro-
jected upon the body of the air and the traveller’s own
image, reflected as in a looking-glass, upon the opposite
cloud. §

Such are, in general, the wonders that present them-
selves to a traveller in his journey either over the Alps or
the Andes. But we must not suppose that this picture
exhibits either a constant or an invariable likeness of those
stupendous heights. Indeed, nothing can be more capri-
cious or irregular than the forms of many of them. The
tops of some run in ridges for a considerable length, with-
out interruption ; in others, the line stems indented by
great vallies to an amazing depth. Sometimes a solitary

* fJlloa, vol. i | Phil. Trans, vol. v. p. 152.

t Ibid, § Ulloa, vol. i.

A HISTORY OF

88

and a single mountain rises from the bosom of the plain ;
and sometimes extensive plains, and even provinces, as
those of Savoy and Quito, are found embosomed near the
tops of mountains. In general, however, those countries
that are most mountainous, are the most barren and un-
inhabitable.

If we compare the heights of mountains with each other,
we shall find that the greatest and highest are found under
the line.* It is thought by some, that the rapidity of
the earth’s motion in these parts, together with The great-
ness of the tides there, may have thrown up those stupend-
ous masses of earth. But, be the cause as it may, it is a
remarkable fact, that the inequalities of the earth’s surface
are greatest there. Near the poles, the earth, indeed,
is craggy and uneven enough ; but the heights of the
mountains there are very inconsiderable. On the contrary,
at the equator, where nature seems to sport in the amazing
size of all her productions, the plains are extensive, and
the mountains remarkably lofty. Some of them are
known to rise three miles perpendicular above the bed of
the ocean.

To enumerate the most remarkable of these, according to
their size, we shall begin with the Andes, of which we have
an excellent description by Ulloa, who went thither by com-
mand of the king of Spain, in company with the French
Academicians, to measure a degree of the meridian. His
journey up these mountains is too curious not to give an
extract from it.

After many incommodious days sailing up the river
Guayaquil, he arrived at Caracol, a town situated at the
foot of the Andes. Nothing could exceed the inconveni-
ences which he experienced in this voyage, from the flies
and moschetoes, (an animal resembling our gnat.) “ We
were the whole day,” says he, “ in continual motion to
keep
Our
our

sufficient defence for the rest of our bodies ; for their stings
penetrating through the cloth, caused a very painful and
fiery itching. One night, in coming to an anchor near a
large and handsome house that was uninhabited, we had no

* Buffon, passim.

them off ; but at night our torments were excessive,
gloves, indeed, were some defence to our hands ; but
faces were entirely exposed ; nor were our clothes a

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89

sooner seated ourselves in it, than we were attacked on all
sides by swarms of moschetoes, so that it was impossible
to have one moment’s quiet. Those who had covered
themselves with clothes made for this purpose, found not
the smallest defence ; wherefore, hoping to find some relief
in the open fields, we ventured out, though in danger of
suffering in a more terrible manner from the serpents. But
both places were equally obnoxious. On quitting this in-
hospitable retreat, we the next night took up our quarters
in a house that was inhabited ; the host of which being
informed of the terrible manner we had past the night be-
fore, gravely told us, that the house we so greatly com-
plained of, had been forsaken on account of its being the
purgatory of a soul. But we had more reason to believe
that it was quitted on account of its being the purgatory
of the body. After having journeyed for upwards of three
days, through boggy roads, in which the mules at every
step sunk up to their bellies, we began at length to per-
ceive an alteration in the climate ; and having been long
accustomed to heat, we now began to feel it grow sensibly
colder.

“It is remarkable, that at Tariguagua we often see in-
stances of the effects of two opposite temperatures, in two
persons happening to meet ; one of them leaving the plains
below, and the other descending from the mountain. The
former thinks the cold so severe, that he wraps himself up
in all the garments he can procure ; while the latter finds
the heat so great, that he is scarce able to bear any clothes
whatsoever. The one thinks the water so cold, that he
avoids being sprinkled by it ; the other is so delighted with
its warmth, that he uses it as a bath. Nor is the case
very different in the same person, who experiences the
same diversity of sensation upon his journey up, and upon
his return. This difference only proceeds from the change
naturally felt at leaving a climate to which one has been
accustomed, and coming into another of an opposite tem-
perature.

“ The ruggedness of the road from Tariguagua, leading
UP the mountain, is not easily described, In some parts,
tfte. declivity is so great, that the mules can scarcely keep
their footing ; and in others, the acclivity is equally diffi-
cult. The trouble of having people going before to mend

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the road, the pains arising from the many falls and bruises,
and the being constantly wet to the skin, might be sup-
ported, were not these inconveniences augmented by the
sight of such frightful precipices, and deep abysses, as
must fill the mind with ceaseless terror. There are some
places where the road is so steep, and yet so narrow, that
the mules are obliged to slide down, without making any
use of their feet whatsoever. On one side of the rider, in
this situation, rises an eminence of several hundred yards ;
and on the other, an abyss of equal depth ; so that if he in
the least checks his mule, so as to destroy the equilibrium,
they both must unavoidably perish.

“ After having travelled about nine days in this manner,
slowly winding along the side of the mountain, we began
to find the whole country covered with an hoar frost ;
and an hut, in which we lay, had ice on it. Having escaped
many perils, we at length, after a journey of fifteen
days, arrived upon the plain, on the extremity of which
stands the city of Quito, the capital of one of the most
charming regions upon earth. Here, in the centre of the
torrid zone, the heat is not only very tolerable, but in
some places the cold also is painful. Here they enjoy
all the temperature and advantages of perpetual spring ;
their fields being always covered with verdure, and en-
amelled with flowers of the most lively colours. How-
ever, although this beautiful region be higher than any
other country in the world, and although it took up so
many days of painful journey in the ascent, it is still over-
looked by tremendous mountains ; their sides covered
with snow, and yet flaming with volcanoes at the top.
These seemed piled one upon the other, and rise to a most
astonishing height, with great coldness. However, at a
determined point above the surface of the sea, the conge-
lation is found at the same height in all the mountains.
Those parts which are not subject to a continual frost,
have here and there growing upon them a rush, resem-
bling the genista, but much more soft and flexible. To-
wards the extremity of the part where the rush grows,
and the cold begins to increase, is found a vegetable, with
a round bulbous head, which, when dried, becomes of
amazing elasticity. Higher up, the earth is entirely bare
of vegetation, and seems covered with eternal snow. The

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91

most remarkable mountains are, that of Cotopaxi (already
described as a volcano,) Chimborazo, and Pichincha.
Cotopaxi is more than three geographical miles above
the surface of the sea : the rest are not much inferior. On
the top of the latter was my station for measuring a de-
gree of the meridian ; where I suffered particular hard-
ships, from the intenseness of the cold, and the violence
of the storms. The sky round was, in general, involved
in thick fogs, which, when they cleared away, and the
clouds, by their gravity, moved nearer to the surface of
the earth, they appeared surrounding the foot of the moun-
tain, at a vast distance below, like a sea, encompassing an
island in the midst of it. When this happened, the horrid
noises of tempests were heard from beneath, then discharg-
ing themselves on Quito, and the neighbouring country.
I saw the lightnings issue from the clouds, and heard
the thunders roll far beneath me. All this time, while
the tempest was raging below, the mountain top, where
I was placed, enjoyed a delightful serenity ; the wind
was abated; the sky clear; and the enlivening rays of
the sun moderated the severity of the cold. However,
this was of no very long duration, for the wind returned
with all its violence, and with such velocity as to dazzle
the sight; whilst my fears were increased by the dread-
ful concussions of the precipice, and the fall of enormous
rocks ; the only sounds that were heard in this frightful
situation.”

Such is the animated picture of these mountains, as
given us by this ingenious Spaniard : and I believe the
reader will wish that I had made the quotation still longer.
A passage over the Alps, or a journey across the Pyre-
nees, appear petty trips or excursions in the comparison ;
and yet these are the most lofty mountains we know of in
Europe.

If we compare the Alps with the mountains already
described, we shall find them but little more than one
half of the height of the former. The Andes, upon being
measured by the barometer, are found above three thou-
sand one hundred and thirty-six toises or fathoms above
the surface of the sea.* Whereas the highest point of the
Alps is not above sixteen hundred. The one, in other

* Ulloa, vol, i. p. 442.

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92

words, is above three miles high ; the other about a mile
and a half. The highest mountains in Asia are Mount
Taurus, Mount Immaus, Mount Caucasus, and the moun-
tains of Japan. Of these, none equals the Andes in height;
although Mount Caucasus, which is the highest of them,
makes very near approaches. Father Verbiest tells of a
mountain in China, which he measured, and found a mile
and a half high.* In Africa, the mountains of the Moon,
famous for giving source to the Niger and the Nile, are
rather more noted than known. Of the Peak of Teneriffe,
one of the Canary Islands that lie off this coast, we have
more certain information. In the year 1727, it was visited
by a company of English merchants, who travelled, up to the
top, where they observed its height, and the volcano on its
very summit.-^ They found it a heap of mountains, the
highest of which rises over the rest like a sugar-loaf, and
gives a name to the whole mass. It is computed to be a
mile and a half perpendicular from the surface of the sea.
Kircher gives us an estimate of the heights of most of the
other great mountains in the world ; but as he has taken
his calculations in general from the ancients, or from
modern travellers, who had not the art of measuring
them, they are quite incredible. The art of taking the
heights of places by the barometer, is a new and an
ingenious invention. As the air grows lighter as we ascend,
the fluid in the tube rises in due proportion : thus the
instrument being properly marked, gives the height with a
tolerable degree of exactness ; at least enough to satisfy
curiosity.

Few of our great mountains have been estimated in this
manner ; travellers having, perhaps, been deterred, by a
supposed impossibility of breathing at the top. However,
it has been invariably found, that the air in the highest that
our modern travellers have ascended, is not at all too fine
for respiration. At the top of the Peak of Teneriffe, there
was found no other inconvenience from the air, except
its coldness ; at the top of the Andes, there was no diffi-
culty of breathing perceived. The accounts, therefore, of
those who have asserted that they were unable to breathe,
although at much less heights, are greatly to be suspected.
In fact, it is very natural for mankind to paint those
* Verbiest, a la Chine. f Phil. Trans, vol. v.

THE EARTH. 93

obstacles as insurmountable, which they themselves have not
had the fortitude or perseverance to surmount.

The difficulty and danger of ascending to the tops of
mountains, proceeds from other causes, not the thinness of
the air. For instance, some of the summits of the Alps
have never yet been visited by man. But the reason is,
that they rise with such a rugged and precipitate ascent, that
they are utterly inaccessible. In some places they appear
like a great wall of six or seven hundred feet high ; in
others, there stick out enormous rocks, that hang upon the
brow of the steep, and every moment threaten destruction to
the traveller below.

In this manner almost all the tops of the highest moun-
tains are bare and pointed. And this naturally proceeds
from their being so continually assaulted by thunders and
tempests. All the earthy substances with which they
might have been once covered, have for ages been washed
away from their summits ; and nothing is left remaining
but immense rocks, which no tempest has hitherto been
able to destroy.

Nevertheless, time is every day, and every hour, making
depredations ; and huge fragments are seen tumbling down
the precipice, either loosened from the summit by frost or
rains, or struck down by lightning. Nothing can exhibit a
more terrible picture than one of these enormous rocks,
commonly larger than a house, falling from its height, with
a noise louder than thunder, and rolling down the side of
the mountain. Doctor Plot tells us of one in particular,
which being loosened from its bed, tumbled down the
precipice, and was partly shattered into a thousand pieces.
Notwithstanding, one of the largest fragments of the same,
still preserving its motion, travelled over the plain below,
crossed a rivulet in the midst, and at last stopped on the
other side of the bank ! These fragments, as was said,
are often struck off by lightning, and sometimes undermined
by rains ; but the most usual manner in which they are
disunited from the mountain, is by frost : the rains in-
sinuating between the interstices of the mountain, continue
there until there comes a frost, and then, when converted
into ice, the water swells with an irresistible force, and
produces the same effect as gunpowder, splitting the most
solid rocks, and thus shattering the summits of the
mountain.

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94

But not rocks alone, but whole mountains are, by various
causes, disunited from each other. We see in many parts
of the Alps, amazing clefts, the sides of which so exactly
correspond with the opposite, that no doubt can be made
of their having been once joined together. At Cajeta,*
in Italy, a mountain was split in this manner by an earth-
quake ; and there is a passage opened through it, that
appears as if elaborately done by the industry of man. In
the Andes these breaches are frequently seen. That at
Thermopyle, in Greece, has been long famous. The moun-
tain of the Troglodytes, in Arabia, has thus a passage
through it : and that in Savoy, which nature began, and
which Victor Amadeus completed, is an instance of the
same kind.

We have accounts of some of these disruptions, imme-
diately after their happening. “ In the month of June,^
in the year 1714, a part of the mountain of Diableret, in
the district of Valais, in France, suddenly fell down be-
tween two and three o’clock in the afternoon, the weather
being very calm and serene. It was of a conical figure,
and destroyed fifty-five cottages in the fall. Fifteen per-
sons, together with about a hundred beasts, were also crushed
beneath its ruins, which covered an extent of a good league
square. The dust it occasioned instantly covered all the
neighbourhood in darkness. The heaps of rubbish were
more than three hundred feet high. They stopped the
current of a river that ran along the plain, which is now
formed into several new and deep lakes. There appeared,
through the whole of this rubbish, none of those substances
that seemed to indicate that this disruption had been by
means of subterraneous fires. Most probably, the base of
this rocky mountain was rotted and decayed ; and thus fell,
without any extraneous violence.” In the same manner,
in the year 1618, the town of Pleurs, in France, was buried
beneath a rocky mountain, at the foot of which it was
situated.

These accidents, and many more that might be enume-
rated of the same kind, have been produced by various
causes : by earthquakes, as in the mountain at Cajeta ; or
by being decayed at the bottom, as at Diableret. But
the most general way is, by the foundation of one part
* Buffon, vol. ii. p. 364. f Hist, de l’Acad6mie des Sciences, p. 4. an, 1715

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of the mountain being hollowed by waters, and thus wanting
a support, breaking from the other. Thus it generally has
been found in the great chasms in the Alps ; and thus it
almost always is known in those disruptions of hills, which
are known by the name of land-slips. These are nothing
more than the slidings down of a higher piece of ground,
disrooted from its situation by subterraneous inundations,
and settling itself upon the plain below.

There is not an appearance in all nature that so much
astonished our ancestors, as these land-slips. In fact, to
behold a large upland, with its houses, its corn, and cattle,
at once loosened from its place, and floating, as it were,
upon the subjacent water ; to behold it quitting its ancient
situation, and travelling forward like a ship in quest of new
adventures ; this is certainly one of the most extraordinary
appearances that can be imagined ; and to a people, ignorant
of the powers of nature, might well be considered as a
prodigy. Accordingly, we find all our old historians
mentioning it as an omen of approaching calamities. In
this more enlightened age, however, its cause is very well
known ; and, instead of exciting ominous apprehensions
in the populace, it only gives rise to some very ridiculous
law-suits among them, about whose the property shall be ;
whether the land which has thus slipt shall belong to the
original possessor, or to him upon whose grounds it has
encroached and settled. What has been the determination
of the judges, is not so well known, but the circum-
stances of the slips have been minutely and exactly
described.

In the lands of Slatberg,* in the kingdom of Iceland,
there stood a declivity, gradually ascending for near half
a mile. In the year 1713, and on the 10th of March, the
inhabitants perceived a crack on its side, somewhat like
a furrow made with a plough, which they imputed to the
effects of lightning, as there had been thunder the night
before. However, on the evening of the same day, they
were surprised to hear an hideous confused noise issuing
&11 round from the side of the hill ; and their curiosity
being raised, they resorted to the place. There, to their
amazement, they found the earth, for near five acres, all
ln gentle motion, and sliding down the hill upon the

* Phil. Trans, vol. iv. p. 250.

96

A HISTORY OF

subjacent plain. This motion continued the remaining part
of the day, and the whole night ; nor did the noise cease
during the whole time ; proceeding, probably, from the
attrition of the ground beneath. The day following, how-
ever, this strange journey down the hill ceased entirely ; and
above an acre of the meadow below xvas found covered with
what before composed a part of the declivity.

However, these slips, when a whole mountain’s side seems
to descend, happen but very rarely. There are some of
another kind, however, much more common ; and, as they
are always sudden, much more dangerous. These are snow-
slips, well known, and greatly dreaded by travellers. It often
happens, that when snow has long been accumulated on the
tops and on the sides of mountains, it is borne down the
precipice, either by means of tempests, or its own melting.
At first, when loosened, the volume in motion is but small ;
but gathers as it continues to roll ; and, by the time it has
reached the habitable parts of the mountain, is generally
grown of enormous bulk. Wherever it rolls, it levels all
things in its way ; or buries them in unavoidable de-
struction. Instead of rolling, it sometimes is found to
slide along from the top ; yet even thus it is generally as
fatal as before. Nevertheless, we have had an instance, a
few years ago, of a small family in Germany, that lived for
above a fortnight beneath one of these snow-slips. Al-
though they were buried, during that whole time, in utter
darkness, and under a bed of some hundred feet deep,
yet they were luckily taken out alive ; the weight of the
snow being supported by a beam that kept up the roof ;
and nourishment being supplied them by the milk of an
ass, if I remember right, that was buried under the same
ruin.

But it is not the parts alone that are thus found to sub-
side, whole mountains have been known totally to dis-
appear. Pliny tells us,* that in his own time the lofty
mountain of Cybotus, together with the city of Eurites,
were swallowed by an earthquake. The same fate, he
says, attended Phlegium, one of the highest mountains in
Ethiopia; which, after one night’s concussion, was never
seen more. In more modern times, a very noted moun-
tain in the Molucca islands, known by the name of the

* Plin. lib. ii. cap. 93.

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97

Peak, and remarkable for being seen at a very great dis-
tance from sea, was swallowed by an earthquake; and
nothing but a lake was left in the place where it stood.
Thus, while storms and tempests are levelled against moun-
tains above, earthquakes and waters are undermining them
below. All our histories * talk of their destruction ; and
very few new ones (if we except mount Cenere, and one
or two such heaps of cinders,) are produced. If moun-
tains, therefore, were of such great utility as some philo-
sophers make them to mankind, it would be a very me-
lancholy consideration that such benefits were diminish-
ing every day. But the truth is, the valleys are fertilized
by that earth which is washed from their sides ; and the
plains become richer, in proportion as the mountains

CHAP. XIII.

OF WATER.

In contemplating nature, we shall often find the same
substances possessed of contrary qualities, and producing
opposite effects. Air, which liquefies one substance, dries
up another. That fire which is seen to burn up the desert,
is often found, in other places, to assist the luxuriance of
vegetation ; and water, which, next to fire, is the most
fluid substance upon earth, nevertheless gives all other bodies
their firmness and durability ; so that every element seems
to be a powerful servant, capable either of good or ill, and
only awaiting external direction, to become the friend or the
enemy of mankind. These opposite qualities, in this sub-
stance in particular, have not failed to excite the admiration
and inquiry of the curious.

That water is the most fluid penetrating body, next to
fire, and the most difficult to confine, is incontestibly
proved by a variety of experiments. A vessel through
which water cannot pass, may be said to retain any thing,
ft may be objected, indeed, that syrups, oils, and honey,
ftak through some vessels that water cannot pass through ;
hut this is far from being the result of the greater tenuity
a*rd fineness of their parts ; it is owing to the rosin where-
with the wrood of such vessels abounds, which oils and
vol. i. — 4. N

A HISTORY OF

98

syrups have a power of dissolving; so that these fluids,
instead of finding their way, may more properly be said to
eat their way through the vessels that contain them. How-
ever, water will at last find its way even through these ;
for it is known to escape through vessels of every sub-
stance, glass only excepted. Other bodies may be found
to make their way out more readily indeed ; as air, when
it finds a vent, will escape at once ; and quicksilver, be-
cause of its weight, quickly penetrates through whatever
chinky vessel confines it : but water, though it operates
more slowly, yet always finds a more certain issue. As,
for instance, it is well known that air will not pass through
leather ; which water will very readily penetrate. Air also
may be retained in a bladder ; but water will quickly ooze
through. And those who drive this to the greatest de-
gree of precision, pretend to say, that it will pass through
pores ten times smaller than air can do. Be this as it may,
we are very certain that its parts are so small, that they
have been actually driven through the pores of gold.
This has been proved by the famous Florentine experi-
ment, in which a quantity of water was shut up in a hol-
low ball of gold, and then pressed with a huge force by
screws, during which the fluid was seen to ooze out
through the pores of the metal, and to stand, like a dew,
upon its surface.

As water is thus penetrating, and its parts thus minute,
it may easily be supposed that they enter into the compo-
sition of all bodies, vegetable, animal, and fossil. This
every chymist’s experience convinces him of ; and the mix-
ture is the more obvious, as it can always be separated,
by a gentle heat, from those substances with which it had
been united. Fire, as was said, will penetrate where water
cannot pass ; but then it is not so easily to be separated.
But there is scarce any substance from which its water
cannot be divorced. The parings or filings of lead, tin,
and antimony, by distillation, yield water plentifully: the
hardest stones, sea-salt, nitre, vitriol, and sulphur, are
found to consist chiefly of water ; into which they resolve
by force of fire. “ All birds, beasts, and fishes,” says
Newton, “ insects, trees, and vegetables, with their parts,
grow from water; and, by putrefaction, return to water
again.” In short, almost every substance that we see.

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99

owes its texture and firmness to the parts of water that mix
with its earth ; and, deprived of this fluid, it becomes a mass
of shapeless dust and ashes.

From hence we see, as was above hinted, that this most
fluid body, when mixed with others, gives them consistence
and form. Water, by being mixed with earth or ashes, and
formed into a vessel, when baked before the fire, becomes a
coppel, remarkable for this, that it will bear the utmost force
of the hottest furnace that art can contrive. So the Chinese
earth, of which porcelain is made, is nothing more than an
artificial composition of earth and water, united by heat ;
and which a greater degree of heat could easily separate.
Thus we see a body, extremely fluid of itself, in some
measure assuming a new nature, by being united with
others : we see a body, whose fluid and dissolving qualities
are so obvious, giving consistence and hardness to all the
substances of the earth.

From considerations of this kind, Thales, and many of
the ancient philosophers, held that all things were made
of water. In order to confirm this opinion, Helmont made
an experiment, by divesting a quantity of earth of all its
oils and salts, and then putting this earth, so prepared, into
an earthen pot, which nothing but rain-water could enter,
and planting a willow therein ; this vegetable, so planted,
grew up to a considerable height and bulk, merely from
the accidental aspersion of rain-water; while the earth, in
which it was planted, received no sensible diminution.
From this experiment, he concluded, that water was the
only nourishment of the vegetable tribe; and that vege-
tables, being the nourishment of animals, all organized
substances, therefore, owed their support and being only
to water. But this has been said by Woodward to be
a mistake: for he shews, that water being impregnated
with earthy particles, is only the conveyer of such sub-
stances into the pores of vegetables, rather than an in-
creaser of them by its own bulk : and likewise, that water is
ever found to afford so much less nourishment, in propor-
tion as it is purified by distillation. A plant in distilled
water will not grow so fast as in water not distilled : and
if the same be distilled three or four times over, the ‘ plant
will scarcely grow at all, or receive any nourishment from
it. So that water, as such, does not seem the proper nou-

A HISTORY OF

100

rishment of vegetables, but only the vehicle thereof, which
contains the nutritious particles, and carries them through
all parts of the plant. Water, in its pure state, may suffice
to extend or swell the parts of a plant, but affords vegetable
matter in a moderate proportion.

However this be, it is agreed on all sides, that water,
such as we find it, is far from being a pure simple sub-
stance. The most genuine we know is mixed with exha-
lations and dissolutions of various kinds ; and no expedient
that has been hitherto discovered, is capable of purifying
it entirely. If we filter and distil it a thousand times, ac-
cording to Boerhaave, it will still depose a sediment : and
by repeating the process we may evaporate it entirely
away, but can never totally remove its impurities. Some,
however, assert, that water, properly distilled, will have
no sediment ;* and that the little white speck which is
found at the bottom of the still, is a substance that enters
from without. Kircher used to shew, in his Museum, a
phial of water that had been kept for fifty years, hermeti-
cally sealed ;-f~ during which it had deposed no sediment,
but continued as transparent as when first it was put in.
How far, therefore, it may be brought to a state of purity
by distillation, is unknown ; but we very well know, that
all such water as we every where see, is a bed in which
plants, minerals, and animals, are all found confusedly
floating together.

Rain-water, which is a fluid of Nature’s own distilling,
and which has been raised so high by evaporation, is never-
theless a very mixed and impure substance. Exhalations
of all kinds, whether salts, sulphurs, or metals, make a part
of its substance, and tend to increase its weight. If we
gather the water that falls, after a thunder-clap, in a
sultry summer’s day, and let it settle, we shall find a real
salt sticking at the bottom. In winter, however, its im-
pure mixtures are fewer, but still may be separated by
distillation. But as to that which is generally caught

* Hill’s History of Fossils.

t Hermetically sealing a glass vessel, means no more than heating
the mouth of the phial red hot ; and thus when the glass is become
pliant, squeezing the mouth together with a pair of pincers, and then
twisting it six or seven times round, which effectfully closes it up.

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101

pouring from the tops of houses, it is particularly foul, being
impregnated with the smoke of the chimnies, the vapour of
the slates or tiles, and with other impurities that birds and
animals may have deposited there. Besides, though it
should be supposed free from all these, it is mixed with a
quantity of air, which, after being kept for some time, will be
seen to separate.

Spring-water is next in point of purity. This, according
to Dr. Halley, is collected from the air itself ; which being
sated with water, and coming to be condensed by the
evening’s cold, is driven against the tops of the mountains,
where being condensed and collected, it trickles down by
the sides, into the cavities of the earth ; and running for a
while underground, bubbles up in fountains upon the plain.
This having made but a short circulation, has generally had
no long time to dissolve or imbibe any foreign substances
by the way.

River-water is generally more foul than the former. —
Wherever the stream flows, it receives a tincture from its
channel. Plants, minerals, and animals, all contribute to
add to its impurities : so that such as live at the mouths of
great rivers, are generally subject to all those disorders
which contaminated and unwholesome waters are known to
produce. Of all the river-water in the world, that of the
Indus and the Thames is said to be the most light and
wholesome.

The most impure fresh water that we know, is that of
stagnating pools and lakes, which, in summer, may be
more properly considered as a jelly of floating insects, than
a collection of water. In this, millions of little reptiles,
undisturbed by any current, which might crush their frames
to pieces, breed and engender. The whole teems with
shapeless life, and only grows more fruitful by increasing
putrefaction.

Of the purity of all these waters, the lightness, and not
the transparency, ought to be the test. Water may be
extremely clear and beautiful to the eye, and yet very
much impregnated with mineral particles. In fact, sea-
water is the most transparent of any, and yet it is well
known to contain a large mixture of salt and bitumen. On
the contrary, those waters which are lightest, have the
fewest dissolutions floating in them ; and may, therefore.

A HISTORY OF

102

be the most useful for all the purposes of life. But, after
all, though much has been said upon this subject, and
although waters have been weighed with great assiduity, to
determine their degree of salubrity, yet neither this, nor
their curdling with soap, nor any other philosophical stan-
dard whatsoever, will answer the purposes of true informa-
tion. Experience alone ought to determine the useful or
noxious qualities of every spring; and experience assures
us, that different kinds of water are adapted to different
constitutions. An incontestible proof of this, are the many
medicinal springs throughout the world, whose peculiar
benefits are known to the natives of their respective coun-
tries. These are of various kinds, according to the dif-
ferent minerals with which they are impregnated; hot,
saline, sulphureous, bituminous, and oily. But the account
of these will come most properly under that of the several
minerals by which they are produced.

After all, therefore, we must be. contented with but an
impure mixture for our daily beverage. And yet, perhaps,
this very mixture may often be more serviceable to our
health than that of a purer kind. We know that it is so
with regard to vegetables : and why not, also, in general,
to man ? Be this as it will, if we are desirous of having
water in its greatest purity, we are ordered, by the curious in
this particular, to distil it from snow, gathered upon the tops
of the highest mountains, and to take none but the outer
and superficial part thereof. This we must be satisfied to
call pure water; but even this is far short of the pure
unmixed philosophical element; which, in reality, is no
where to be found.

As water is thus mixed with foreign matter, and often
the repository of minute animals, or vegetable seeds,, we
need not be surprised that, when carried to sea, it is always
found to putrefy. But we must not suppose that it is the
element itself which thus grows putrid and offensive, but
the substances with which it is impregnated. It is true,
the utmost precautions are taken to destroy all vegetable
and animal substances that may have previously been
lodged in it, by boiling ; but, notwithstanding this, there
are some that will still survive the operation, and others
that find their way during the time of its stowage. Seamen,
therefore, assure us, that their water is generally found to

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103

putrefy twice, at least, and sometimes three times, in a long
voyage. In about a month after it has been at sea, when
the bung is taken out of the cask, it sends up a noisome
and dangerous vapour, which would take fire upon the
application of a candle.* The whole body of the water
then is found replete with little worm-like insects, that
float, with great briskness, through all its parts. These
generally live for about a couple of days ; and then dying,
by depositing their spoils, for a while increase the putrefac-
tion. After a time, the heavier parts of these sinking to
the bottom, the lighter float in a scum, at the top ; and
this is what mariners call, the water’s purging itself. There
is still, however, another race of insects, which are bred,
very probably, from the spoils of the former ; and produce,
after some time, similar appearances : these dying, the
water is then thought to change no more. However,
it very often happens, especially in hot climates, that
nothing can drive these nauseous insects from the ship’s
store of water. They often increase to a very disagreeable
and frightful size, so as to deter the mariner, though
parching with thirst, from tasting that cup which they have
contaminated.

This water, as thus described, therefore, is a very different
fluid from that simple elementary substance upon which
philosophical theories have been founded; and concerning
the nature of which there have been so many disputes.
Elementary water is no way compounded ; but is without
taste, smell, or colour; and incapable of being discerned
by any of the senses, except the touch. This is the famous
dissolvent of the chymists, into which, as they have boasted,
they can reduce all bodies ; and which makes up all other
substances, only by putting on a different disguise. In
some forms, it is fluid, transparent, and evasive of the touch ;
in others, hard, firm, and elastic. In some, it is stiffened
by cold ; in others, dissolved by fire. According to them,
it only assumes external shapes from accidental causes ; but
the mountain is as much a body of water, as the cake of ice
that melts on its brow ; and even the philosopher himself is
composed of the same materials with the cloud or meteor
which he contemplates.

* Phil. Trans, vol v. part ii. p. 71.

A HISTORY OF

104

Speculation seldom rests when it begins. Others, dis-
allowing the universality of this substance, will not allow
that in a state of nature there is any such thing as water
at all. “ What assumes the appearance,” say they, “ is
nothing more than melted ice. Ice is the real element of
Nature’s making; and when found in a state of fluidity,
it is then in a state of violence. All substances are natu-
rally hard; but some more readily melt with heat than
others. It requires a great heat to melt iron ; a smaller
heat will melt copper; silver, gold, tin, and lead, melt
with smaller still ; ice, which is a body like the rest, melts
with a very moderate warmth ; and quicksilver melts with
the smallest warmth of all. Water, therefore, is but ice
hept in continual fusion ; and still returning to its former
state, when the heat is taken away.” Between those op-
posite opinions, the controversy has been carried on with
great ardour, and much has been written on both sides ;
and yet, when we come to examine the debate, it will pro-
bably terminate in this question, whether cold or heat first
began their operations upon water? This is a fact of very
little importance, if known ; and, what is more, it is a fact
we can never know.

Indeed, if we examine into the operations of cold and heat
upon water, we shall find that they produce somewhat similar
effects.. Water dilates in its bulk, by heat, to a very con-
siderable degree ; and, what is more extraordinary, it is like-
wise dilated by cold in the same manner.

If water be placed over a fire, it grows gradually larger
in bulk, as it becomes hot, until it begins to boil ; after
which no art can either increase its bulk or its heat. By
increasing the fire, indeed, it may be more quickly evapo-
rated away ; but its heat and its bulk still continue the
same. By the expanding of this fluid, by heat, philoso-
phers have found a way to determine the warmth or the
coldness of other bodies ; for if put into a glass tube, by
its swelling and rising, it shews the quantity of heat in
the body to which it is applied ; and by its contracting
and sinking, it shews the absence of the same. Instead of
using water in this instrument, which is called a thermo-
meter, they now make use of spirit of wine, which is not
apt to. freeze, and which is endued even with a greater
expansion, by heat, than water. The instrument consists

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105

of nothing more than a hollow ball of glass, with a long
tube growing out of it. This being partly filled with spirits
of wine tinctured red, so as to be seen when it rises, the ball
is plunged into boiling water, which making the spirit within
expand and rise in the tube, the water marks the greatest
height to which it ascends ; at this point the tube is to be
broken off, and then hermetrically sealed, by melting the
glass with a blow-pipe: a scale being placed by the side,
completes the thermometer. Now as the fluid expands or
condenses with heat or cold, it will rise and fall in the tube
in proportion ; and the degree or quantity of ascent or de-
scent will be seen in the scale.

No fire, as was said, can make water hotter, after it begins
to boil. We can, therefore, at any time be sure of an equa-
ble certain heat ; which is that of boiling water, which is in-
variably the same. The certainty of such a heat is not less
useful than the instrument that measures it. It affords a
standard, fixed degree of heat over the whole world ; boiling
water being as hot in Greenland as upon the coast of Guinea.
One fire is more intense than another ; of heat there are vari-
ous degrees ; but boiling water is a heat every where the
same, and easily procurable.

As heat thus expands water, so cold, when it is violent
enough to freeze the same, produces exactly the same
effect, and expands it likewise. Thus water is acted upon
in the same manner by two opposite qualities ; being di-
lated by both. As a proof that it is dilated by cold, we
have only to observe the ice floating on the surface of a
pond, which it would not do were it not dilated, and grown
more bulky, by freezing, than the water which remains
unfroze. Mr. Boyle, however, put the matter past a
doubt, by a variety of experiments.* Having poured a
proper quantity of water into a strong earthen vessel, he
exposed it, uncovered, to the open air, in frosty nights ;
and observed, that continually the ice reached higher than
the water before it was frozen. He filled also a tube
with water, and stopped both ends with wax : the water,
when frozen, was found to push out the stopples from
both ends ; and a rod of ice appeared at each end of the

tube, which shewed how much it was swollen by the cold
within.

vol. i. — 5.

* Boyle, vol. i. p. 610.

o

A HISTORY OF

106

From hence, therefore, we may be very certain of the
cold dilating of the water; and experience also shews,
that the force of this expansion has been found as great
as any which heat has been found to produce. The
touch-hole of a strong gun-barrel being stopped, and a
plug of iron forcibly driven into the muzzle, after the bar-
rel had been filled with water, it was placed in a mixture
of ice and salt; the plug, though soldered to the barrel,
at first gave way, but being fixed in more firmly, within a
quarter of an hour the gun -barrel burst with a loud noise,
and blew up the cover of the box wherein it lay. Such
is its force in an ordinary experiment. But it has been
known to burst cannons, filled with water, and then left
to freeze ; for the cold congealing the water, and the ice
swelling, it became irresistible. The bursting of rocks by
frost, which is frequent in the northern climates, and is
sometimes seen in our own, is an equal proof of the ex-
pansion of congealed water. For having by some means
insinuated itself into the body of the rock, it has remained
there till the cold was sufficient to affect it by congelation.
But when once frozen, no obstacle is able to confine it from
dilating ; and, if it cannot otherwise find room, the rock
must burst asunder.

This alteration in the bulk of water might have served
as a proof that it was capable of being compressed into a
narrower space than it occupied before; but, till of late,
water was held to be incompressible. The general opinion
was, that no art whatsoever could squeeze it into a nar-
rower compass ; that no power on earth, for instance,
could force a pint of water into a vessel that held an
hair’s-breadth less than a pint. And this, said they, ap-
pears from the famous Florentine experiment ; where the
water, rather than suffer a compressure, was seen to ooze
through the pores of the solid metal ; and, at length, mak-
ing a cleft in the side, spun out with great vehemence.
But later trials have proved that water is very compressi-
ble, and partakes of that elasticity which every other
body possesses in some degree. Indeed, had not mankind
been dazzled by the brilliancy of one inconclusive experi-
ment, there were numerous reasons to convince them of
its having the same properties with other substances. Ice,
which is water in another state, is very elastic. A stone.

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107

flung slantingly along the surface of a pond, bounds from
the water several times ; which shews it to be elastic also.
But the trials of Mr. Canton have put this past all doubt ;
which being somewhat similar to those of the great Boyle,
who pressed it with weights properly applied, carry sufficient
conviction.

What has been hitherto related, is chiefly applicable to
the element of water alone; but its fluidity is a property
that it possesses in common with several other sub-
stances, in other respects greatly differing from it. That
quality which gives rise to the definition of the fluid,
namely, that its parts are in a continual intestine motion,
seems extremely applicable to water. What the shapes of
those parts are, it would be vain to attempt to discover.
Every trial only shews the futility of the attempt; all we
find is, that they are extremely minute ; and that they roll
over each other with the greatest ease. Some, indeed*
from this property alone, have not hesitated to pronounce
them globular ; and we have, in all our hydrostatical books,
pictures of these little globes in a state of sliding and roll-
ing over each other. But all this is merely the work of
imagination ; we know that substances of any kind, re-
duced very small, assume a fluid appearance, somewhat
resembling that of water. Mr. Boyle, after finely pow-
dering and sifting a little dry powder of plaster of Paris,
put it in a vessel over the fire, where it soon began to boil
fixe water, exhibiting all the motions and appearances of
a boiling liquor. Although but a powder, the parts of
which we know are very different from each other, and
just as accident has formed them, yet it heaved in great
waves like water. Upon agitation, a heavy body will
sink to the bottom, and a light one emerge to the top.
There is no reason, then, to suppose the figure, of the
parts of water round, since we see their fluidity very well
imitated by a composition, the parts of which are of vari-
ous forms and sizes. The shape of the parts of water, there-
fore, we must be content to continue ignorant of. All we
know is, that earth, air, and fire, conduce to separate the
parts from each other.

Earthy substances divide the parts from each other, and
keep them asunder. This division may be so great, that
me water will entirely lose its fluidity thereby. MudL

A HISTORY OF

108

potter’s clay, and dried bricks, are but so many different
combinations of earth and water ; each substance in which
the parts of water are most separated from each other,
appearing to be the most dry. In some substances, in-
deed, where the parts of water are greatly divided, as in
porcelain, for instance, it is no easy matter to recover and
bring them together again ; but they continue in a manner
fixed and united to the manufactured clay. This circum-
stance led Doctor Cheney into a very peculiar train of
thinking. He suspected that the quantity of water, on the
surface of the earth, was daily decreasing. For, says he,
some parts of it are continually joined to vegetable, animal,
and mineral substances, which no art can again recover.
United with these, the water loses its fluidity ; for if, con-
tinues he, we separate a few particles of any fluid, and fasten
them to a solid body, or keep them asunder, they will be
fluid no longer. To produce fluidity, a considerable num-
ber of such particles are required ; but here they are close,
and destitute of their natural properties. Thus, according
to him, the world is growing every day harder and harder,
and the earth firmer and firmer : and there mav come a time

, j

when every object around us may be stiffened in universal
frigidity ! However, we have causes enough of anxiety in this
world already, not to add this preposterous concern to the
number.

That air also contributes to divide the parts of water,
we can have no manner of doubt ; some have even dis-
puted whether water be not capable of being turned into
air. However, though this cannot be allowed, it must be
granted, that it may be turned into a substance which
greatly resembles air (as we have seen in the experiment
of the seolipile) with all its properties ; except that, by
cold, this new-made air may be condensed again into
water.

But of all the substances which tend to divide the parts
of water, fire is the most powerful. Water, when heated
into steam, acquires such force, and the parts of it tend to
fly off from each other with such violence, that no earthly
substance we know of is strong enough to confine them.
A single drop of water, converted into steam, has been
found capable of raising a weight of twenty tons ; and
would have raised twenty thousand, were the vessel con-

THE EARTH. 109

fining it sufficiently strong, and the fire below increased in
proportion.

From this easy yielding of its parts to external pres-
sure, arises the art of determining the specific gravity of

bodies by plunging them in water ; with many other use-

ful discoveries in that part of natural philosophy, called
hydrostatics . The laws of this science, which Archimedes
began, and Pascal, with some other of the moderns,
have much improved, rather belongs to experimental than
to natural history. However, I will take leave to mention
some of the most striking paradoxes in this branch of

science, which are as well confirmed by experiment, as

rendered universal by theor\ . It would, indeed, be un-
pardonable, while discoursing on the properties of water,
to omit giving some account of the manner in which it
sustains such immense bulks as we see floating upon its
soft and yielding surface: how some bodies, that are
known to sink at one time, swim with ease, if their sur-
face be enlarged : how the heaviest body, even gold itself,
may be ' made to swim upon water ; and how the lightest,
such as cork, shall remain sunk at the bottom : how the
pouring in of a single quart of water, will burst a hogshead
hooped with iron : and how it ascends, in pipes, from the
valley, to travel over the mountain : these are circumstances
that are at first surprising ; but, upon a slight consideration,
lose their wonder.

*In order to conceive the manner in which all these
wonders are effected, we must begin by observing that
water is possessed of an invariable property, which has
not hitherto been mentioned; that of always keeping its
surface level and even. Winds, indeed, may raise it into
waves, or art spurt it up in fountains ; but ever, when
left to itself, it sinks into a smooth even surface, of which
no one part is higher than another. If I should pour
water, for instance, into the arm of a pipe of the shape of
the letter U, the fluid would rise in the other arm just to
the same height; because, otherwise, it would not find its
level, which it invariably maintains. A pipe bending

* In the above sketch, the manner of demonstrating used by Monsieur
D Alembert is made use of, as the most obvious, and the most satisfac-
tory, Vide Essai sur, &c.

A HISTORY OF

no

from one hill down into the valley, and rising by another,
may be considered as a tube of this kind, in which the
water, sinking in one arm, rises to maintain its level in the
other. Upon this principle all water-pipes depend ; which
can never raise the water higher than the fountain from
which they proceed.

Again, let us suppose for a moment, that the arms of
the pipe already mentioned, may be made long or short
at pleasure ; and let us still further suppose, that there is
some obstacle at the bottom of it, which prevents the
water poured into one arm, from rising in the other. Now
it is evident, that this obstacle at the bottom will sustain a
pressure from the water in one arm, equal to what would
make it rise in the other ; and this pressure will be great,
in proportion as the arm filled with water is tall. We
may, therefore, generally conclude, that the bottom of
every vessel is pressed by a force, in proportion to the
height of the water in that vessel. For instance, if the
vessel filled with water be forty feet high, the bottom of that
vessel will sustain such a pressure as would raise the
same water forty feet high, which is veiy great. From
hence we see how extremely apt our pipes, that convey
water to the city, are to burst ; for descending from a hill
of more than forty feet high, they are pressed by the water
contained in them, with a force equal to what would raise
it to more than forty feet high ; and that this is sometimes
able to burst a wooden pipe, we can have no room to
doubt of.

Still recurring to our pipe, let us suppose one of lts
arms ten times as thick as the other ; this will produce n°
effect whatsoever upon the obstacle below, which we sup*
posed hindering its rise in the other arm ; because, ho
thick soever the pipe may be, its contents would only A®

; and it will, therefore, press the obstac

to its own level

ally

with a force equal thereto. We may, therefore, univers ^
conclude, that the bottom of any vessel is pressed by ^
water, not as it is broad or narrow, but in proportioti
it is high. Thus the water contained in a vessel not t
than my finger, presses its bottom as forcibly as the ^
contained in an hogshead of an equal height; and,
made holes in the bottoms of both, the water wou .
out as forceful from the one as the other. Hence

THE EARTH.

Ill

with great ease, burst an hogshead with a single quart of
water; and it has been often done. We have only,* for
this, to place an hogshead on one end, filled with water :
we then bore a hole in its top, into which we plant a narrow
tin pipe, of about thirty feet high : by pouring a quart of
water into this, at the top, as it continues to rise higher in
the pipe, it will press more forcibly on the bottom and sides
of the hogshead below, and at last burst it.

Still returning to our simple instrument of demonstration.
If we suppose the obstacle at the bottom of the pipe to be
moveable, so as that the force of the water can push it up
into the other arm ; such a body as quicksilver, for instance.
Now, it is evident, that the weight of water weighing down
upon this quicksilver in one arm, will at last press it up in
the other arm ; and will continue to press it upwards, until
the fluid in both arms be upon a par. So that here we
actually see quicksilver, the heaviest substance in the world,
except gold and platina, floating upon a water, which is but
a very light substance.

When we see water thus capable of sustaining quick-
silver, we need not be surprised that it is capable of float-
lng much lighter substances, ships, animals, or timber.
When any thing floats upon water, we always see that a
part of it sinks in the same. A cork, a ship, a buoy, each
buries itself in a bed on the surface of the water ; this bed
niay be considered as so much water displaced ; the water
’ therefore, lose so much of its own weight, as is equal
u the weight of that bed of water which it displaces. If
. e body be heavier than a similar bulk of water, it will
^ink; if lighter, it will swim. Universally, therefore, a
ea ‘Vi ^unSed in water, loses, as much of its weight as is
glUa to the weight of a body of water of its own bulk.
tbeh-6 • ^ bodies, therefore, such as cork, lose much of
bodi and therefore swim; other more ponderous

ivat;rS Slnb> because they are heavier than their bulk of

s*mP*e theorem entirely depends the art of
instanclb Petals . hydrostatically. I have a guinea, for
have We’. ana desire to know whether it be pure gold ; I

find it ev. i ** *n usual way with another guinea, and
act y of the same weight, but still I have some
* Nollet’s Lectures.

A HISTORY OF

112

suspicion, from its greater bulk, that it is not pure. In
order to determine this, I have nothing more to do than to
weigh it in water with that same guinea that I know to
be good, and of the same weight ; and this will instantly
shew the difference ; for the true ponderous metal will sink,
and the false bulky one will be sustained in proportion to
the greatness of its surface. Those whose business it is to
examine the purity of metals, have a balance made for this
purpose, by which they can precisely determine which is
most ponderous, or, as it is expressed, which has the greatest
specific gravity. Seventy-one pound and a half of quick-
silver, is" found to be equal in bulk to a hundred pound
weight of gold. In the same proportion sixty of lead, fifty-
four of silver, forty-seven of copper, forty-five of brass,
forty-two of iron, and thirty-nine of tin, are each equal
to an hundred pound of the same most ponderous of all
metals.

This method of precisely determining the purity of gold,
by weighing in water, was first discovered by Archimedes,
to whom mankind have been indebted for many useful
discoveries. Hiero, king of Sicily, having sent a certain
quantity of gold to be made into a crown, the workman,
it seems, kept a part for his own use, and supplied the
deficiency with a baser metal. His fraud was suspected
by the king, but could not be detected ; till he applied to
Archimedes, who weighed the crown in water ; and, by this
method, informed the king of the quantity of gold which was
taken away.

It has been said, that all fluids endeavour to preserve
their level; and, likewise, that a body pressing on the
surface, tended to destroy that level. From hence, there-
fore, it will easily be inferred, that the deeper any body
sinks, the greater will be the resistance of the depressed
fluid beneath. It will be asked, therefore, as the resist-
ance increases in proportion as the body descends, how
comes the body, after it has got a certain way, to sink at
all ? The answer is obvious : From the fluid above pressing
it down with almost as great a force as the fluid beneath
presses it up. Take away, by any art, the pressure of
the fluid from above, and let only the resistance of the
fluid from below be suffered to act, and after the body *s
gone down very deep, the resistance will be insuper-

THE EARTH.

113

able. To give an instance : A small hole opens in the
bottom of a ship at sea, forty feet we will suppose below
the surface of the water ; through this the water bursts up
with great violence ; I attempt to stop it with my hand,
but it pushes the hand violently away. Here the hand is,
in fact, a body attempting to sink upon water, at a depth
of forty feet, with the pressure from above taken away.
The water, therefore, will overcome my strength; and
will continue to burst in till it has got to its level : if I
should then dive into the hold, and clap my hand upon
the opening, as before, I should perceive no force acting
against my hand at all ; for the water above presses the
hand as much down against the hole, as the water with-
out presses it upward. For this reason, also, when we
dive to the bottom of the water, we sustain a very great
pressure from above, it is true, but it is counteracted by
the pressure from below ; and the whole acting uniformly
on the surface of the body, wraps us close round without
injury.

As I have deviated thus far, I will just mention one or
two properties more, which water, and all such like fluids,
is found to possess. And, first, their ascending in vessels
which are emptied of air, as in our common pumps for
instance. The air, however, being the agent in this case,
we must previously examine its properties, before we un-
dertake the explanation. The other property to be men-
tioned is, that of their ascending in small capillary tubes.
This is one of the most extraordinary and inscrutable
appearances in nature. Glass tubes may be drawn, by
means of a lamp, as fine as a hair ; still preserving their
hollow within. If one of these be planted in a vessel of
water, or spirit of wine, the liquor will immediately be
seen to ascend ; and it will rise higher, in proportion as
the tube is smaller ; a foot, two feet, and more. How
does this come to pass ? Is the air the cause ? No : the
liquor rises, although the air be taken away. Is attrac-
tion the cause P No : for quicksilver does not ascend,
which it otherwise would. Many have been the theories
°f experimental philosophers to explain this property.
Such as are fond of travelling in the regions of conjec-
ture, may consult Hawksbee, Morgan, Jurin, or Watson,
who have examined the subject with great minuteness.

VOL. I, — 5. F

114

A HISTORY OP

Hitherto, however, nothing but doubts, instead of know-
ledge, have been the result of their inquiries. It will not,
therefore, become us to enter into the minuteness of the
inquiry, when we have so many greater wonders to call oui
attention away.#

CHAP. XIV.

OF THE ORIGIN OF RIVERS.

The sun ariseth, and the sun goeth down, and pants
u for the place from whence he arose. All things are filled
“ with labour, and man cannot utter it. All rivers run
“ into the sea, yet the sea is not full. Unto the place
“ whence the rivers come, thither they return again. The
“ eye is not satisfied with seeing, nor the ear with hear-
“ ing.”-'f~ Thus speaks the wisest of the Jews. And at
so early a period was the curiosity of man employed in
observing these great circulations of nature. Every eye
attempted to explain those appearances ; and every phi-
losopher who has long thought upon the subject, seems
to give a peculiar solution. The inquiry whence rivers
are produced ; whence they derive those unceasing stores
of water, which continually enrich the world with fertility
and verdure ; has been variously considered, and divided
the opinions of mankind more than any other topic in
natural history.

In this contest the various champions may be classed
under two leaders ; Mr. De la Hire, who contends that
rivers must be supplied from the sea, strained through

* This phenomenon, which has so long embarrassed philosophers, is
easily soluble upon the principle, that the attraction between the particles
of glass and water is greater than the attraction between the particles of
water themselves : for, if a glass tube be held parallel to the horizon,
and a drop of water be applied to the under side of the tube, it will
adhere to it : nor will it fall from the glass, till its bulk and gravity are
so far increased as to overbalance the attraction of the glass. Hence it
is easy to conceive, how sensibly such a power must act on the surface
of a fluid not viscid, as water, contained within the cavity of a small
glass tube ; as also that the quantity of the fluid raised, will be as the
surface of the bore which it fills, that is, as the diameter of the tube.

f Ecclesiastes, chap, i. ver. 5, 7, 8.

THE EARTH.

115

the pores of the earth ; and Dr. Halley, who has endea-
voured to demonstrate that the clouds alone are sufficient
for the supply. Both sides have brought in mathematics
to their aid ; and have shewn that long and laborious cal-
culations can at any time be made to obscure both sides of
a question.

De la Hire* begins his proofs, that rain-water, evapo-
rated from the sea, is insufficient for the production of
rivers ; by shewing that rain never penetrates the surface
of the earth above sixteen inches. From thence he infers,
that it is impossible for it, in many cases, to sink so as to
be found at such considerable depths below. Rain-water,
he grants, is often seen to mix with rivers, and to swell
their currents ; but a much greater part of it evaporates.
“ In fact,” continues he, “ if we suppose the earth every
where covered with water, evaporation alone would be
sufficient to carry off two feet nine inches of it in a year :
and yet we very well know, that scarcely nineteen inches
of rain-water falls in that time ; so that evaporation would
carry off a much greater quantity than is ever known to
descend. The small quantity of rain-water that falls is,
therefore, but barely sufficient for the purposes of vegeta-
tion. Two leaves of a fig-tree have been found, by ex-
periment, to imbibe from the earth, in five hours and a
half, two ounces of water. This implies the great quantity
of fluid that must be exhausted in the maintenance of
one single .plant. Add to this, that the waters of the
river Rungis will, by calculation, rise to fifty inches ; and
the whole country from whence they are supplied never
receives fifty inches in the year by rain. Besides this,
there are many salt springs, which are known to proceed
immediately from the sea, and are subject to its flux and
reflux. In short, wherever we dig beneath the surface of
the earth, except in a very few instances, water is to
be found : and it is by this subterraneous water that
springs and rivers, nay, a great part of vegetation itself,
is supported. It is this subterraneous water which is
raised into steam, by the internal heat of the earth, that
feeds plants. It is this subterraneous water that distils
through interstices ; and there, cooling, forms fountains.

* Hist, de l’Acad. 1713, p. 56.

A HISTORY OF

116

It is this, that by the addition of rains, is increased into
rivers, and pours plenty over the whole earth.”

On the other side of the question,* it is asserted, that
the vapours which are exhaled from the sea, and driven
by the winds upon land, are more than sufficient to sup-
ply not only plants with moisture, but also to furnish a
sufficiency of water to the greatest rivers. For this pur-
pose, an estimate has been made of the quantity of water
emptied at the mouths of the greatest rivers ; and of the
quantity also raised from the sea by evaporation ; and it
lias been found, that the latter by far exceeds the former.
This calculation was made by Mr. Marriotte. By him it
was found, upon receiving such rain as fell in a year, in a
proper vessel fitted for that purpose ; that, one year with
another, there might fall about twenty inches of water
upon the surface of the earth, throughout Europe. It
was also computed that the river Seine, from its source to
the city of Paris, might cover an extent of ground, that
would supply it annually with above seven millions of
cubic feet of this water, formed by evaporation. But
upon computing the quantity which passed through the
arches of one of its bridges in a year, it was found to
amount only to two hundred and eighty millions of cubic
feet, which is not above the sixth part of the former num-
ber. Hence it appears, that this river may receive a sup-
ply, brought to it by the evaporated waters of the sea, six
times greater than what it gives back to the sea by its cur-
rent ; and, therefore, evaporation is more than sufficient for
maintaining the greatest rivers, and supplying the purposes
also of vegetation.

In this manner, the sea supplies sufficient humidity .to
the air, for furnishing the earth with all necessary mois-
ture. One part of its vapours fall upon its own bosom,
before they arrive upon land. Another part is arrested
by the sides of mountains, and is compelled, by the rising
stream of air, to mount upward towards the summits.
Here it is presently precipitated, dripping down by the
crannies of the stone. In some places, entering into the
caverns of the mountain, it gathers in those receptacles,
which being once filled, all the rest overflows ; and break-
ing out by the sides of the hills, forms single springs.

* Phil. Trans, vol. ii. p. 128.

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117

Many of these run down by the vallies or guts between
the ridges of the mountain, and, coming to unite, form
little rivulets or brooks ; many of these meeting in one
common valley, and gaining the plain ground, being grown
less rapid, become a river ; and many of these uniting,
make such vast bodies of water as the Rhine, the Rhone,
and the Danube.

There is still a third part, which falls upon the lower
grounds, and furnishes plants with their wonted supply.
But the circulation does not rest even here ; for it is again
exhaled into vapour By the action of the sun ; and after-
wards returned to that great mass of waters whence it first
arose. “ This,” adds Dr. Halley, “ seems the most rea-
sonable hypothesis ; and much more likely to be true, than
that of those who derive all springs from the filtering of
the sea-waters, through certain imaginary tubes or passages
within the earth ; since it is well known that the greatest
rivers have their most copious fountains the most remote
from the sea.”*

This seems the most general opinion ; and yet, after all,
it is still pressed with great difficulties ; and there is still
room to look out for a better theory. The perpetuity of
many springs, which always yield the same quantity when
the least rain or vapour is afforded, as well as when the
greatest, is a strong objection. Derham^ mentions a spring
at Upminster, which he could never perceive by his eye to
be diminished, in the greatest droughts, even when all the
ponds in the country, as well as an adjoining brook, have
been dry for several months together. In the rainy seasons,
also, it was never overflowed ; except sometimes, perhaps,
for an hour or so, upon the immission of the external rains.
He, therefore, justly enough concludes, that had this spring
its origin from rain or vapour, there would be found an
mcrease or decrease of its water, corresponding to the
causes of its production.

Thus the reader, after having been tossed from one
hypothesis to another, must at last be content to settle in
conscious ignorance. All that has been written upon this
subject, affords him rather something to say, than some-
thing to think ; something rather for others than for him-
Self. Varenius, indeed, although he is at a loss for the
* Phil. Trans, vol. ii. p. 128. f Derham Physico-Theol.

A HISTORY OF

118

origin of rivers, is by no means so as to their formation.
He is pretty positive that all rivers are artificial. He
boldly asserts, that their channels have been originally
formed by the industry of man. His reasons are, that when
a new spring breaks forth, the water does not make itself a
new channel, but spreads over the adjacent land. “ Thus,”
says he, “ men are obliged to direct its course ; or, other-
wise, Nature would never have found one.” He enumerates
many rivers that are certainly known, from history, to have
been dug by men. He alleges, that no salt-water rivers
are found, because men did not want salt-water ; and as for
salt, that was procurable at less expence than digging a
river for it. However, it costs a speculative man but a small
expence of thinking to form such an hypothesis. It may,
perhaps, engross the reader’s patience to detain him longer
upon it.

Nevertheless, though Philosophy be thus ignorant, as to
the production of rivers, yet the laws of their motion, and
the nature of their currents, have been very well explained.
The Italians have particularly distinguished themselves in
this respect ; and it is chiefly to them that we are indebted
for the improvement.*

All rivers have their source either in mountains, or elevated
lakes ; and it is in their descent from these that they acquire
that velocity which maintains their future current. At first
their course is generally rapid and headlong ; but it is
retarded in its journey, by the continual friction against its
banks, by the many obstacles it meets to divert its stream,
and by the plains generally becoming more level as it ap-
proaches towards the sea.

If this acquired velocity be quite spent, and the plan1
through which the river passes is entirely level ; it will)
notwithstanding, still continue to run, from the perpen-
dicular pressure of the water, which is always in exact
proportion to the depth. This perpendicular pressure 1S
nothing more than the weight of the upper waters pressing
the lower out of their places ; and, consequently, driving
them forward, as they cannot recede against the stream*
As this pressure is greatest in the deepest parts of *
river, so we generally find the middle of the stream
rapid ; both because it has the greatest motion * 11
* S. Guglielmini della Natura de Fiumi, passim.

THE EARTH. 119

communicated by the pressure, and the fewest obstructions
from the banks on either side.

Rivers thus set into motion are almost always found to
make their own beds. Where they find the bed elevated,
they wear its substance away, and deposit the sediment
in the next hollow, so as in time to make the bottom of
their channels even. On the other hand, the water is con-
tinually gnawing and eating away the banks on each side ;
and this with more force as the current happens to strike
more directly against them. By these means it always
has a tendency to render them more straight and parallel
to its own course. Thus it continues to rectify its banks,
and enlarge its bed; and, consequently, to diminish the
force of its stream, till there becomes an equilibrium be-
tween the force of the water, and the resistance of its
banks, upon which both will remain without any further
mutation. And it is happy for man that bounds are thus
put to the erosion of the earth by water ; and that we find
all rivers only dig and widen themselves but to a certain
degree.*

In those plains-^ and large vallies where great rivers flow,
the bed of the river is usually lower than any part of the
valley. But it often happens, that the surface of the water
is higher than many of the grounds that are adjacent to
the banks of the stream. If, after inundations, we take
a view of some rivers, we shall find their banks appear
above water, at a time that all the adjacent valley is
overflowed. This proceeds from the frequent deposition of
^ud, and such like substances, upon the banks, by the
rivers frequently overflowing ; and thus, by degrees, they
become elevated above the plain ; and the water is often
Seen higher also.

Rivers, as every body has seen, are always broadest at
le mouth, and grow narrower towards their source. But
nat is less known, and probably more deserving curio-
is, that they run in a more direct channel as they
immediately leave their sources ; and that their sinuosities
• a turnings become more numerous as they proceed. It
th t ,certa*n sign among the savages of North America,
they are near the sea, when they find the rivers wind-

* Guglielmini della Natura de Fiumi, passim.

t Buffon, de Fleuves, passim, vol. ii.

A HISTORY OF

120

ing, and every now and then changing their direction.
And this is even now become an indication to the Europeans
themselves, in their journeys through those trackless
forests. As those sinuosities, therefore, increase as the
river approaches the sea, it is not to be wondered at that
they sometimes divide, and thus disembogue by different
channels. The Danube disembogues into the Euxine by
seven mouths ; the Nile by the same number ; and the
Wolga by seventy.

The currents* of rivers are to be estimated very differently
from the manner in which those writers, who have given
us mathematical theories on this subject, represent them.
They found their calculations upon the surface being a
perfect plain from one bank to the other : but this is not
the actual state of nature ; for rivers, in general, rise in the
middle ; and this convexity is greatest in proportion as the
rapidity of the stream is greater. Any person, to be con-
vinced of this, need only lay his eye, as nearly as he can, on
a level with the stream, and looking across to the opposite
bank, he will perceive the river in the midst to be elevated
considerably above what it is at the edges. This rising,
in some rivers, is often found to be three feet high ; and is
ever increased in proportion to the rapidity of the stream.
In this case, the water in the midst of the current, loses a
part of its weight, from the velocity of its motion ; while
that at the sides, for the contrary reason, sinks lower. W
sometimes, however, happens, that this appearance . is
reversed ; for when tides are found to flow up with
violence against the natural current of the water, the
greatest rapidity is then found at the sides of the river, as
the water there least resists the influx from the sea. 0°
those occasions, therefore, the river presents a' concave
rather than a convex surface ; and, as in the former case,
the middle waters rose in a ridge, in this case they sink m
furrow.

The stream of all rivers is more ra
channel is diminished. For instai™, — -

swifter where it is ten yards broad, than where it is twen
for the force behind still pushing the water forward, when ^
comes to the narrow part, it must make up by velocity w
it wants in room.

* Buffon, de Fleuves, passim, vol. ii.

pid in proportion as
nn*. it will be mucn

THE EARTH. 121

It often happens that the stream of a river is opposed by
one of its jutting banks, by an island in the midst, the arches
of a bridge, or some such obstacle. This produces not
unfrequently a back current ; and the water having passed
the arch with great velocity, pushes the water on each
side . of its direct current. This produces a side current,
tending to the bank; and not unfrequently a whirlpool;
in which a large body of waters, are circulated in a kind
of cavity, sinking down in the middle. The central point
of the whirlpool is always lowest, because it has the least
motion : the other parts are supported, in some measure,
by the violence of theirs, and consequently rise higher
as their motion is greater; so that towards the extre-
mity of the whirlpool, must be higher than towards the
centre.

If the stream of a river be stopped at the surface, and yet
be free below ; for instance, if it be laid over by a bridge
of boats, there will then be a double current ; the water
at the surface will flow back, while that at the bottom will
proceed with increased velocity. It often happens that the
current at the bottom is swifter than at the top, when, upon
violent land-floods, the weight of waters towards the source
presses the waters at the bottom, before it has had time
to communicate its motion to the surface. However, in
all other cases, the surface of the stream is swifter than the

bottom, as it is not retarded by rubbing over the bed of
the river.

It might be supposed that bridges, dams, and other
ostacles in the current of a river, would retard its velocity.5
ut the difference they make is very inconsiderable. The

ob,er’ by .tnese stoPPages> gets an elevation above the
ject ; which, when it has surmounted, it gives a velocity
^ recompenses the former delay. Islands and turnings
o retard the course of the stream but very inconsiderably ;
y cause which diminishes the quantity of the water,
streamSenSlbly dindn*shes the f°rce and the velocity of the

increL *ncIease# > °f water in the bed of the river . always
‘bstantfi ltS .raPidity » except in cases of inundation. The
e uver has overflowed its banks, the velocity of

v '* Buffon, vol. li. p. 62.

122 •

A HISTORY OF

its current is always turned that way, and the inundation is
perceived to continue for some days ; which it would not
otherwise do, if, as soon as the cause was discontinued, it
acquired its former rapidity.

A violent storm, that sets directly up against the course
of the stream, will always retard, and sometimes entirely
stop its course. I have seen an instance of this, when the
bed of a large river was left entirely dry for some hours, and
fish were caught among the stones at the bottom.

Inundations are generally greater towards the source of
rivers than farther down ; because the current is generally
swifter below than above ; and that for the reasons already
assigned.

A little river* may be received into a large one, without
augmenting either its width or depth. This, which at first
view seems a paradox, is yet very easily accounted for.
The little river, in this case, only goes towards increasing
the swiftness of the larger, and putting its dormant waters
into motion. In this manner the Venetian branch of the
Po, was pushed on by the Ferrarese branch and that of
Panaro, without any enlargement of its breadth or depth
from these accessions.

A river tending to enter another, either perpendicularly,
or in an opposite direction, will be diverted by degrees from
that direction ; and be obliged to make itself a more favour-
able entrance downward, and more conspiring with the
stream of the former.

The union of two rivers into one, makes it flow the swifter ;
since the same quantity of water, instead of rubbing against
four shores, now only rubs against two. And, besides, the
current being deeper, becomes, of consequence, more fitted
for motion. ^ i

With respect to the places from whence rivers proceed,
it may be taken for a general rule, that the largest^ &n
highest mountains supply the greatest and most extensive
rivers. It may also be remarked, in whatever direction tie
jridge of the mountain runs, the river takes an opp^51
course. If the mountain, for instance, stretches h° ^
north to south, the river runs from east to west ; and
contrariwise. These are some of the most generally *
ceived opinions with regard to the course of rivers ; 11
* Gugllelmini. f Doctor Halley.

THE EARTH.

123

ever, they are liable to many exceptions ; and nothing but

an actual knowledge of each particular river can furnish us

with an exact theory of its current.

The largest rivers of Europe are, first, the Wolga, which

is about six hundred and fifty leagues in length, extending

from Reschow to Astrachan. It is remarkable of this

river, that it abounds with water during the summer months

of May and June ; but all the rest of the year is so shallow

as scarce to cover its bottom, or allow a passage for loaded

vessels that trade up its stream. It was up this river that

the English attempted to trade into Persia, in which they

were so unhappily disappointed, in the year 1741. The

next in order is the Danube. The course of this is about

four hundred and fifty leagues, from the mountains of

Switzerland to the Black Sea. It is so deep between Buda

and Belgrade, that the Turks and Christians have fleets of

men of war upon it ; which frequently engaged during the

last war between the Ottomans and the Austrians : however,

it is unnavigable further down, by reason of its cataracts,

which prevent its commerce into the Black Sea, The Don,

or Tanais, which is four hundred leagues from the source

of that branch of it called the Softna, to its mouth in the

Euxine Sea. In one part of its course, it approaches near

the Wolga; and Peter the Great had actuallv begun a

canal, by which he intended joining those two rivers ; but

this he did not live to finish. The Nieper, or Boristhenes,

which rises in the middle of Muscovy, and runs a course of

three hundred and fifty leagues, to empty itself into the

Elack Sea. The Old Cossacks inhabit the banks and

elands of this river ; and frequently cross the Black Sea, to

plunder the maritime places on the coasts of Turkey. The

. ma, which takes its rise in a province of the same name

ln Russia, that runs a course of three hundred leagues,

and disembogues into the White Sea, a little below Arch-

angel.

. largest rivers of Asia are, the Hohanho, in China,
ich is eight hundred and fifty leagues, in length, corn-
el lng from its source at Raja Ribron, to its mouth in
^hangi. The Jenisca of Tartary, about
t0b tj hundred leagues in length, from the lake Selinga,

sun 1 l0y Sea‘ This river is, by some, supposed to
P y most of that great quantity of drift wood which

A HISTORY OF

124

is seen floating in the seas near the Arctic circle. The
Oby, of five hundred leagues, running from the lake of
Kila into the Northern Sea. The Amour, in Eastern
Tartary, whose course is about five hundred and seventy-
five leagues, from its source to its entrance into the sea
of Kamtschatka. The Kiam, in China, five hundred and
fifty leagues in length. The Ganges, one of the most
noted rivers in the world, and about as long as the for-
mer. It rises in the mountains which separate India from
Tartary ; and running through the dominions of the Great
Mogul, discharges itself by several mouths into the bay
of Bengal. It is not only esteemed by the Indians for
the depth and pureness of its stream, but for a supposed
sanctity which they believe to be in its waters. It is
visited annually by several hundred thousand pilgrims,
who pay their devotions to the river as to a god : for sa-
vage simplicity is always known to mistake the blessings
of the Deity, for the Deity himself. They carry their
dying friends from distant countries, to expire on its
banks ; and to be buried in its stream. The water is
lowest in April or May; but the rains beginning to fall
soon after, the flat country is overflowed for several miles,
till about the end of September ; the waters then begin to
retire, leaving a prolific sediment behind, that enriches
the soil, and, in a few days time, gives a luxuriance to
vegetation, beyond what can be conceived by an Euro-
pean. Next to this may be reckoned the still more cele-
brated river Euphrates. This rises from two sources,
northward of the city Erzerum, in Turcomania, and unites
about three days’ journey below the same ; from whence,
after performing a course of five hundred leagues, it fall®
into the gulph of Persia, fifty miles below the city o
Bassora in Arabia. The river Indus is extended, from 1
source to its discharge into the Arabian Sea, four hundre(
leagues. . «

The largest rivers of Africa are, the Senegal, whic^
runs a course of not less than eleven hundred leagu
comprehending the Niger, which some have suppose '
fall into it. However, later accounts seem to affirm
the Niger is lost in the sands, about three hundred
up from the western coasts of Africa. Be this as 1 ^all
the Senegal is well known to be navigable for more

THE EARTH. 125

three hundred leagues up the country; and how much
higher it may reach is not yet discovered, as the dread-
ful fatality of the inland parts of Africa, not only deters
curiosity, but even avarice, which is a much stronger pas-
sion. At the end of last war, of fifty Englishmen that
were sent to the factory at Galam, a place taken from the
French, and nine hundred miles up the river, only one
returned to tell the fate of his companions, who were de-
stroyed by the climate. The celebrated river Nile is said to
be nine hundred and seventy leagues, from its source among
the Mountains of the Moon, in Upper .Ethiopia, to its
opening into the Mediterranean Sea. The sources of this
river were considered as inscrutable by the ancients ; and
the causes of its periodical inundation were equally un-
known. They have both been ascertained by the mis-
sionaries who have travelled into the interior parts of
-Ethiopia. The Nile takes its rise in the kingdom of
Gojam,* from a small aperture on the top of a mountain,
which, though not. above a foot and a half over, yet was
unfathomable. This fountain, when arrived at the foot
of the mountain, expands into a river; and being joined
by others, forms a lake thirty leagues long, and as many
road; from this, its channel, in some measure, winds
back to the country where it first began; from thence,
precipitating by frightful cataracts, it travels through a
vAan^y of desert regions, equally formidable, such as
bara, Olaca, Damot, and Xaoa. Upon its arrival in
e kingdom of Upper Egypt, it runs through a rocky
cafa1116^ some latc travellers have mistaken for its

aracts. In the . beginning of its course, it receives
ess.er rivers into it ; and Pliny was mistaken in say-
cou tlat- ^ received none. In the beginning also of its
<Wn lt ^as many windings > but> for above three hun-
ann eagues from the sea, it runs in a direct line. Its

A-hich * °V<frflowinSs. arise from a very obvious cause,
their 1S a most universal with the great rivers that take

i'eriodh^li1<-e near ^ne* rainy season, which is

always i ln ^10s.e climates, floods the rivers ; and as this
tlttle ovpfl>PenS in °Ur summer> so the Nile is at that
Egyjr TV1?‘ ^rom> these inundations, the inhabitants
P enve happiness and plenty; and, when the
* Kircher, Mund. Subt. vol. ii. d. 7<2.

A HISTORY OF

126

river does not arise to its accustomed heights, they prepare
for an indifferent harvest. It begins to overflow about the
seventeenth of June ; it generally continues to augment
for forty days, and decreases in about as many more.
The time of increase and decrease, however, is much more
inconsiderable now than it was among the ancients. He-
rodotus informs us, that it was an hundred days rising,
and as many falling ; which shews that the inundation was
much greater at that time than at present. Mr. Buffo n*
has ascribed the present diminution, as well to the lessen-
ing of the Mountains of the Moon, by their substance
having so long beep washed down with the stream, as to
the rising of the earth in Egypt, that has for so many ages
received this extraneous supply. But we do not find, by
the buildings that have remained since the times of the
ancients, that the earth is much raised since then. Be-
sides the Nile in Africa, we may reckon the Zara, and the
Coanza, from the greatness of whose openings into the sea,
and the rapidity of whose streams, we form an estimate
of the great distance from whence they come. Their
courses, however, are spent in watering deserts and savage
countries, whose poverty or fierceness have kept strangers

away. $

But of all parts of the world, America, as it exhibits
the most lofty mountains, so also it supplies the largest
rivers. The foremost of these is the great river Amazon,
which, from its source in the lake of Lauricocha, to its
discharge into the Western Ocean, performs a course of
more than twelve hundred leagues. The breadth and
depth of this river are answerable to its vast length ; and,
where its width is most contracted, its depth is augmented
in proportion. So great is the body of its waters, tha
other rivers, though before the objects of admiration, arC
lost in its bosom. It proceeds, after their junction, w1
its usual appearance, without any visible change m 1
breadth or rapidity ; and, if we may so express it, renialjtg
great without ostentation. In some places it displays ^
whole magnificence, dividing into several large branc ^
and encompassing a multitude of islands ; and, at *elhjin.
discharging itself into the oeean, by a channel of an 1 ^
dred and fifty miles broad. Another river, that may
* Buffon, vol. ii. p. 82. t Ulloa, vol. i. P-.388*

THE EARTH.

127

most lival the former, is the St. Lawrence, in Canada, which
rising in the lake Assiniboils, passes from one lake to
another, from Christinaux to Alempigo ; from thence to
lake Superior ; thence to the lake Hurons ; to lake Erie ;
to lake Ontario ; and, at last, after a course of nine hundred
leagues, pours . their collected waters into the Atlantic
Ocean. The river Mississippi is of more than seven hun-
dred leagues in length, beginning at its source near the lake
Assiniboils, and ending at its opening into the gulph of
Mexico. The river Plate runs a length of more than eight
hundred leagues from its source in the river Parana, to its
mouth. . The river Oroonoko is seven hundred and fifty
leagues in length, from its source near Pasto, to its discharge
into the Atlantic Ocean.

Such is the amazing length of the greatest rivers ; and
even in some of these, the most remote sources very pro-
bably yet continue unknown. In fact, if we consider the
number of rivers which they receive, and the little ac-
quaintance we have with the regions through which they
nin, it is not to be wondered at that geographers are
divided concerning the sources of most of them. As
among a number of roots by which nourishment is con-
veyed to a stately tree, it is difficult to determine precisely
t vat by which the tree is chiefly supplied ; so among the
many branches of a. great river, it is equally difficult to
f Much is the original. Hence it may easily happen,
vat a similar branch is taken for the capital stream ; and
* s runnings are pursued, and delineated, in prejudice of
ome other branch that better deserved the name and the
esciipticm. In this manner,* in Europe, the Danube is

own to receive thirty lesser rivers ; the Wolga, thirty-

five ^ ,thirty-three- In Asia, the Hohanho receives thirty-
> the Jenisca above sixty; the Oby as many; the

the °r ak°ut forty > the Nanquin receives thirty rivers ;
Afric ail]feS twenty ; and the Euphrates about eleven. In
h’ile a’ * ^ ^ene£al receives more than twenty rivers ; the
and Jeceives n°t one for five hundred leagues upwards,
Arnaz en ° v twelve or thirteen. In America, the river
ble; th 1^ceives ahove sixty, and those very considera-
e nvei St. Lawrence about forty, counting those

* Buffon, vol. ii. p. 74.

A HISTORY OF

128

which fall into its lakes; the Mississippi receives foxty;
and the river Plate above fifty.

I mentioned the inundations of the Ganges and the
Nile; but almost every other great river, whose source
lies within the tropics, have their stated inundations also.
The river Pegu has been called, by travellers, the Indian
Nile, because of the similar overflowings of its stream:
this it does to an extent of thirty leagues on each side ;
and so fertilizes the soil, that the inhabitants send great
quantities of rice into other countries, and have still
abundance for their own consumption. The river Sene-
gal has likewise its inundations, which cover the whole
flat country of Negroland, beginning and ending much
about the same time with those of the Nile ; as, in fact,
both rivers rise from the same mountains. But the dif-
ference between the effects of the inundations in each
river is remarkable: in the one, it distributes health and
plenty; in the other, diseases, famine, and death. The
inhabitants along the torrid coasts of the Senegal, can
receive no benefit from any additional manure the river
may carry down to their soil, which is by nature more
than sufficiently luxuriant; or, even if they could, they
have not industry to turn it to any advantage. The banks,
therefore, of the rivers, lie uncultivated, overgrown with
rank and noxious herbage, and infested with thousands
of animals of various malignity. Every new flood only
tends to increase the rankness of the soil, and to pro-
vide fresh shelter for the creatures that infest it. If the
flood continues but a few days longer than usual, the
improvident inhabitants, who are driven up in the higher
grounds, want provisions, and a famine ensues. When
the river begins to return into its channel, the humiditv
and heat of the air are equally fatal ; and the carcases 0
infinite numbers of animals, swept away by the inunda
tion, putrefying in the sun, produce a stench that is
most insupportable. But even the luxuriance of
vegetation becomes a nuisance. I have been assure^
by persons of veracity who have been up the river fce^
gal, that there are some plants growing along the o° ^
the smell of which is so powerful, that it is hardly j®. ^
endured. It is certain, that all the sailors and so ^
ivho have been at any of our factories there, ascri

THE EARTH

129

unwholesomeness of the voyage up the stream, to the
vegetable vapour. However this be, the inundations of
the rivers in this wretched part of the globe, contribute
scarce any advantage, if we except the beauty of the pros-
pects which they afford. These, indeed, are finished
beyond the utmost reach of art : a spacious glassy river,
with its banks here and there fringed to the very surface
by the man grove -tree, that grows down into the water,
presents itself to view ; lofty forests of various colours, with
openings between, carpeted with green plants, and the most
gaudy flowers ; beasts and animals, of various kinds, that
stand upon the banks of the river, and, with a sort of
wild curiosity, survey the mariners as they pass, contribute
to heighten the scene. This is the sketch of an African
prospect ; which delights the eye, even while it destroys the
constitution .

Besides these annually periodical inundations, there are
many rivers that overflow at much shorter intervals. Thus
most of those in Peru and Chili have scarce any motion by
night ; but upon the appearance of the morning sun, they
resume their former rapidity : this proceeds from the moun-
tain snows, which, melting with the heat, increase the
stream, and continue to drive on the current while the sun
continues to dissolve them. Some rivers also flow with
an even steady current, from their source to the sea ; others
flow with greater rapidity, their stream being poured down
Jn a cataract, or swallowed by the sands, before they reach
the sea.

The rivers of those countries that have been least in-
. ahited, are usually more rocky, uneven, and broken
lnt0 water-falls or cataracts, than those where the indus-
JT man has been more prevalent. Wherever man
®es, nature puts on a milder appearance : the terrible
us f i^16 su^me> are exchanged for the gentle and the
andl cataract *s sl°Ped away into a placid stream ;
hav t le k.anks become more smooth and even.* It must
rec^r^ ages to render the Rhone or the Loire na-
their ^ 1 beds must have been cleaned and directed ;

flustrv^iv113^^68 removed i and, by a long course of in-
• ’ ^ature must have been taught to conspire with

vol.

t* — 6.

* BufFon, vol. ii, p. 90.

R

A HISTORY OF

130

the desires of her controller. Every one’s experience must
have supplied instances of rivers thus being made to flow
more evenly, and more beneficially to mankind ; but there
are some whose currents are so rapid, and falls so precipi-
tate, that no art can obviate ; and that must for ever remain
as amazing instances of incorrigible nature.

Of this kind are the cataracts of the Rhine ; one of
which I have seen exhibit a very strange appearance ; it
was that at Schathausen, which was frozen quite across,
and the water stood in columns where the cataract had
formerly fallen. The Nile, as was said, has its cataracts.
The river Vologda, in Russia, has two. The river Zara,
in Africa, has one near its source. The river Velino, in
Italy, has a cataract of above an hundred ,and fifty feet
perpendicular. Near the city of Gottenburgh, * in Sweden,
the river rushes down from a prodigious high precipice,
into a deep pit, with a terrible noise, and such dreadful
force, that those trees designed for the masts of ships, which
are floated down the river, are usually turned upside down
in their fall, and often are shattered to pieces, by being
dashed against the surface of the water in the pit ; this
occurs if the masts fall sideways upon the water ; but if
they fall endways, they dive so far under water, that they
disappear for a quarter of an hour, or more : the pit, into
which they are thus plunged, has been often sounded with
a line of some hundred fathoms long, but no ground has
been found hitherto. There is also a cataract at Powers-
court, in Ireland, in which, if I am rightly informed,, the
water falls three hundred feet perpendicular ; which is a
greater descent than that of any other cataract in any palt
of the world. There is a cataract at Albany, in the province
of New York, which pours its stream fifty feet perpendicular-
But of all the cataracts in the world, that of Niagfefo
in Canada, if we consider the great body of water t
falls, must be allowed to be the greatest, and the R1
astonishing. ..

This amazing fall of water is made by the riverc®|
Lawrence, in its passage from the lake Erie into the
Ontario. We have already said that the St.
was one of the largest rivers in the world ; and ye

* Phil. Trans, vol. ii. p. 325.

THE EARTH.

131

whole of its waters are here poured down, by a fall of an
hundred and fifty feet perpendicular. It is not easy to
bring the imagination to correspond with the greatness of
the scene; a river, extremely deep and rapid, and that
serves to drain the waters of almost all North America
into the Atlantic ocean, is here poured precipitately down
a ledge of rocks, that rise, like a wall, across the whole
bed of its stream. The width of the river, a little above,
is near three quarters of a mile broad ; and the rocks, where
it grows narrower, are four hundred yards over. Their
direction is not straight across, but hollowing inwards like
a horse-shoe ; so that the cataract, which bends to the
shape of the obstacle, rounding inwards, presents a kind
of theatre the most tremendous in nature. Just in the
middle of this circular wall of waters, a little island, that
has braved the fury of the current, presents one of its points,
and divides the stream at top into two ; but it unites again
long before it has got to the bottom. The noise of the fall
is heard at several leagues distance ; and the fury of the
waters at the bottom of their fall is inconceivable. The
dashing produces a mist that rises to the very clouds ; and
that produces a most beautiful rainbow, when the sun shines.
It may easily be conceived, that such a cataract quite
destroys the navigation of the stream ; and yet some Indian
canoes, as it is said, have been known to venture down it
with safety.

Of those rivers that lose themselves in the sands, or
are swallowed up by chasms in the earth, we have vari-
0Us information. What we are told by the ancients, ot
the river Alpheus, in Arcadia, that sinks into the ground,
and rises again near Syracuse in Sicily, where it takes the
jiame of Arethusa, is rather more known than credited.

ut we have better information with respect to the river
^gris being lost in this manner under mount Taurus ; of
fe, Ouadalquiver, in Spain, being buried in the sands ;
an 1 • r-1Ver ^r^ataIh in Yorkshire, running under ground,
p C nsing again ; and even of the great Rhine itself, a
f ot which is no doubt lost in the sands, a little above
But it ought to be observed of this river, that

f^yden.

by

altii^f1 £r.eatest Part arrives at the ocean ; for,
Bttlo 1 ?16 ancient channel which fell into the sea, a
0 the west of that city, be now entirely choked up,

A HISTORY OF

132

yet there are still a number of small canals, that carry a
great body of water to the sea ; and, besides* it has also two
veiy large openings, the Lech and the Waal, below Rotter-
dam, by which it empties itself abundantly.

Be this as it will, nothing is more common in sultry and
sandy deserts, than rivers being thus either lost in the sands,
or entirely dried up by the sun. And hence we see, that
under the line, the small rivers are but few ; for such little
streams as are common in Europe, and which with us
receive the name of rivers, would quickly evaporate, in
those parching and extensive deserts. It is even confi-
dently asserted, that the great river Niger is thus lost before
it reaches the ocean ; and that its supposed mouths, the
Gambia and the Senagal, are distinct rivers, that come a
vast way from the interior parts of the country. It appears,
therefore, that the rivers under the Line are large ; but
it is otherwise at the Poles,* where they must necessarily
be small. In that desolate region, as the mountains are
covered with perpetual ice, which melts but little, or not at
all, the springs and rivulets are furnished with a very small
Supply. Here, therefore, men and beasts would perish,
and die for thirst, if Providence had not ordered, that in
the hardest winter, thaws should intervene, which deposit a
small quantity of snow-water in pools under the ice ; and
from this source the wretched inhabitants drain a scanty
beverage.

Thus, whatever quarter of the globe we turn to, we
shall find new reasons to be satisfied with that part of it
in which we reside. Our rivers furnish all the plenty
of the African stream, without its inundation ; they have
all the coolness of the polar rivulet, with a more constant
supply; they may want the terrible magnificence of huge
cataracts, or extensive lakes, but they are more navigable,
and more transparent ; though less deep and rapid than
the rivers of the torrid zone, they are more manageable
and only wait the will of man to take their direction.
rivers of the torrid zone, like the monarchs of the cou
try,' rule with despotic tyranny ; profuse in their bounty >
and ungovernable in their rage. The rivers of Enr0Py
like their kings, are the friends, and not the oppress0

* Crantz’s History of Greenland, vol. i. p- 41.

THE EARTH.

133

of the people ; bounded by known limits, abridged in the
power of doing ill, directed by human sagacity, and only
at freedom to distribute happiness and plenty.

CHAP. XV.

OF THE OCEAN IN GENERAL; AND OF ITS SALTNESS.

If we look upon a map of the world, we shall find that
the ocean occupies considerably more of the globe, than
the land is found to do. This immense body of waters
is diffused round both the Old and New Continent, to
the south ; and may surround them also to the north, for
what we know, but the ice in those regions has stopped
our inquiries. Although the ocean, properly speaking, is
but one extensive sheet of waters, continued over every
part of the globe, without interruption, and although no
part of it is divided from the rest, yet geographers have
distinguished it by different names ; as, the Atlantic or
Western Ocean, the Northern Ocean, the Southern Ocean,
the Pacific Ocean, and the Indian Ocean. Others have
divided it differently, and given other names ; as, the
Iiozen Ocean, the Inferior Ocean, or the American Ocean,
hut all these being arbitrary distinctions, and not of
feature’s making, the naturalist may consider them with
^difference.

In this vast receptacle, almost all the rivers of the earth
^ tlmately terminate ; nor do such great supplies seem to
please its stores ; for it is neither apparently swollen by
eir tribute, nor diminished by their failure ; it still con-
°f UpS same. Indeed, what is the quantity of water
co f • rivers and lakes in the world, compared to that
rtl^! aiaed in this great receptacle ?* If we should offer to
the G a rU^e esttmate, we shall find that all the rivers in
tinuVV°rid, flowing into the bed of the sea, with a con-
ance of their present stores, would take up at least

* Buffon, vol. ii. p. 70.

A HISTORY OF

134

eight hundred years to fill it to its present height. For,
supposing the sea to be eighty-five millions of square
miles in extent, and a quarter of a mile, upon an average,
in depth, this, upon calculation, will give about twenty-
one millions of cubic miles of water, as the contents of
the whole ocean. Now, to estimate the quantity of water
which all the rivers supply, take any one of them ; the
Po, for instance, the quantity of whose discharge into the
sea is known to be one cubic mile of water in twenty-six
days. Now it will be found, upon a rude computation,
from the quantity of ground the Po, with its influent streams,
covers, that all the rivers of the world furnish about
two thousand times that quantity of water. In the space
of a year, therefore, they will have discharged into the sea
about twentv-six thousand cubic miles of water ; and not
till eight hundred years, will they have discharged as
much water as is contained in the sea at present. I have
not troubled the reader with the odd numbers, lest he
should imagine I was giving precision to a subject that is
incapable of it.

Thus great is the assemblage of waters diffused round
our habitable globe ; and yet, immeasurable as they seem,
they are mostly rendered subservient to the necessities
and the conveniences of so little a being as man. Never-
theless, if it should be asked whether , they be made for
him alone, the question is not easily resolved. Some
philosophers have perceived so much analogy to man in
the formation of the ocean, that they have not hesitated
to assert its being made for him alone. The distribution
of land and water,* say they, is admirable; the one be-
ing laid against the other so skilfully, that there is a just
equipoise of the whole globe. Thus the Northern Ocean
balances against the Southern ; and the New Continent
is an exact counterweight to the Old. As to any objec-
tion from the ocean’s occupying too large a share of the
globe, they contend, that there could not have been a
smaller surface employed to supply the earth with a du
share of evaporation. On the other hand, some take
gloomy side of the question ; they either magnify^ its
parent defects ; or assert, that what seems defects to »

f Burnet’s Theory, passim-

* Derham’s Physico-Theol.

THE EARTH.

135

may be real beauties to some wiser order of beings.*
They observe, that multitudes of animals are concealed
in the ocean, and but a small part of them are known ;
the rest therefore, they fail not to say, were certainly
made for their own benefit, and not for ours. How
far either of these opinions be just, I will not presume
to determine; but of this we are certain, that God has
endowed us with abilities to turn this great extent of
waters to our own advantage. He has made these

things, perhaps, for other uses ; but he has given us
faculties to convert them to our own. This much agi-
tated question, therefore, seems to terminate here. We
shall never know whether the things of this world have
been made for our use ; but we very well know that we
have been made to enjoy them. Let us then boldly
affirm, that the earth, and all its wonders, are ours ;
since we are furnished with powers to force them into
our service. Man is the lord of all the sublunary crea-
tion ; the howling savage, the winding serpent, with all
the untameable and rebellious offspring of Nature, are
destroyed in the contest, or driven at a distance from
his habitations. The extensive and tempestuous ocean,
instead of limiting or dividing his power, only serves to
assist his industry, and enlarge the sphere of his enjoy-
ments. Its billows, and its monsters, instead of present-
ing a scene of terror, only call up the courage of this
little intrepid being ; and the greatest danger that man
now fears on the deep, is from his fellow creatures. In-
deed, when I consider the human race as Nature has
formed them, there is but very little of the habitable globe
that seems made for them. But when I consider them as
accumulating the experience of ages, in commanding the
earth, there is nothing so great or so terrible. What a
poor contemptible being is the naked savage, standing on
e beach of the ocean, and trembling at its tumults !
ow little capable is he of converting its terrors into be-
^ ts ; or of saying, Behold an element made wholly for
y onjoymejH ! He considers it as an angry deity, and
it the homage of submission. But it is very different
en he has exercised his mental powers ; when he has

* Pope’s Ethic Epistles, passim.

A HISTORY OP

136

learnt to find his own superiority, and to make it subservient
to his commands. It is then that his dignity begins to
appear, and that the true Deity is justly praised for having
been mindful of man ; for having given him the earth for
his habitation, and the sea for an inheritance.

This power which man has obtained over Ahe ocean,
was at first enjoyed in common ; and none pretended to
a right in that element where all seemed intruders. The
sea, therefore, was open to all till the time of the emperor
Justinian. His successor Leo granted such as were in
possession of the shore, the sole right of fishing before
their respective territories. The Thracian Bosphorus was
the first that was thus appropriated ; and from that time
it has been the struggle of most of the powers of Europe
to obtain an exclusive right in this element. The republic
of Venice claims the Adriatic. The Danes are in pos-
session of the Baltic. But the English have a more ex-
tensive claim to the empire of all the seas encompassing
the kingdoms of England, Scotland, and Ireland ; and
although these have been long contested, yet they are
now considered as their indisputable property. Every
one knows that the great power of the nation is exerted
on this element; and that the instant England ceases
to be superior upon the ocean, its safety begins to be
precarious.

It is in some measure owing to our dependence upon the
sea, and to our commerce there, that we are so well ac-
quainted with its extent and figure. The bays, gulphs, cur-
rents, and shallows, of the ocean, are much better known
and examined than the provinces and kingdoms of the
earth itself. The hopes of acquiring wealth by commerce,
has carried man to much greater length than the desire of
gaining information could have done. In consequence of
this, there is scarce a strait or an harbour, scarce a rock or
a quicksand, scarce an inflection of the shore, or the jut'
ting of a promontory, that has not been minutely describ-
ed. But as these present very little entertainment to the
imagination, or delight to any but those whose pursuits
are lucrative, they need not be dwelt upon here. Wvlle
the merchant and the mariner are solicitous in describing
currents and soundings, the naturalist is employed
observing wonders, though not so beneficial, yet to h11

THE EARTH. 137

of a much more important nature. The saltness of the sea
seems to be foremost.

Whence the sea has derived that peculiar bitterish salt-
ness which we find in it, appears, by Aristotle, to have
exercised the curiosity of naturalists in all ages. He sup-
posed (and mankind were for ages content with the
solution) that the sun continually raised dry saline ex-
halations from the earth, and deposited them upon the
sea ; and hence, say his followers, the waters of the sea
are more salt at top than at bottom. But, unfortunately
for this opinion, neither of the facts is true. Sea-salt is
not to be raised by the vapours of the sun ; and sea-
water is not salter at the top than at the bottom. Father
Bohours is of opinion, that the Creator gave the waters
of the ocean their saltness at the beginning ; not only to
prevent their corruption, but to enable them to bear
greater burthens. But their saltness does not prevent
their corruption ; for stagnant sea-water, like fresh, soon
grows putrid : and, as for their bearing greater burthens,
fresh water answers all the purposes of navigation quite
as well. The established opinion, therefore, is that of
Boyle,* who supposes, “ That the sea’s saltness is sup-
plied not only from rocks or masses of salt at the bottom
of the sea, but also from the salt which the rains and
nvers, and other waters, dissolve in their passage through
many parts of the earth, and at length carry with them
to the sea.” But as there is a difference in the taste of
rock-salt found at land, and that dissolved in the waters of
the ocean, this may be produced by the plenty of nitrous-
ari(l bituminous bodies that, with the salts, are likewise
gashed into that great receptacle. These substances
oemg thus once carried to the sea, must for ever remain
lei'e ; for they do not rise by evaporation, so as to be
returned back from whence they came. Nothing but the
resh waters of the sea rise in vapours ; and all the saltness
remains behind. From hence it follows, that every year
cm ^6a must become more and more salt ; and this spe-
ation Dr. Halley carries so far, as to lay down a
e od of finding out the age of the world by the salt-
Ss of its waters. “ For if it be observed,” says he,

V0L‘ — 6.

* Boyle, vol. lii. p. 221.

S

A HISTORY OF

138

“ what quantity of salt is at present contained in a
certain weight of water taken up from the Caspian Sea
for example, and, after some centuries, what greater
quantity of salt is contained in the same weight of water,
taken from the same place ; we may conclude, that in
proportion as the saltness has increased in a certain time,
so much must it have increased before that time ; and
we may thus, by the rule of proportion, make an esti-
mate of the whole time wherein the water would acquire
the degree of saltness it should be then possessed of.”*
All this may be fine: however, an experiment, begun
in this century, which is not to be completed till some
centuries hence, is rather a little mortifying to modern
curiosity ; and, I am induced to think, the inhabitants
round the Caspian Sea will riot be apt to undertake the
inquiry.

This saltness is found to prevail in every part of the ocean ;
and as much at the surface as at the bottom. It is also
found in all those seas that communicate with the ocean ;
but rather in a less degree.

The great lakes, likewise, that have no outlets nor com-
munication with the ocean, are found to be salt ; but some
of them in less proportion. On the contrary, all those lakes
through which rivers run into the sea, however extensive
they be, are, notwithstanding, very fresh : for the rivers do
not deposit their salts in the bed of the lake, but carry
them with their currents into the ocean. Thus the lakes
Ontario and Erie, in North America, although for magni-
tude they may be considered as inland seas, are, never-
theless, fresh-water lakes ; and kept so by the river St.
Lawrence, which passes through them. But those lakes
that have no communication with the sea, nor any rivers
going out, although they be less than the former, are, how
ever, always salt. Thus, that which goes by the name 0
the Dead Sea, though very small, when compared to tho
already mentioned, is so exceedingly salt, that its wa
seem scarcely capable of dissolving any more. The lak®-s '
Mexico and of Titicaca, in Peru, though of no great exte
are nevertheless salt; and both for the same reason.

Those who are willing to turn all things to the best,

* Phil. Trans, vol. v. P. 218.

THE EARTH. '

not failed to consider this saltness of the sea as a peculiar
blessing from Providence, in order to keep so great an ele-
ment sweet and wholesome. What foundation there may
be in the remark, I will not pretend to determine ; but we
shall shortly find a much better cause for its being kept
sweet, namely, its motion.

On the other hand, there have been many who have
considered the subject in a different light, and have tried
every endeavour to make salt-water fresh, so as to sup-
ply the wants of mariners in long voyages, or when ex-
hausted of their ordinary stores. At first it was sup-
posed simple distillation would do ; but it was soon found
that the bitter part of the water still kept mixed. It was
then tried by uniting salt of tartar with sea-wrater, and
distilling both ; but here the expence was greater than the
advantage. Calcined bones were next thought of ; but
a hogshead of calcined bones, carried to sea, would take
up as much room as a hogshead of water, and was more
hard to be obtained. In this state, therefore, have the
attempts to sweeten sea-water rested ; the chymist satis-
fied with the reality of his invention, and the mariner
convinced of its being useless. I cannot, therefore, avoid
mentioning a kind of succedaneum which has been lately
conceived to answer the purposes of fresh water, when
mariners are quite exhausted. It is well known, that
persons who go into a warm bath, come out several ounces
heavier than they went in ; their bodies having imbibed
:i correspondent quantity of water. This more particularly
happens, if they have been previously debarred from
drinking, or go in with a violent thirst ; which they
quickly find quenched, and their spirits restored. It was
opposed, that in case of a total failure of fresh water at sea,
a warm bath might be made of sea-water, for the use of
Mariners ; and that their pores would thus imbibe the fluid,
^thout any of its salts, which would be seen to crystallize
the surface .of their bodies. In this manner, it is sup-
posed, a sufficient quantity of moisture may be procured to

stain life, till time or accident furnish a more copious

SUpply.

k°wever ^is be, the saltness of the sea can by no
ns he considered as a principal cause in preserving its
rs hom putrefaction. The ocfean has its currents, like

A HISTORY OF

140

rivers, which circulate its contents round the globe ; and
these may be said to be the great agents that keep it sweet
and wholesome. Its saltness alone would by no means an-
swer this purpose : and some have even imagined, that the
various substances with which it is mixed, rather tend to
promote putrescence than impede it. Sir Robert Hawkins,
one of our most enlightened navigators, gives the following-
account of a calm in which the sea continuing for some
time without motion, began to assume a very formidable
appearance. “ Were it not,” says he, “ for the moving
of the sea, by the force of winds, tides, and currents, it
would corrupt all the world. The experiment of this I saw
in the year 1590, lying with a fleet about the islands of
Azores, almost six months ; the greatest part of which time
we were becalmed. Upon which all the sea became so
replenished with several sorts of jellies, and forms of
serpents, adders, and snakes, as seemed wonderful : some
green, some black, some yellow, some white, some of divers
colours ; and many of them had life ; and some there were
a yard and a half, and two yards long ; which, had I not
seen, I could hardly have believed. And hereof are
witnesses all the company of the ships which were then
present ; so that hardly a man could draw a bucket of water
clear of some corruption. In which voyage, towards the
end thereof, many of every ship fell sick, and began to die
apace. But the speedy passage into our country was a
remedy to the crazed, and a preservative for those that were
not touched.”

This shews, abundantly, how little the sea’s saltness
was capable of preserving it from putrefaction : but to
put the matter beyond all doubt, Mr. Boyle kept a
quantity of sea-water, taken up in the English Channel,
for some time barrelled up ; and, in the space of a few
weeks, it began to acquire a fetid smell.* He was also
assured, by one of his acquaintance, who Wets becalmed
for twelve or fourteen days in the Indian Sea, that the
water, for want of motion, began to stink ; and that had
it continued much longer, the stench would probably have
poisoned him. It is the motion, therefore, and not *
saltness of the sea, that preserves it in its present sta *

* Boyle, vol. iii. p, £22.

THE EARTH.

141

of salubrity; and this, very probably, by dashing and
breaking in pieces the rudiments, if I may so call them, of
the various animals that would otherwise breed there, and
putrify.

There are some advantages, however, which are derived
from the saltness of the sea. Its waters being evaporated,
furnish that salt which is used for domestic purposes ; and
although in some places it is made from springs, and in
others dug out of mines, yet the greatest quantity is made
only from the sea. That which is called bay salt , (from
its coming to us by the Bay of Biscay,) is a stronger kind,
made by evaporation in the sun ; that called common salt ,
is evaporated in pans over the fire, and is of a much inferior
quality to the former.

Another benefit arising from the quantity of salt dis-
solved in the sea, is, that it thus becomes heavier, and
consequently more buoyant. Mr. Boyle, who examined
the difference between sea-water and fresh, found that the
former appeared to be about a forty-fifth part heavier
than the latter. Those, also, who have had opportunities
of bathing in the sea, pretend to have experienced a much
greater ease in swimming there than in fresh water. How-
ever, as we see they have only a forty-fifth part more of
their weight sustained by it, I am apt to doubt whether
so minute a difference can be practically perceivable. Be
this as it may, as sea-water alters in its weight from fresh,
so it is found also to differ from itself in different parts
of the ocean. In general, it is perceivable to be heavier,
and consequently salter, the nearer we approach the
Line.*

But there is an advantage arising from the saltness of
ffe waters of the sea, much greater than what has been
yet mentioned ; which is, that their congelation is thus
retarded. Some, indeed, have gone so far as to say, that
sea- water never freezes but this is an assertion con-
r^dicted by experience. However, it is certain that it
requiies a much greater degree of cold to freeze it than
es water ; so that, while rivers and springs are seen
inerted \n^° one solid body of ice, the sea is- always fit
navigation, and no way affected by the coldness of the

* Phil. Trans, vol. ii, p. 297.

t Macrobius.

142

A HISTORY OF

severest winter. It is, therefore, one of the greatest bless-
ings we derive from this element, that, when at land all
the stores of nature are locked up from us, we find the sea
ever open to our necessities, and patient of the hand of
industry.

But it must not be supposed, because in our temperate
climate we never see the sea frozen, that it is in the same
manner open in every part of it. A very little acquaintance
with the accounts of mariners, must have informed us,
that at the polar regions it is embarrassed with mountains
and moving sheets of ice, that often render it impassable.
These tremendous floats are of different magnitudes ;
sometimes rising more than a thousand feet above the
surface of the water ;* sometimes diffused into plains of
above two hundred leagues in length ; and, in many parts,
sixty or eighty broad. They are usually divided by fissures ;
one piece following another so close, that a person may
step from one to the other. Sometimes mountains are
seen rising amidst these plains, and presenting the ap-
pearance of a variegated landscape, with hills and valleys,
houses, churches, and towers. These are appearances in
which all naturalists are agreed ; but the great contest is
respecting their formation. Mr. Buffon asserts,^ that
they are formed from fresh water alone, which congealing
at the mouths of great rivers, accumulate those huge
masses that disturb navigation. However, this great
naturalist seems not to have been aware that there are
two sorts of ice floating in these seas ; the flat ice and the
mountain ice : the one formed of sea- water only ; the other

of fresh. J

The flat, or driving ice, is entirely composed of seaj

water ; which, upon dissolution, is found to be salt ;
is readily distinguished from the mountain, or fresh-wa /
ice, by its whiteness, and want of transparency. *. ,
ice is much more terrible to mariners than that, w
rises up in lumps : a ship can avoid the one, as it 1S s5j^
at a distance ; but it often gets in among the other, w
sometimes closing, crushes it to pieces. This, w
manifestly has a different origin from the fresh-water

* Crantz’s History of Greenland, vol. i. p- SR
t Buffon, vol. ii. p. 91.

+ Crantz.

THE EARTH.

143

may perhaps have been produced in the Icy Sea, beneath
the pole ; or along the coasts of Spitzbergen or Nova-
Zembla.

The mountain ice, as was said, is different in every
respect, being formed of fresh water, and appearing hard
and transparent ; it is generally of a pale green colour,
though some pieces are of a beautiful sky-blue ; many
large masses also appear gray, and some black. If exa-\
mined more nearly, they are found to be incorporated with
earth, stones, and brush-wood, washed from the shore.
On these also are sometimes found, not only earth, but
nests with birds’ eggs, at several hundred miles from land.
The generality of these, though almost totally fresh, have
nevertheless a thick crust of salt-water frozen upon them,
probably from the power that ice has sometimes to pro-
duce ice. Such mountains as are here described, are
most usually seen at spring-time, and after a violent storm,
driving out to sea, where they at first terrify the mariner,
and are soon after dashed to pieces by the continual
washing of the waves ; or driven into the warmer regions
of the south, there to be melted away. They sometimes,
however, strike back upon their native shores, where they
seem to take root at the feet of mountains ; and, as Martius
tells us, are sometimes higher than the mountains them-
selves. Those seen by him were blue, full of clefts and
cavities made by the rain, and crowned with snow, which
alternately thawing and freezing every year, augmented
their size. These, composed of materials more solid than
that driving at sea, presented a variety of agreeable figures
to the eye, that with a little help from fancy assumed the
aPpearance of trees in blossom ; the inside of churches,
Wlth arches, pillars, and windows ; and the blue-coloured
7S> darting from within, presented the resemblance of a

ti Tf

it we inquire into the origin and formation of these,

tVi’ as we see’ are very different from the former, I

ink we have a very satisfactory account of them in

rantz s History of Greenland ; and I will take leave to
^Ve the passage with a very few alterations. “ These
^ anta^ns of ice,” says he, “ are not salt, like the sea-
exce^ swee<: > anch therefore, can be formed no where
Pt on the mountains, in rivers, in caverns, and against

A HISTORY OF

144

the hills near the sea-shore. The mountains of Greenland
are so high, that the snow which falls upon them, parti-
cularly on the north-side, is in one night’s time wholly
converted into ice: they also contain clefts and cavities,
where the sun seldom or never injects his rays ; besides
these, are projections, or landing-places, on the declivities
of the steepest hills, where the rain and snow-water lodge,
and quickly congeal. When now the accumulated flakes
of snow slide down, or fall with the rain from the emi-
nences above on these prominences ; or, when here and
there a mountain-spring comes rolling down to such a
lodging-place, where the ice has already seated itself, they
all freeze, and add their tribute to it. This, by degrees,
waxes to a body of ice, that can no more be overpowered
by the sun ; and which, though it may indeed, at certain
seasons, diminish by a thaw, yet, upon the whole, through
annual acquisitions, it assumes an annual growth. Such
a body of ice is often prominent far over the rocks. It
does not melt on the upper surface, but underneath ; and
often cracks into many larger or smaller clefts, from
whence the thawed water trickles out. By this it becomes
at last so weak, that being overloaded with its own pon-
derous bulk, it breaks loose, and tumbles down the
rocks with a terrible crash. Where it happens to over-
hang a precipice on the shore, it plunges into the deep
with a shock like thunder ; and with such an agitation
of the water, as will overset a boat at some distance, as
many a poor Greenlander has fatally experienced.” Thus
are these amazing ice-mountains launched forth to sea,
and found floating in the waters round both the poles-
It is these that have hindered mariners from discovering
the extensive countries that lie round the South P°le»
and that probably block up the passage to China by t*16
North.

I will conclude this chapter, with one effect in°re
produced by the saltness of the sea ; which is the lumin®
appearance of its waves in the night. All who have bee
spectators of a sea by night, a little ruffled with wi ^
seldom fail of observing its fiery brightness. In
places it shines as far as the eye can reach at ^

* Boyle, vol. i. p. 294,

THE EARTH.

145

times, only when the waves boom against the side of the
vessel, or the oar dashes into the water. Some seas shine
often ; others more seldom ; some, ever when particular
winds blow ; and others, within a narrow compass ; a long
tract of light being seen along the surface, whilst all the
rest is hid in total darkness. It is not easy to account for
these extraordinary appearances: some have supposed
that a number of luminous insects produced the effect,
and this is in reality sometimes the case ; in general, how-
ever, they have every resemblance to that light produced
by electricity ; and, probably, arise from the agitation and
dashing of the saline particles of the fluid against each
other. But the manner in which this is done, for we can
produce nothing similar by any experiments hitherto made,
remains for some happier accident to discover. Our
progress in the knowledge of nature is slow ; and it is a
mortifying consideration, that we are hitherto more indebted
for success to chance than industry.

CHAP. XVI.

°F THE TIDES, MOTION, AND CURRENTS, OF THE SEA;

WITH THEIR EFFECTS.

It was said in the former chapter, that the waters of
he sea were kept sweet by their motion ; without which
jhey would soon putrefy, and spread universal infection.

we look for final causes, here indeed we have a great
tj an obvious one that presents itself before us. Had
'e sea been made without motion, and resembling a pool
w ffgnant water, the noble races of animated nature
shortly be at an end. Nothing would then be
ln0ralu:e^t swarms of ill-formed creatures, with scarcely
tl;ayi vegetable life; and subsisting by putrefaction.
rpii|-e tllS ex*ens^ve bed of waters entirely quiescent,
propp,nS ^le smader reptile kinds would there find a
*here j retrea.t to breed and multiply in ; they would find
fluid t^° agitation, no concussion in the parts of the
Vo 0 crush their feeble frames, or to force them from
• o. t

146

A HISTORY OP

the places where they were bred: there they would mul-
tiply, in security and ease, enjoy a short life, and putrefying,
thus again give nourishment to numberless other, as little
worthy of existence as themselves. But the motion of this
great element effectually destroys the number of these viler

creatures ; its currents and its tides produce continual

agitations, the shock of which they are not able to endure ;
the parts of the fluid rubbing against each other, destroy all
viscidities ; and the ocean, if I may so express it, acquires
health by exercise.

The most obvious motion of the sea, and the most ge-
nerally acknowledged, is that of its tides. This element is
observed to flow for certain hours, from the south towards
the north ; in which motion or flux, which lasts about six
hours, the sea gradually swells ; so that entering the
mouths of rivers, it drives back the river-waters to their
heads. After a continual flux of six hours, the sea seems
to rest for a quarter of an hour ; and then begins to ebb,
or retire back again, from north to south, for six hours
more ; in which time the waters sinking, the rivers resume
their natural course. After a seeming pause of a quarter
of an hour, the sea again begins to flow as before : and thus
it has alternately risen and fallen, twice a day, since the
creation.

This amazing appearance did not fail to excite the cu-
riosity, as it did the wonder, of the ancients. After some
wild conjectures of the earliest philosophers, it became
well known in the time of Pliny, that the tides were en-
tirely under the influence, in a small degree, of the sun ;
but in a much greater of the moon. It was found that

of

there was a flux and reflux of the sea, in the space
twelve hours fifty minutes, which is exactly the time of a
lunar day. It was observed, that whenever the moon wis
in the meridian, or, in other words, as nearly as possible
over any part of the sea, that the sea flowed to that parj’
and made a tide there ; on the contrary, it was f°un ’
that when the
flow back again

be said to ebb. Thus far the waters of the sea ^ ^
very regularly to attend the motions of the moon. & ^
it appeared, likewise, that when the moon was ,n ^
opposite meridian, as far off on the other side of the g

: moon left the meridian, the sea begaI1^J
tin from whence it came ; and there nlV .

THE EARTH.

H7

that there was a tide on this side also ; so that the moon
produced two tides, one by her greatest approach to us,
and another by her greatest distance from us : in other
words, the moon, in once going round the earth, produced
two tides, always at the same time ; one on the part of the
globe directly under her ; and the other, on the part of
the globe directly opposite.

Mankind continued for several ages content with know-
ing the general cause of these wonders, hopeless of dis-
covering the particular manner of the moon’s operation.
Kepler was the first who conjectured that attraction was
the principal cause ; asserting, that the sphere of the moon’s
operation extended to the earth, and drew up its waters.
The precise manner in which this is done, was discovered
by Newton.

The moon has been found, like all the rest of the planets,
to attract and to be attracted by the earth. This attraction
prevails throughout our whole planetary system. The more
matter there is contained in any body, the more it attracts ;
and its influence decreases in proportion as the distance,
when squared, increases. This being premised, let us see
what must ensue upon supposing the moon in the meridian
of any tract of the sea. The surface of the water imme-
diately under the moon, is nearer the moon than any other
part of the globe is ; and, therefore, must be more subject
to its attraction than the waters any where else. The waters
will, therefore, be attracted by the moon, and rise in a heap ;
whose eminence will be the highest where the attraction is
greatest. In order to form this eminence, it is obvious that
the surface, as well as the depths, will be agitated; and
that wherever the water runs from one part, succeeding
waters must run to fill up the space it has left. Thus the
"aters of the sea, running from all parts to attend the motion
°/ the moon, produce the flowing of the tide ; and it is high
hde at that part wherever the moon comes over it, or to its

Pridian.

But when the moon travels onward, and ceases to point
?Ver the place where the waters were just risen, the cause
tlT,e their rising ceasing to operate, they will flow back by
natural gravity into the lower parts from whence they
Pu. travelled ; and this retiring of the waters will form the
ebbln§ of the sea

148

A HISTORY OF

Thus the first part of the demonstration is obvious;
since, in general, it requires no great sagacity to conceive
that the waters nearest the moon are most attracted, or
raised highest by the moon. But the other part of the
demonstration, namely, how there come to be high tides
at the same time, on the opposite side of the globe, and
where the waters are farthest from the moon, is not so
easy to conceive. To comprehend this, it must be observed,
that the part of the earth and its waters that are farthest
from the moon, are the parts of all others that are least
attracted by the moon ; it must also be observed, that all
the waters, when the moon is on the opposite side of the
earth, must be attracted by it in the same direction that the
earth itself attracts them ; that is, if I may so say, quite
through the body of the earth, towards the moon itself.
This, therefore, being conceived, it is plain that those
waters which are farthest from the moon, will have less
weight than those of any other part, on the same side of the
globe ; because the moon’s attraction, which conspires with
the earth’s attraction, is there least. Now, therefore, the
waters farthest from the moon, having less weight, and being
lightest, will be pressed on all sides, by those that, having
more attraction, are heavier : they will be pressed, I say, on
all sides ; and the heavier waters flowing in, will make them
sw'ell and rise, in an eminence directly opposite to that on
the other side of the globe, caused by the more immediate
influence of the moon.

In this manner the moon, in one diurnal revolution,
produces two tides ; one raised immediately under the
sphere of its influence, and the other directly opposite to
it. As the moon travels, this vast body of waters rears
upward, as if to watch its motions ; and pursues the same
constant rotation. However, in this great work of raising
the tides, the sun has no small share ; it produces its own
tides constantly every day, just as the moon does, but i
a much less degree, because the sun is at an immense
greater distance. Thus there are solar tides, and. him
tides. When the forces of these twro great luinina^
concur, which they always do when they are either n1.^
same, or in opposite parts of the heavens, they ^
produce a much greater tide, than when they a
situated in the heavens, as each to make peculiar !

THE EARTH.

149

their own. To express the very same thing technically;
in the conjunctions and oppositions of the sun and moon,
the attraction of the sun conspires with the attraction of
the moon ; by which means the high spring-tides are
formed. But in the quadratures of the sun and moon, the
water raised by the one is depressed by the other ; and
hence the lower neap-tides have their production. In a
word, the tides are greatest in the syzigies, and least in the
quadratures.

This theory we. understood, and the astronomical terms
previously knowr, it may readily be brought to explain
the various appearances of the tides, if the earth were
covered with a deep sea, and the waters uninfluenced by
shoals, currents, straits, or tempests. But in every part of
the sea, near the shores, the geographer must come in to
correct the calculations of the astronomer. For, by reason
of the shallowness of some places, and the narrowness of
the straits in others, there arises a great diversity in the
effect, not to be accounted for without an exact knowledge
of all the circumstances of the place. In the great depths
of the ocean, for instance, a very slow and imperceptible
motion of the whole body of water will suffice to raise its
surface several feet high ; but if the same increase of water
is to be conveyed through a narrow channel, it must rush
through it with the most impetuous rapidity. Thus, in the
English Channel, and the German Ocean, the tide is found
to flow strongest in those places that are narrowest ; the
same quantity of water being, in this case, driven through a
smaller passage. It is often seen, therefore, pouring
through a strait with great force ; and, by its rapidity, con-
^derably raised above the surface of that part of the ocean
111 to which it runs.

This shallowness and narrowness in many parts of the
Sea> give also rise to a peculiarity in the tides of some
P»rts of the world. For in many places, and in our own
?as ln particular, the greatest swell of the tide is not while
!e m°on is in its meridian height, and directly over the
;j,jlce> but some time after it has declined from thence.
"itK SGa’ ln case’ being obstructed, pursues the moon
wate dispatch it can, but does not arrive with all its
Lastl ^ f1^ *0n? a^ter ^e. moon has ceased to operate.
y> hoin this shallowness of the sea, and from its beinsr

A HISTORY OF

150

obstructed by shoals and straits, we may account for the
Mediterranean, the Baltic, and the Black Sea, having no
sensible tides. These, though to us they seem very ex-
tensive, are not however large enough to be affected by
the influence of the moon ; and as to their communication
with the ocean, through such narrow inlets, it is impossible
in a few hours’ time that they should receive and return
water enough to raise or depress them in any considerable
degree.

In general, therefore, we may observe, that all tides are
much higher, and more considerable, in the torrid zone,
than in the rest of the ocean ; the sea in those parts being
generally deeper, and less affected by changeable winds,
or winding shores.* The greatest tide we know of, is
that at the mouth of the river Indus, where the water rises
thirty feet in height. How great, therefore, must have
been the amazement of Alexander’s soldiers at so strange
an appearance ! They wrho always before had been ac-
customed only to the scarcely perceptible risings of the
Mediterranean, or the minute intumescene of the Black
Sea, when made at once spectators of a river rising and
falling thirty feet in a few hours, must, no doubt, have felt
the most extreme awe, and, as we are told,~f~ a mixture of
curiosity and apprehension. The tides are also remarkably
high on the coasts of Malay, in the straits of Sunda, in
the Red Sea, at the mouth of the river St. Lawrence, along
the coasts of China and Japan, at Panama, and in the
gulph of Bengal. The tides at Tonquin, however, are the
most remarkable in the world. In this part there is but
one tide, and one ebb, in twenty-four hours ; whereas, »s
we have said before, in other places there are two. Be'
sides, there, twice in each month, there is no tide at all.
when the moon is near the equinoctial, the water being hu
some time quite stagnant. These, with some other od
appearances attending the same phenomena, were con
sidered by many as inscrutable ; but Sir Isaac
with peculiar sagacity, adjudged them to arise from
concurrence of two tides, one from the South Sea, and
other from the Indian Ocean. Of each of these
there come successively two every day; two at one

* Buffon, vol. ii. p. 187.

f Quintus Curtius.

THE EARTH.

151

greater, and two at another that are less. The time be-
tween the arrival of the two greater, is considered by him
as high tide ; the time between the two lesser, as ebb. In
short, with this clue, that great mathematician solved every
appearance, and so established his theory as to silence every
opposer.

This fluctuation of the sea from the tides, produces
another, and more constant rotation of its waters, from
the east to the west, in this respect following the course of
the moon. This may be considered as one great and
general current of the waters of the sea ; and although it be
not every where distinguishable, it is nevertheless every
where existent, except when opposed by some particular
current or eddy, produced by partial and local causes.
This tendency of the sea towards the west, is plainly per-
ceivable in all the great straits of the ocean ; as, for instance,
in those of Magellan, where the tide running in from the
east, rises twenty feet high, and continues flowing six hours ;
whereas the ebb continues but two hours, and the current is
directed to the west. This proves that the flux is not equal
to the reflux ; and that from both results a motion of the
sea westward, which is more powerful during the time of
the flux than the reflux.

But this motion westward has been sensibly observed by
navigators, in their passage back from India to Madagascar,
and so on to Africa. In the great Pacific Ocean also it is
very perceivable ; but the places where it is most obvious,
as was said, in those straits which join one ocean to
another. In the straits between the Maldivia islands, in the
gnlph of Mexico, between Cuba and Jucatan. In the straits
°f the gulph of Paria, the motion is so violent, that it hath
Reived the appellation of the Dragon’s Mouth. North -
ward, in the sea of Canada, in Waigat’s straits, in the straits
1 Java, and, in short, in every strait where the ocean on one
Part pours into the ocean on the other. In this manner,
erefore, is the sea carried with an unceasing circulation
tile globe ; and, at the same time that its waters are
P 8 led backward and forward with the tide, they have thus a
^gressive current to the west, which though less observa-
not the less real.

oth eS1^es .these two general motions of the sea, there are
18 which are particular to many parts of it, and are

152

A HISTORY OF

called currents. These are found to run in all directions*
east, west, north, and south ; being formed, as was said
above, by various causes ; the prominence of the shores,
the narrowness of the straits, the variations of the wind, and
the inequalities at the bottom. These, though no great
object to the philosopher, as their causes are generally
local and obvious, are nevertheless of the most material
consequence to the mariner ; and without a knowledge of
which he could never succeed. It often has happened, that
when a ship has unknowingly got into one of these, every
thing seems to go forward with success, the mariners
suppose themselves every hour approaching their wished -for
port, the wind fills their sails, and the ship’s prow seems to
divide the water ; but, at last, by miserable experience they
find, that instead of going forward, they have been all the
time receding. The business of currents, therefore, makes
a considerable article in navigation ; and the direction
of their stream, and their rapidity, has been carefully set
down. This some do by the observation of the surface of
the current ; or by the driving of the froth along the shore ;
or by throwing out what is called the log-line , with a
buoy made for that purpose, and by the direction and motion
of this, they judge of the setting and the rapidity of the
current.

These currents are generally found to.be most violent
under the equator, where indeed ah the motions of the
ocean are most perceivable Along the coasts of Guinea,
if a ship happens to overshoot the mouth r-f any river if
is bound to, the current prevents its return ; so that it is
obliged to steer out to sea, and take a very large compass,
in order to correct the former mistake. These set in a
contrary direction to the general motion of the sea west-
ward ; and that so strongly, that a passage which, with the
current, is made in two days, is with difficulty performe
in six weeks against it. However, they do not exten
above twenty leagues from the coast : and ships going t0
the East Indies, take care not to come within the sphere,
of their action. At Sumatra, the currents, which are
tremely rapid, run from south to north ; there are a ^
strong currents between Madagascar and the GaPe ^
Good Hope. On the western coasts of America, the ^
rent always run from the south to the north, w

THE EARTH.

153

south wind, continually blowing, most probably occasions
this phenomenon. But the currents that are most re-
markable, are those continually flowing into the Medi-
terranean sea, both from the ocean by the straits of Gib-
raltar, and at its other extremity, from the Euxine sea by
the Archipelago. This is one of the most extraordinary
appearances in nature ; this large sea receiving not only
the numerous rivers that fall into it, such as the Nile, the
Rhone, and the Po, but also a very great influx from the
Euxine sea. on one part, and the ocean on the other. At
the same time, it is seen to return none of those waters
it is thus known to receive. Outlets running from it
there are none ; no rivers but such as bring it fresh sup-
plies; no straits but what are constantly pouring their
waters into it : it has, therefore, been the wonder of man-
kind in every age, how, and by what means, this vast
concourse of waters are disposed of ; or how this sea,
which is always receiving, and never returning, is no way
fuller than before. In order to account for this, some
have said, that the water was re-conveyed by subter-
raneous passages into the Red Sea.* There is a story
told of an Arabian cailiff, who caught a dolphin in this
sea; admiring the beauty of which, he let it go again,
having previously marked it by a ring of iron. Some
tune after a dolphin was caught in the Red Sea, and
quickly known by the ring to be the same that had been
taken in the Mediterranean before. Such, however, as
ave not been willing to found their opinions upon a
smry, have attempted to account for the disposal of the
Raters of the Mediterranean by evaporation. For this
Purp°se they have entered into long calculations upon the
*nt i°f ifc.S surface’ and the quantity of water that
the ^ rfdsed fr°m sucdl a surface in a year. They

strait C°^pUte h°W much water runs in bv its rivers and
by evS ln that time ’ and find> that the quantity exhausted
river<; aJ)01'atlon> greatly exceeds the quantity supplied by
tisfactor*! ?5fs’ ^is solution, no doubt, would be sa-
.as Weji ^ ’ dld not the ocean, and the Euxine, evaporate
the j • Mediterranean : and as these are subject to
e iam, it must follow, that all the seas will in

Vn. * Kircher, Mund. Subt. vol. i.

0l- w. u

A HISTORY OF ‘

154

tliis respect be upon a par ; and, therefore, there must be
some other cause for this unperceived drain, and continual
supply. This seems to be satisfactorily enough accounted
for by Dr. Smith, who supposes an under current running
through the straits of Gibraltar, to carry out as much
water into the ocean, as the upper current continually
carries in from it. To confirm this, he observes, that
nearer home, between the North and the South Foreland,
the tide is known to run one way at top, and the ebb
another way at bottom. This double current he also
confirms by an experiment communicated to him by an
able seaman, who being with one of the king’s frigates in
the Baltic, found he went with his boat into the mid-
stream, and was carried violently by the current ; upon
which a basket was sunk, with a large cannon-ball, to a
certain depth of water, which gave a check to the boat’s
.notion : as the basket sunk still lower, the boat was
driven, by the force of the water below, against the upper
current ; and the lower the basket was let down, the
stronger the under current was found, and the quicker was
the boat’s motion against the upper stream, which seemed
not to be above four fathom deep. From hence we may
readily infer, that the same cause may operate at the straits
of Gibraltar; and that while the Mediterranean seems
replenishing at top, it may be emptying at bottom.

The number of the currents at sea are impossible to
be recounted, nor indeed are they always known ; new'
ones are daily produced by a variety of causes, and as
quickly disappear. When a regular current is opposed
by another in a narrow strait, or where the bottom of the
sea is very uneven, a whirlpool is often formed. These
were formerly considered as the most formidable ob-
structions to navigation ; and the ancient poets and his-
torians speak of them with terror ; they are described as
swallowing up ships, and dashing them against the. roc^
at the bottom ; apprehension did not fail to add inl8t^
nary terrors to the description, and placed at the
of the whirlpool a dreadful den, fraught with rIlon1s_i,_
whose howlings served to add new horrors to the

ings of the deep. Mankind at present, however,
these eddies of the sea with very little appre hive ^
and some have wondered how the ancients could a

THE EARTH. 155

much overcharged their descriptions. But all this is very
naturally accounted for. In those times when navigation
was in its infancy, and the slightest concussion of the
waves generally sent the poor adventurer to the bottom,
it is not to be wondered at that he was terrified at the
violent agitations in one of these. When his little ship,
but ill fitted for opposing the fury of the sea, was got
within the vortex, there was then no possibility of ever
leturning. To add to the fatality, they were always
neai the shore ; and along the shore was the only place
where this ill-provided mariner durst venture to sail.
These were, therefore, dreadful impediments to his navi-
gation ; for if he attempted to pass between them and the
shore, he was sometimes sucked in by the eddy; and if
he attempted to avoid them out at sea, he was often sunk
by the storm. But in our time, and in our present im-
proved state of navigation, Charybdis, and the Euripus, *
with all the other irregular currents of the Mediterranean*
are no longer formidable. Mr. Addison, not attending
to this train of thinking, upon passing through the straits
ol bicily, was surprised at the little there was of terror
111 the present appearance of Scylla and Charybdis; and
seems, to be. of opinion, that their agitations are much
diminished since the times of antiquity. In fact, from the
reasons above, all the wonders of the Mediterranean sea
are described in much higher colours than they merit,

0 us who are acquainted with the more magnificent terrors
the ocean. The Mediterranean is one of the smoothest
u most gentle seas in the world : its tides are scarcely

L?i!Vab C’ , exCePt in the SulPh of Venice, and ship-
"0rld S aiG eSS known there than in any other part of the

Ti • ,

are nV”, ocean’ therefore, that these whirlpools
and 1;)ltlcl,Iarly dangerous, where the tides are violent,
railed m ^S68? fierce* To mention only one, that
"Inch : Maehtroom, upon the coasts of Norway,

'n wn u°n" as th.e most dreadful and voracious
*'gnifies It ’ ^he name it has received from the natives,

tfreat shar ^ ^ the sea ; since ^ey suppose that a

d'arged R6 °’+ t iC wa^er the sea is sucked up and dis-
mal p J ! s vortex. A minute description of the in-
s is not to be expected, since none who were

A HISTORY OF

there ever returned to bring back information. The body
o the waters that form this whirlpool, are extended in
a circle above thirteen miles in circumference.* In the
midst of this stands a rock, against which the tide in its
ebb is dashed with inconceivable fury. At this time it
instantly swallows up all things that come within the
sphere of its violence, trees, timber, and . shipping. No
skill m the manner, nor strength of rowing, can work an
escape : the sailor at the helm finds the ship at first go in
a current opposite to his intentions ; his vessel’s motion,
t ough slow in the beginning, becomes every moment
more rapid ; it goes round in circles still narrower, and
narrower, till at last it is dashed against the rocks, and
instantly disappears: nor is it seen again for six hours;
till the tide flowing, it is vomited forth with the same vio-
lence with which it was drawn in. The noise of this
dreadful vortex still farther contributes to increase its
terror, which, with the dashing of the waters, and the
dreadful valley, if it may be so called, caused by their

circulation, makes one of the most tremendous objects in
nature. J

CHAP. XVII.

OF THE CHANGES PRODUCED BY THE SEA UPON THE

EARTH.

From what has been said, as well of the earth as of
the sea, they both appear to be in continual fluctuation.
I he earth, the common promptuary that supplies sub-
sistence to men, animals, and vegetables, is continually
furnishing its stores to their support. But the matter which
is thus derived from it, is soon restored and laid down
again to be prepared for fresh mutations. The transmi'
gi ation of souls is, no doubt, false and whimsical ; but
nothing can be more certain than the transmigration of
bodies : the spoils of the meanest reptile may go to the
formation of a prince ; and, on the contrary, as the p°e*

* Kircher, Mund, Subt. vol, i. p. 156.

THE EARTH.

157

has it, the body of Caesar may be employed in stopping
a beer-barrel.. From this, and other causes, therefore,
the earth is in continual change. Its internal fires, the
deviation of its rivers, and the falling of its mountains,
are daily altering its surface ; and geography can scarcely
recollect the lakes and the vallies that history once
described.

But these changes are nothing to the instability of the
ocean. It would seem that inquietude was as natural to it
as its fluidity. It is first seen with a constant and equable
motion going towards the west; the tides then interrupt
this progression, and for a time drive the waters in a con-
trary direction : beside these agitations, the currents act
their part in a smaller sphere, being generally greatest
where the other motions of the sea are least; namely,
nearest the shore : the winds also contribute their share in
this universal fluctuation ; so that scarcely any part of the
sea is wholly seen to stagnate.

Nil enim quiescit, undis impellitur unda,

Et spiritus et calor toto se corpore miscent.

As this great element is thus changed, and continually
labouring internally, it may be readily supposed that it
produces correspondent changes upon its shores, and
those parts of the earth subject to its influence. In fact,
it is every day making considerable alterations, either by
overflowing its shores in one place, or deserting them in
others; by covering over whole tracts of country that
!vere cultivated and peopled, at one time ; or by leaving
its bed to be appropriated to the purposes of vegetation,

a»d to supply a new theatre for human industry, at
another.

In this struggle between the earth and the sea for do-
minion, the greatest number of our shores seem to defy
e whole rage of the waves, both by their height, and the
acky materials of which they are composed. The coasts
of Ira’ f°r *?stance>* are bordered with rocks of marble
j: .• 1 e^e,nt kinds, the quarries of which may easily be

Pen!r^Ui1S at a d*stance fr°m sea, and appear like per-
* cular columns of the most beautiful kinds of marble.

* Buffon, vol, ii. p, 199.

A HISTORY OF

158

ranged along the shore. In general, the coasts of France,
from Brest to Bourdeaux, are composed of rocks ; as are
also those of Spain and England, which defend the land,
and only are interrupted, here and there, to give an
egress to rivers, and to grant the conveniences of bays
and harbours to our shipping. It may in general be re-
marked, that wherever the sea is most violent and furious,
there the boldest shores, and of the most compact ma-
terials, are found to oppose it. There are many shores
several hundred feet perpendicular, against which the
sea, when swollen with tides or storms, rises and beats
with inconceivable fury. In the Orkneys,* where the
shores are thus formed, it sometimes, when agitated by
a storm, rises two hundred feet perpendicular, and
dashes up its spray, together with sand and other sub-
stances that compose its bottom, upon land, like showers
of rain.

From hence, therefore, we may conceive how the
violence of the sea, and the boldness of the shore, may
be said to have made each other. Where the sea meets
no obstacles, it spreads its waters with a gentle intu-
mescence, till all its power is destroyed, by wanting depth
to aid the motion. But when its progress is checked in
the- midst, by the prominence of rocks, or the abrupt
elevation of the land, it dashes with all the force of its
depth against the obstacle, and forms, by its repeated
violence, that abruptness of the shore which confines its
impetuosity. Where the sea is extremely deep, or very
much vexed by tempests, it is no small obstacle that can
confine its rage ; and for this reason we see the boldest
shores projected against the deepest waters ; all less
impediments having long before been surmounted and
washed away. Perhaps of all the shores in the world,
there is not one so high as that on the west of St. Kilda,
which, upon a late admeasurement,^ was found to be six
hundred fathoms perpendicular above the surface of the
sea. Here also, the sea is deep, turbulent, and stormy;
so that it requires great force in the shore to oppose its
violence. In many parts of the world, and particularly
upon the coasts of the East Indies, the shores, though not

* Buffon, vol. ii. p. 191.

t Description of St, Hilda.

THE EARTH.

159

high above water, are generally very deep, and con-
sequently the waves roll against the land with great
weight and irregularity. This rising of the waves against
the shore, is called by mariners the surf of the sea ; and
in shipwrecks is generally fatal to such as attempt to swim
on shore. In this case no dexterity in the swimmer,
no float he can use, neither swimming-girdle nor cork-
jacket, will save him ; the weight of the superincumbent
waves breaks upon him at once, and crushes him with
certain ruin. Some few of the natives, however, have the
art of swimming and of navigating their little boats near
those shores, where an European is sure of instant
destruction.

In places where the force of the sea is less violent, or
its tides less rapid, the shores are generally seen to descend
with a more gradual declivity. Over these, the waters of
the tide steal by almost imperceptible degrees, covering
them for a large extent, and leaving them bare on its
recess. . Upon these shores, as was said, the sea seldom
beats with any great violence, as a large wave has not depth
sufficient to float it onwards, so that here only are to be
seen gentle surges making calmly towards land, and
lessening as they approach. As the sea, in the former
description, is generally seen to present prospects of tumult
and uproar, here it more usually exhibits a scene of repose
and tranquil beauty. Its waters which, when surveyed
from the precipice, afforded a muddy greenish hue, arising
from their depth and position to the eye,* when regarded
horn a shelving shore, wear the colour of the sky, and
seem rising to meet it. The deafening noise of the deep
sea, is here converted into gentle murmurs ; instead of the
waters dashing against the face of the rock, it advances
and recedes, still going forward, but with just force enough

to push its weeds and shells, by insensible approaches, to
the shore.

There are other shores, beside those already described,
which either have been raised by art, to oppose the sea’s
aPproaches, . or, from the sea’s gaining ground, are threat-
ened with imminent destruction. The sea’s being thus
6en *° S*ve and take away lands at pleasure, is, without

* Newton’s Optics, p. 163—16T.

A HISTORY OF

160

question, one of the most extraordinary considerations
in all natural history. In some places it is seen to ob-
tain the superiority by slow and certain approaches ; or
to burst in at once, and overwhelm all things in un-
distinguished destruction ; in other places it departs
from its shores, and where its waters have been known
to rage, it leaves fields covered with the most beautiful
verdure.

The formation of new lands by the sea’s continually
bringing its sediment to one place, and by the accumula-
tion of its sands in another, is easily conceived. We
have had many instances of this in England. The island
of Oxney, which is adjacent to Romney-marsh, was pro-
duced in this . manner. This had for a long time been a
low level, continually in danger of being overflown by the
river Rother ; but the sea, by its depositions, has gra-
dually raised the bottom of the river, while it has hol-
lowed the mouth ; so that the one is sufficiently secured
from inundations, and the other is deep enough to admit
ships of considerable burthen. The like also may be
seen at that bank called the Dogger-sand^, where two
tides meet, and which thus receives new increase every
day, so that in time the place seems to promise fair for
being habitable earth. On many parts of the coasts of
France, England, Holland, Germany, and Prussia, the
sea has been sensibly known to retire.* Hubert Thomas
asserts, in his Description of the Country of Liege, that
the sea formerly encompassed the city of Tongres, which,
however, is at present thirty-five leagues distant from it:
this assertion he supports by many strong reasons ; and
among others, by the iron rings fixed in the walls of the
town, for fastening the ships that came into the port. In
Italy there is a considerable piece of ground gained at the
mouth of the river Arno ; and Ravenna, that once stood
by the sea-side, is now considerably removed from it*
But we need scarcely mention these, when we find that
the whole republic of Holland seems to be a conquest
upon the sea, and in a manner rescued from its bosom.
The surface of the earth, in this country, is below the level
of the bed of the sea; and I remember, upon approaching

* Buffon, vol. vi. p. 434.

the earth.

161

the coast, to have looked down upon it from the sea, as into
a valley: however, it is every day rising higher by the
depositions made upon it by the sea, the Rhine, and the
Meuse ; and those parts which formerly admitted large men
or war, are now known to be too shallow to receive ships of
very moderate burthen.* The province' of Jucatan, a
peninsula m the gulph of Mexico, was formerly a part of
the sea. This tract, which stretches out into the ocean a
hundred leagues, and which is above thirty broad, is every
where, at a moderate depth below the surface, composed of
shells, which evince that its land once formed the bed of the
sea. In Fiance, the town of Aigues Mortes was a port
in the times of St. Louis, which is now removed more
tnan four miles from the sea. Psalmodi, in the same
kingdom, was an island in the year 815, but is now more
than six miles from the shore. All along the coasts of
Norfolk I am very well assured, that in the memory of man

tne sea has gained fifty yards in some places, and has lost
as much in others.

Thus numerous, therefore, are the instances of new land*
having been produced from the sea, which, as we see, is
brought about two different ways : first, by the waters raising
banks of sand and mud where their sediment is deposited •

sec.ondly> by tbeir relinquishing the shore entirely, and
having it unoccupied to the industiy of man.

Lut as the sea has been thus known to recede from some
hds, so has it, by fatal experience, been found to encroach
of °rers ’ and Probably these depredations on one part
for n S 10ie> may account f°r their dereliction from another :

ie current which rested upon some certain bank having

uPon eg/eSS 111 _S0JneI otber Place> it no longer presses
new former bed> but Pours a11 its stream into the
be atten ^iaaCe-;i 80 that evei7 inundation of the sea may
shore. ^ Wlth S°me colTesPondent dereliction of another

seafc; *his be> ,we. have numerous histories of the
bosom " a 10ns, and. its burying whole provinces in its
bear co.untnes that have been thus destroyed,

file ton- r>f Wltness to the truth of history ; and shew
leir houses, and the spires of their steeples.

V0L*

* Buffon, vol. vi. p. 424.

X

A HISTORY OF

162

still standing at the bottom of the water. One of the
most considerable inundations we have in history, is that
which happened in the reign of Henry I. which overflowed
the estates of the Earl Godwin, and forms now that
bank called the Goodwin Sands. In the year 1546, a
similar irruption of the sea destroyed a hundred thousand
persons in the territory of Dort ; and yet a greater number
round Dullart. In Friezland, and Zealand, there were
more than three hundred villages overwhelmed ; and their
ruins continue still visible at the bottom of the water in a
clear day. The Baltic Sea has, by slow degrees, covered
a large part of Pomerania ; and, among others, destroyed
and overwhelmed the famous port of Vineta. In the
same manner, the Norwegian Sea has formed several
little islands from -the main land, and still daily advances
upon the continent. The German Sea has advanced
upon the shores of Holland, near Catt ; so that the ruins
of an ancient citadel of the Romans, which was formerly
built upon this coast, are now actually under water. To
these accidents several more might be added ; our own
historians, and those of other countries, abound with them ;
almost every flat shore of any extent, being able to shew
something that it has lost, or something that it has gained
from the sea.

There are some shores on which the sea has made tem-
porary depredations ; where it has overflowed, and after
remaining perhaps some ages, it has again retired of its
own accord, or been driven back by the industry of man.*
There are many lands in Norway, Scotland, and the Mai*
livia Islands, that are at one time covered with water,
and at another free. The country round the isle of Ely,
in the times of Bede, about a thousand years ago, was one
of the most delightful spots in the whole kingdom : it ^as
not only richly cultivated, and produced all the necessaries
of life, but grapes also, that afforded excellent wine, TJ1^
accounts of that time are copious in the description of 1 s
verdure and fertility ; its rich pastured covered
flowers and herbage ; its beautiful shades, anjJ wl10^01^
air. But the sea, breaking in upon the land, overwlie. lr»
the whole country, took possession of the sctfl, and toW4>

* Buffon, vol. ii. p, 425.

THE EARTH.

163

destroyed one of the most fertile vallies in the world. Its
air, from being dry and healthful, from that time became
most unwholesome, and clogged with vapours ; and the
small part of the country that, by being higher than the
rest, escaped the deluge, 'was soon rendered uninhabitable,
from its noxious vapours. Thps this country continued
under water for some centuries ; till at last the sea, by the
same caprice which had prompted its invasions, began to
abandon the earth in like manner. It has continued for
some ages to relinquish its former conquests ; and although
the inhabitants can neither boast the longevity, nor the
luxuries, of their former pre-occupants, yet they find ample
means of subsistence; and if they happen to survive the
first years of their residence there, they are often known to
arrive at a good old age.

But although history be silent as to many other inun-
dations of the like kind, where the sea has overflowed the
country, and afterwards retired, yet we have numberless
testimonies of another nature, that prove it beyond the
possibility of a doubt : I mean those numerous trees that
are found buried at considerable depths in places where
either rivers or the sea has accidently overflown.* At
the mouth of the river Ness, near Bruges, in Flanders, at
the depth of fifty feet, are found great quantities of trees
lying as close to each other as they do in a wood : the
trunks, the branches, and the leaves, are in such perfect
preservation, that the particular kind of each tree may
instantly be known. About five hundred years ago, this
Very ground was known tfo have been covered by the
sea5 nor is there any history or tradition of its having
been dry ground, which we can have no doubt must have
been the case. Thus we see a country flourishing in
verdure, producing large forests, and trees of various
kinds, overwhelmed by the sea. We see this element
depositing its sediment to a height of fifty feet; and its
Raters must, therefore, have risen much higher. We see
e same, after it has thus overwhelmed and sunk the
so deep beneath its slime, capriciously retiring from
vvje. ^ine coasts, and leaving that habitable once more,
!ch it had formerly destroyed. All this is wonderful ;

* Buffon, vol. ii. p. 403.

164 A HISTORY

and, perhaps, instead of attempting to inquire after the
cause, which has hitherto been inscrutable, it will best
become us to rest satisfied with admiration.

At the city of Modena in Italy, and about four miles
round it, wherever it is dug, when the workmen arrive
at the depth of sixty-three feet, they come to a bed of
chalk, which they bore with an’ auger five feet deep : they
then withdraw from the pit, before the auger is removed,
and upon its extraction, the water bursts up through the
aperture with great violence, and quickly fills this new-
made well, which continues full, and is affected neither
by rains nor droughts. But that which is most remark-
able in this operation, is the layers of earth as we descend.
At the depth of fourteen feet are found the ruins of an
ancient city, paved streets, houses, floors, and different
pieces of Mosaic. Under this is found a solid earth, that
would induce one to think had never been removed ; how-
ever, under it is found a soft oozy earth, made up of ve-
getables ; and at twenty-six feet depth, large trees entire,
such as walnut-trees, with the walnuts still sticking on the
stem, and their leaves and branches in exact preservation.
At twenty-eight feet deep, a soft chalk is found, mixed
with a vast quantity of shells ; and this bed is eleven feet
thick. Under this, vegetables are found again, with
leaves, and branches of trees as before ; and thus alter-
nately chalk and vegetable earth to the depth of sixty-
three feet. These are the layers wherever the workmen
attempt to bore ; while in many of thexn they also find

pieces of charcoal, bones, and bits of iron. From this de-

scription, therefore, it appears, that this country has been
alternately overflowed and deserted by the sea, one age
after another : nor were these overflowings and retirings
of trifling depth, or of short continuance. When the sea
burst in, it must have been a long time in overwhelming
the branches of the fallen forest with its sediment ; and
still longer in forming a regular bed of shells eleven feet
over them. It must have, therefore, taken an age, at
least, to make any one of these layers ; and we may con-
clude, that it must have been many ages employed in the

production of them all. The land also, upon being de-

serted, must have had time to grow compact, to gat 1(;
fresh fertility, and to be drained of its waters befoie

THE EARTH. 165

could be disposed to vegetation, or before its trees could have
shot forth again to maturity.

We have instances nearer home of the same kind given
us in the Philosophical Transactions ; one of them by Mr.
Derham. An inundation of the sea, at Dagenham, in
Essex, laying bare a part of the adjacent pastuie for above
two hundred feet wide, and, in some places, twenty deep,
it discovered a number of trees that had lain there for many
ages before : these trees, by laying long under ground, were
become black and hard, and their fibres so tough, that one
might as easily break a wire, as any of them : they lay so
thick in the place where they were found, that in many
parts he could step from one to another : he conceived also,
that not only all the adjacent marshes, for several hundred
acres, were covered underneath with such timber, but also
the marshes along the mouth of the Thames, for several
miles. The meeting with these trees at such depths, he
ascribes to the sediment of the river, and the tides, which
constantly washing over them, have always left some part
of their substance behind, so as, by repeated alluvions, to
work a bed of vegetable earth over them, to the height at
which he found it.

The levels of Hatfield- Chace, in Yorkshire, a tract of
above eighteen thousand acres, which was yearly over-
flown, was reduced to arable and pasture-land, by one Sir
Cornelius Vermusden, a Dutchman. At the bottom of
this wide extent, are found millions of the roots and
bodies of trees, of such as this island either formerly did,
or does at present, produce. The roots of all stand in
their proper postures ; and by them, as thick as ever they
could grow, the respective trunks of each, some above
thirty yards long. The oaks, some of which have been
sold for fifteen pounds a piece, are as black as ebony, very
lasting, and close-grained. The ash-trees are as soft as
oarth, and are commonly cut in pieces by the workmen’s
spades, and as soon as flung up into the open air, turn to
dust. But all the rest, even the willows themselves, which
^re softer than the ash, preserve their substance and tex-
llre to this very day. Some of the firs appear to have
'egetated, even after they were fallen, and to have, from

eir branches, struck up large trees, as great as the parent
runk. It is observable, that many of these trees have

A HISTORY OF

166

been burnt, some quite through, some on one side, some
have been found chopped and squared, others riven with
great wooden wedges ; all sufficiently manifesting, that the
country which was deluged had formerly been inhabited.
Near a great root of one tree, were found eight coins of
the Roman emperors ; and, in some places, the marks
of the ridge and furrow were plainly perceivable, which
testified that the ground had formerly been patient of
cultivation.

The learned naturalist who has given this description,*
has pretty plainly evinced, that this forest in particular,
must have been thus levelled by the Romans and that
the falling of the trees must have contributed to the ac-
cumulation of the waters. “ The Romans,” says he,
<c when the Britons fled, always pursued them into the
fortresses of low woods, and miry forests : in these the
wild natives found shelter ; and, when opportunity offered,
issued out and fell upon their invaders without mercy.
In this manner the Romans were at length so harassed,
that orders were issued out for cutting down all the woods
and forests in Britain. In order to effect this, and destroy
the enemy the easier, they set fire to the woods, composed
of pines and other inflammable timber, which spreading,
the conflagration destroyed not only the forest, but infinite
numbers of the wretched inhabitants who had taken shelter
therein. When the pine-trees had thus done what mis-
chief they could, the Romans then brought their army
nearer, and, with whole legions of the captive Britons, cut
down most of the trees that were yet left standing ; leaving
only here and there some gseat trees untouched, as monu-
ments of their fury. These, unneedful of their labour, be-
ing destitute of the support of the underwood, and of their
neighbouring trees, were easily overthrown by the winds,
and, without interruption, remained on the places where
they happened to fall. The forest, thus fallen, must ne-
cessarily -have stopped up the currents, both from land
and sea ; and turned into great lakes, what were before but
temporary streams. The working of the waters here, the
consumption and decay of rotten boughs and branches,
and the vast increase of water-moss which flourishes npnn
marshy grounds, soon formed a covering over the trun
* Phil. Trans, vol. iv. part ii, p. 214.

THE EARTH.

167

of the fallen trees, and raised the earth several feet above
its former level. The earth thus every day swelling, by a
continual increase from the sediment of the waters, and by
the lightness of the vegetable substances of which it was
composed, soon overtopt the waters by which this intumes-
cence was at first effected ; so that it entirely got rid of its
inundations, or only demanded a slight assistance from man
for that purpose.” This may be the origin of all bogs,
which are formed by the putrefaction of vegetable sub-
stances, mixed with the mud and slime deposited by waters,
and at length acquiring a sufficient consistency.

From this we see what powerful effects the sea is capable
of producing upon its shores, either by overflowing some or
deserting others ; by altering the direction of these, and
rendering those craggy and precipitate, which before were
shelving. But the influence it has upon these, is nothing
to that which it has upon that great body of earth which
forms its bottom. It is at the bottom of the sea that the
greatest wonders are performed, and the most rapid changes
are produced ; it is there that the motion of the tides and
the currents have their whole force, and agitate the sub-
stances of which their bed is composed. But all these are
almost wholly hid from human curiosity: the miracles of
the deep are performed in secret ; and we have but little
information from its abysses, except what we receive by
inspection at very shallow depths, or by the plummet, or
from divers, who are known to descend from twenty to
thirty fathoms.*

The eye can reach but a very short way into the depths
°f the sea ; and that only when its surface is glassy and
serene. In many seas it perceives nothing but a bright
sandy plain at bottom, extending for several hundred miles,
Without an intervening object. But in others, particularly
lli the Red Sea, it is very different : the whole bottom of
friis extensive bed of waters is, literally speaking, a forest
submarine plants and corals, formed by insects for their
abitation, sometimes branching out to a great extent.
ere are seen the madrepores, the sponges, mosses, sea-
Rshrooms, and other marine productions, covering every
Part of the bottom ; so that some have even supposed the

* Phil. Trans, vol. iv. part ii. p. 192.

A HISTORY OF

168

sea to have taken its name from the colour of its plants
below. However, these plants are by no means peculiar to
this sea, as they are found in great quantities in the Persian
Gulph, along the coast of Africa, and those of Provence and
Catalonia.

The bottom of many parts of the sea, near America,
presents a very different, though a very beautiful, ap-
pearance. This is covered with vegetables, which make’
it look as green as a meadow, "and beneath are seen
thousands of turtles, and other sea - animals, feeding
thereon.

In order to extend our knowledge of the sea to greater
depths, recourse has been had to the plummet ; which is
generally made of a lump of lead of about forty pounds
weight, fastened to a cord.* This, however, only answers
in moderate depths ; for when a deep sea is to be sounded,
the matter of which the cord is composed, being lighter than
the water, floats upon it, and when let down to a considerable
depth, its length so increases its surface, that it is often
sufficient to prevent the lead from sinking ; so that this may
be the reason why some parts of the sea are said to have no
bottom.

In general, we learn from the plummet, that the bottom
of the sea is tolerably even where it has been examined ;
and that the farther from the shore, the sea is in general
the deeper. Notwithstanding, in the midst of a great
and unfathomable ocean, we often find an island raising
its head, and singly braving its fury. Such islands may
be considered as the mountains of the deep ; and, could
we for a moment imagine the waters of the ocean re-
moved or dried away, we should probably find the inequa-
lities of its bed resembling those that are found at land.
Here extensive plains, there valleys, and, in many places,
mountains of amazing height. M. Buache has actually
given us a map of that part of its bottom, which lies oe-
tween Africa and America, taken from the several sound-
ings of mariners : in it we find the same uneven sui'tac
that we do upon land, the same eminences, and the same
depressions. In such an imaginary prospect, however, tne
would be this difference, that as the tops of land-moun

* Boyle, vol. ii. p. 5.

r

THE EARTH. 169

tains appear the most barren and rocky, the tops of sea-
mountains would be found the most verdant and fruitful.

The plummet, which thus gives us some idea of the in-
equalities of the bottom, leaves us totally in the dark as to
every other particular; recourse, therefore, has been had
to divers : these, either being bred up in this dangerous
way of life, and accustomed to remain some time under
water without breathing, or assisted by means of a diving-
bell, have been able to return some confused and uncer-
tain accounts of the places below. In the great diving-
bell improved by Dr. Halley, which was large enough to
contain five men, and was supplied with fresh air by
buckets, that alternately rose and fell, they descended
fifty fathom. In this huge machine, which was let down
from the mast of the ship, the doctor himself went down
to the bottom, w'here, when the sea was clear, and espe-
cially when the sun shone, he could see perfectly well to
write or read, and much more to take up any thing that
was underneath : at other times, when the water was
troubled and thick, it was as dark as night below, so
that he was obliged to keep a candle lighted at the bot-
tom. But there is one thing very remarkable, that the
water which from above was usually seen of a green
colour, when looked at from below, appeared to him of
a very different one, casting a redness upon one of his
hands, like that of damask roses : * — a proof of the sea’s
taking its colour not from any thing floating in it, but
from the different reflections of the rays of light. Upon
the whole, the accounts we have received from the bottom,

} this contrivance, are but few. We learn from it, and
Join divers in general, that while the surface of the sea
jttay be deformed by tempests, it is usually calm and

wh?61^6 ke*ow ’i~ that some divers, who have gone down
en the weather was calm, and came up when it was
mpestuous, were surprised at their not perceiving the
ange at the bottom. This, however, must not be sup-
as fp to °btain with regard to the tides, and the currents,
their T -Seen constan^y shifting their bottom; taking
sitinp- v &reat violence from one place, and depo-

& 1 upon another. We are informed, also, by divers,

Nekton s Optics, p. 56. f Boyle, vol. i'.i. p. 242.

V0L i—7. y

A HISTORY OF

170

that the sea grows colder in proportion as they descend to
the bottom ; that as far as the sun’s rays pierce, it is in-
fluenced by their warmth ; but lower, the cold becomes
almost intolerable. A person of quality, who had been
himself a diver, as Mr. Boyle informs us, declared, that
though he seldom descended above three or four fathoms,
yet he found it so much colder than near the top, that he
could not well endure it ; and that being let down in a great
diving-bell, although the water could not immediately touch
him, he found the air extremely cold upon his first arrival
at the bottom.

From divers also we learn, that the sta in many places, is
filled with rocks at bottom ; and, that among their clefts,
and upon their sides, various substances sprout forward,
which are either really vegetables, or the nests of insects,
increased to some magnitude. Some of these assume
the shape of beautiful flowers ; and, though soft when
taken up, soon harden, and are kept in the cabinets of the
curious.

But of all those divers who have brought us information
from the bottom of the deep, the famous Nicola Pesce, whose
performances are told us by Kircher, is the most celebrated.

I will not so much as pretend to vouch for the veracity oi
Kircher’s account, which he assures us he had from the
archives of the kings of Sicily ; but it may serve to enliven
a heavy chapter. “ In the times of Frederic, king of
Sicily, there lived a celebrated diver, whose name was
Nicholas, and who, from his amazing skill in swimming,
and his perseverance under water, was surnamed the Fish.
This man had, from his infancy, been used to the sea;
and earned his scanty subsistence by diving for corals and
oysters ; which he sold to the villagers on shore. His long
acquaintance with the sea, at last, brought it to be almos
his natural element. Fie frequently was known to spen
five days in the midst of the waves, without any ot e*
provisions than the fish which he caught there, and a
raw. He often swam over from Sicily to Calabria,^
tempestuous and dangerous passage, carrying letters
the king. He was frequently known to swim among ^
gulphs of the Lipari islands, no way apprehensive

danger. . 01ne-

44 Some mariners out at sea, one day observe

THE EARTH.

171

thing at some distance from them, which they regarded as
a sea-monster ; but, upon its approach, it was known to be
Nicholas, whom they took into their ship. When they
asked him whither he was going in so stormy and rough a
sea, and at such a distance from land, he shewed them a
packet of letters, which he was cariying to one of the towns
of Italy, exactly done up in a leather bag, in such a manner
as that they could not be wetted by the sea. He kept them
thus company for some time on their voyage, conversing
and asking questions ; and after eating a hearty meal with
them, he took his leave, and jumping into the sea, pursued
his voyage alone.

“ In order to aid these powers of enduring in the deep,
nature seemed to have assisted him in a very extraordinary
manner ; for the spaces between his fingers and toes were
webbed, as in a goose ; and his chest became so very ca-
pacious, that he could take in, at one inspiration, as much
breath as would serve him for a whole day.

“ The account of so extraordinary a person did not fail
to reach the king himself ; who, actuated by the general
curiosity, ordered that Nicholas should be brought before
him. It was no easy matter to find Nicholas, who gene-
rally spent his time in the solitudes of the deep ; but, at
last, however, after much searching, he was found, and
brought before his majesty. The curiosity of this monarch
had been long excited by the accounts he had heard
of the bottom of the gulph of Charybdis ; he therefore
conceived that it would be a proper opportunity to have
niore certain information ; and commanded our poor diver
t° examine the bottom of this dreadful whirlpool : as an
incitement to his obedience, he ordered a golden cup to
be flung into it. Nicholas was not insensible of the danger
fo which he was exposed ; dangers best known only to
*nmself ; and he therefore presumed to remonstrate ; but
ie hopes of the reward, the desire of pleasing the king,
Jjm the pleasure of shewing his skill, at last prevailed.

e .lnstantly jumped into the gulph, . and was swallowed
s instantly up in its bosom. He continued for three
flnatters of an hour below ; during which time the king
fat • kS attenc^ants remained upon shore anxious for his
hold’ ^le at appeared, buffeting upon the surface,
lng the cup in triumph in one hand, and making his

A HISTORY OF

172

way good among the waves with the other. It may be sup-
posed he was received with applause, upon his arrival on
shore % the cup was made the reward of his adventure ; the
king ordered him to be taken proper care of ; and, as he
was somewhat fatigued and debilitated by his labour, after a
hearty meal he was put to bed, and permitted to refresh
himself by sleeping.

“ When his spirits were thus restored, he was again
brought to satisfy the king’s curiosity with a narrative of
the wonders he had seen ; and his account was to the fol-
lowing effect : — He would never, he said, have obeyed the
king’s commands, had he been apprized of half the dan-
gers that were before him. There were four things, he
said, that rendered the gulph dreadful, not only to men,
but even to the. fishes themselves: first, the force of the
water bursting up from the bottom, which requires great
strength to resist ; secondly, the abruptness of the rocks,
that on every side threatened destruction ; thirdly, the
force of the whirlpool, dashing against those rocks ; and
fourthly, the number and magnitude of the polypus fish,
some of which appeared as large as a man, and which,
every where sticking against the rocks, projected their
fibrous arms to entangle him. Being asked how he was
able so readily to find the cup that had been thrown in,
he replied that it happened to be flung by the waves into
the cavity of a rock, against which he himself was urged
in his descent. This account, however, did not satisfy the
king’s curiosity : being requested to venture once more
into the gulph for further discoveries, he at first refused;
but the king, desirous of having the most exact informa-
tion possible of all things to be found in the gulph, repeated
his solicitations ; and, to give them still greater weight,
produced a larger cup than the former, and added also a
purse of gold. Upon these considerations, the unfortunate
Pessacola once again plunged into the whirlpool, and was
never heard of more.”

V

THE EARTH.

173

CHAP. XVIII.

A SUMMARY ACCOUNT OF THE MECHANICAL PROPERTIES

OF AIR.

Having described the earth and the sea, we now ascend
into that fluid which surrounds them both ; and which, in
some measure, supports and supplies all animated nature.
As upon viewing the bottom of the ocean from its surface,
we see an infinity of animals moving therein, and seeking
food ; so, were some superior being to regard the earth
at a proper distance, he might consider us in the same
light : he might, from his superior station, behold a num-
ber of busy little beings, immersed in the serial fluid, that
every where surrounds them, and sedulously employed in
procuring the means of subsistence. This fluid, though
too .fine for the gross perception of its inhabitants, might
to his nicer organs of sight, be very visible; and, while
he at once saw into its operations, he might smile at the
varieties of human conjecture concerning it: he might
readily discern,, perhaps, the height above the surface of
he earth to which this fluid atmosphere reaches : he might
exactly determine the peculiar form of its parts which
gives it the. spring or elasticity with which it is endued :
he might, distinguish which of its parts were pure incor-
ruptible air, and which only made for a little time to assume -
ne appearance, so as to be quickly returned back to the
lenient from whence it came. But as for us, who are
mersed at the bottom of this gulph, we must be contented
Dmn+afm°re confined knowledge; and, wanting a proper
effects° remain satisfied with a combination of the

tha?n:l?f filiSt thin&s that our senses inform us of, is,
obW Tgh the air is t0° fine for our sight, it is very
wind on, f°* °jir* touci1* Although we cannot see the
^sistan/1 aine j u} a bidder, we can very readily feel its
We 0ft e ’ an^ though the hurricane may want colour,
We ka a a v experience that it does not want force,
the bladdp^u exPei‘ience °f the air’s spring or elasticity :
i; when pressed, returns again, upon the pressure

A HISTORY i)F

174

being taken away ; a bottle, when filled, often bursts from
the spring of air which is included.

So far the slightest experience reaches ; but, by carrying
experiment a little farther, we learn, that air also is heavy :
a round glass vessel being emptied of its air, and accurately
weighed, has been found lighter than when it was weighed
with the air in it. Upon computing the superior weight of
the full vessel, a cubic foot of air is found to weigh something
more than an ounce.

From this experiment, therefore, we learn, that the earth,
and all things upon its surface, are every where covered
with a ponderous fluid, which rising very high over our
heads, must be proportionably heavy. For instance, as
in the sea, a man at the depth of twenty feet sustains a
greater weight of water, than a man at the depth of but
ten feet ; so will a man at the bottom of a valley have a
greater weight of air over him, than a man on the top of a
mountain.

From hence we may conclude, that we sustain a very great
weight of air; and although, like men walking at the
bottom of the sea, we cannot feel the weight which presses
equally round us, yet the pressure is not the less real. As
in morals, we seldom know the blessings that surround us
till we are deprived of them ; so here we do not perceive
the weight of the ambient fluid till a part of it is taken
away. If, by any means, we contrive to take away the
pressure of the air from any one part of our bodies, we are
soon made sensible of the weight upon the other parts.
Thus, if we clap our hand upon the mouth of a vessel from
whence the air has been taken away, there will thus be air
on one side, and none on the other ; upon which we shall
instantly find the hand violently sucked inwards ; wrhich
is nothing more than the weight of the air upon the back
of the hand that forces it into the space which is empty
below.

As, by this experiment, we perceive that the air presses
with great weight upon every thing on the surface of the
earth, so by other experiments we learn the exact weight
with which it presses. First, if the air be exhausted out
of any vessel, a drinking vessel for instance,* and this

* This may be done by burning a bit of paper in the same, and then
quickly turning it down upon the water*

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175

vessel be set with the mouth downwards in water, the
wrater will rise up into the empty space, and fill the inverted
glass ; for the external air will, in this ease, press up the
water where there is no weight to resist ; as, one part of
a bed being pressed, makes the other parts, that have no
weight upon them, rise. In this case, as was said, the
water being pressed without, will rise in the glass ; and
would continue to rise (if the empty glass were tall enough)
thirty-two feet high. In fact, there have been pipes made
purposely for this experiment, of above thirty-two feet
high ; in which, upon being exhausted, the water has
always risen to the height of thirty-two feet : there it has
always rested, and never ascended higher. From this,
therefore, we learn, that the weight of the air which presses
up the water, is equal to a pillar or column of water which
is thirty-two feet high ; as it is just able to raise such a
column, and no more. In other words, the surface of the
earth is every where covered with a weight of air, which
is equivalent to a covering of thirty-two feet deep of
water ; or to a weight of twenty-nine inches and a half of
quicksilver, which is known to be just as heavy as the
former.

Thus wre see that the air, at the surface of the earth, is
just as heavy as thirty-two feet of water, or twenty-nine
inches and a half of quicksilver ; and it is easily found, by
computation, that to raise water thirty-two feet, will require
a weight of fifteen pounds upon every square inch. Now,
if we are fond of computations, we have only to calculate how
many square inches are in the surface of an ordinary human
body, and allowing every inch to sustain fifteen pounds,
we may amaze ourselves at the weight of air we sustain.
It has been computed, and found, that our ordinary load
of air amounts to within a little of forty thousand pounds :
this is wonderful ! but wondering is not the way to grow
wise.

Notwithstanding this be our ordinary load, and our usual
supply, there are, at different times, very great variations;
The air is not, like water, equally heavy at all seasons ; but
sometimes is lighter, and sometimes more heavy. It is
sometimes more compressed, and sometimes more elastic
or springy, which produces the same effects as an increase
of its weight. The air, which at one time raises water

A HISTORY OF

176

thirty-two feet in the tube, and quicksilver twenty-nine
inches, will not at another raise the one to thirty feet, or the
other to twenty-six inches. This makes, therefore, a very
great difference in the weight we sustain ; and we are actually
known, by computation, to carry at one time four thousand
pounds of air more than at another.

The reason of this surprising difference in the weight of
air, is either owing ■ to its pressure from above, or to an in-
crease of vapour floating in it. Its increased pressure is the
consequence of its spring or elasticity, which cold and heat
sensibly affect, and are continually changing.

This elasticity of the air is one of its most amazing pro-
perties ; and to which it should seem nothing can set bounds.

A body of air that may be contained in a nut-shell, may
easily, with heat, be dilated into a sphere of unknown
dimensions. On the contrary, the air contained in a house,
may be compressed into a cavity not larger than the eye of
a needle. In short no bounds can be set to its confinement
or expansion ; at least, experiment has hitherto found its
attempts indefinite. In every situation, it retains its elas-
ticity; and the more closely we compress it, the more
strongly does it resist the pressure. If to the increasing
the elasticity on one side by compression, we increase it on
the other side b) heat, the force of both soon becomes
irresistible ; and a certain French philosopher* supposed,
that air thus confined and expanding, was sufficient for the
explosion of a world.

Many instruments have been formed to measure and
determine these different properties of the air ; and which
serve several useful purposes. The barometer serves to
measure its weight ; to tell us when it is heavier, and when
lighter. It is composed of a glass tube or pipe, of about
thirty inches in length, closed up at one end : this tube is
then filled with quicksilver ; this done, the maker clapping
his finger upon the open end, inverts the tube, and plunges
the open end, finger and all, into a bason of quicksilver, .
and then takes his finger away ; now the quicksilver in the
tube will, by its own weight, endeavour to descend into
that in the bason ; but the external air, pressing on the
surface of the quicksilver in the bason without, and no air
being in the tube at top, the quicksilver will continue in

* Monsieur Amontons

THE EARTH.

177

the tube, being pressed up, as was said, by the air, on the
surface of the bason below. The height at which it is
known to stand in the tube, is usually about twenty-nine
inches, when the air is heavy ; but not above twenty-six,
when the air is very light. Thus, by this instrument, we
can with some exactness determine the weight of the air ;
and, of consequence, tell before-hand the changes of the
weather. Before fine dry weather, the air is charged with
a variety of vapours, which float in it unseen, and render
it extremely heavy, so that it presses up the quicksilver ;
or in other words, the barometer rises. In moist, rainy
weather, the vapours are washed down, or there is not heat
sufficient for them to rise, so that the air is then sensibly
lighter, and presses up the quicksilver with less force ; or,
in other words, the barometer is seen to fall. Our con-
stitutions seem also to correspond with ther changes of the
weather-glass ; they are braced, strong, and vigorous, with
a large body of air upon them ; they are languid, relaxed,
and feeble, when the air is light, and refuses to give our
fibres their proper tone.

But although the barometer thus measures the weight of
the air with exactness enough for the general purposes of
life, yet it is often affected with a thousand irregularities
that no exactness in the instrument can remedy, nor no
theory account for. When high winds blow, the quick-
silver generally is low : it rises higher in cold weather
than in warm ; and is usually higher at morning and
evening than at mid-day : it generally descends lower
after rain than it was before it. There are also frequent
changes in the air, without any sensible alteration in the
barometer.

As the barometer is thus used in predicting the changes
of the weather, so it is also serviceable in measuring the
heights of mountains, which mathematicians cannot so
readily do : for, as the higher we ascend from the surface
of the earth the air becomes lighter, so the quicksilver in
the barometer will descend in proportion. It is found to
sink at the rate of the tenth part of an inch for every
ninety feet we ascend ; so that in going up a mountain,
if I find the quicksilver fallen an inch, I conclude, that I
am got upon an ascent of near nine hundred feet high.
In this there has been found some variation ; into a detail

VOL. i. — S, Z

A HISTORY OF

178

of which, it is not the business of a natural historian to
enter.

In order to determine the elasticity of air, the wind-gun
has been invented, which is an instrument variously made ;
but in all upon the principle of compressing a large quan-
tity of air into a tube, in which there is an ivory ball, and
then giving the compressed elastic air free power to act,
and drive the ball as directed. The ball, thus driven, will
pierce a thick board ; and will be as fatal, at small dis-
tances, as if driven with gunpowder. I do not know
whether ever the force of this instrument has been assisted
by means of heat ; certain I am, that this, which could be
very easily contrived by means of phosphorus, or any
other hot substance applied to the barrel, would give
such a force as I doubt whether gunpowder itself could
produce.

The air-pump is an instrument contrived to exhaust the
air from round a vessel adapted to that purpose, called a
receiver. This method of exhausting, is contrived in the
simple instrument, by a piston, like that of a syringe, going
down into the vessel, and thus pushing out its air ; which
by means of a valve, is prevented from returning into the
vessel again. But this, like all other complicated instru-
ments, will be better understood by a minute inspection,
than an hour’s description : it may suffice here to observe,
that by depriving animals, and other substances, of all air, it
shews us what the benefits and effects of air are in sustain-
ing life, or promoting vegetation.

The digester is an instrument of still more extraordinary
effects than any of the former; and sufficiently discovers
the amazing force of air, when its elasticity is augmented
by fire. A common tea-kettle, if the spout were closed
up, and the lid put firmly down, would serve to become a
digester, if strong enough. But the instrument used for
this purpose is a strong metal pot, with a lid to screw
close on, so that, when down, no air can get in or return :
into this pot meat and bones are put, with a small quantity
of water, and then the lid screwed close : a lighted lamp
is put underneath, and, what is very extraordinary, (yet
equally true,) in six or eight minutes the whole mass,
bones and all, are dissolved into a jelly; so great is the
force and elasticity of the air contained within, struggling

THE EARTH.

179

to escape, and breaking in pieces all the substances with
which it is mixed. Care, however, must be taken not to
heat this instrument too violently : for then the inclosed air
would become irresistible, and burst the whole, with, per-
haps, a fatal explosion.

There are numberless other useful instruments made to
depend on the weight, the elasticity, or the fluidity, of the
air, which do not come within the plan of the present work ;
the design of which is not to give an account of the in-
ventions that have been made for determining the nature
and properties of air, but a mere narrative of its effects.
The description of the pump, the forcing-pump, the fire-
engine, the steam-engine, the syphon, and many others,
belong not to the naturalist, but the experimental philo-
sopher : the one gives a history of Nature, as he finds she
presents herself to him ; and he draws the obvious picture :
the other pursues her with close investigation, tortures her
by experiment to give up her secrets, and measures her latent
qualities with laborious precision. Much more, therefore,
might be said of the mechanical effects of air, and of the
conjectures that have been made respecting the form of its
parts ; how some have supposed them to resemble little
hoops, coiled up in a spring ; others, like fleeces of wool ;
others, that the parts are endued with a repulsive quality,
by which, when squeezed together, they endeavour to fly
off, and recede from each other. We might have given the
disputes relative to the height to which this body of air
extends above us, and concerning which there is no agree-
ment. We might have inquired how much of the air we
breathe is elementary, and not reducible to any other sub-
stance; and of what density it would become, if it were
supposed to be continued down to the centre of the earth.
At that place we might, with the help of figures, and a bold
imagination, have shown it twenty thousand times heavier
than its bulk of gold. We might also prove it millions of
times purer than upon earth, when raised to the surface of
the atmosphere. But these speculations do not belong to
natural history ; and they have hitherto produced no great
advantages in that branch of science to which they more
properly appertain.

ISO

A HISTORY OF

CHAP. XIX.

AN ESSAY TOWARDS A NATURAL HISTORY OF THE AIR.

A late eminent philosopher has considered our atmo-
sphere as one large chymical vessel, in which an infinite
number of various operations are constantly performing.
In it all the bodies of the earth are continually sending up
a part of their substance by evaporation, to mix in this
great alembic, and to float a while in common. Here
minerals, from their lowest depths, ascend in noxious, or
in warm vapours, to make a part of the general mass ; seas,
rivers, and subterranean springs, furnish their copious
supplies ; plants receive and return their share ; and ani-
mals, that by living upon, consume this general store, are
found to give it back in great quantities when they die.*
The air, therefore, that we breathe, and upon which we sub-
sist, bears very little resemblance to that pure elementary
body which was described in the last chapter ; and which
is rather a substance that may be conceived, than experienced
to exist. Air, such as we find it, is one of the most com-
pounded bodies in all nature. Water may be reduced to
a fluid every way resembling air, by heat ; which, by cold,
becomes water again. Every thing we see gives off its
parts to the air, and has a little floating atmosphere of its
own round it. The rose is encompassed with a sphere
of its own odorous particles ; while the night-shade infects
the air with a scent of a more ungrateful nature. The
perfume of musk flies off in such abundance, that the
quantity remaining becomes sensibly lighter by the
loss. A thousand substances that escape all our senses
we know to be there ; the powerful emanations of the
load-stone, the effluvia of electricity, the rays of light, and
the insinuations of fire. Such are the various substances
through which we move, and which we are constantly
taking in at every pore, and returning again with imper-
ceptible discharge !

* Boyle, vol. ii. p. 593.

THE EARTH.

181

This great solution, or mixture of all earthly bodies,
is continually operating upon itself ; which, perhaps, may
he the cause of its unceasing motion : but it operates
still more visibly upon such grosser substances as are
exposed to its influence ; for scarcely any substance is
found capable of resisting the corroding qualities of the
air. The air, say the chemists, is a chaos, furnished with
all kinds of salts and menstruums ; and, therefore, it is
capable of dissolving all kinds of bodies. It is well
known, that copper and iron are quickly covered, and
eaten with rust ; and that, in the climates near the
equator, no art can keep them clean. In those dreary
countries, the instruments, knives, and keys, that are
kept in the pocket, are nevertheless quickly incrusted;
and the great guns, with every precaution, after some
years, become useless. Stones, as being less hard, may
be readily supposed to be more easily soluble. The marble
of which the noble monuments of Italian antiquity are
composed, although in one of the finest climates in
the world, shew the impressions which have been made
upon them by the air. In many places they seem worm-
eaten by time ; and, in others, they appear crumbling into
dust. Gold alone seems to be exempted from this
general state of dissolution ; it is never found to contract
rust, though exposed never so long : the reason of this
seems to be, that sea-salt, which is the only menstruum
capable of acting upon, and dissolving gold, is but veiy
little mixed with the air ; for salt being a very fixed body,
and not apt to volatilize, and rise with heat, there is but a
small proportion of it in the atmosphere. In the elabora-
tories and shops, however, where salt is much used, and the
air is impregnated with it, gold is found to rust as well as
other metals.

Bodies of a softer nature are obviously destroyed by
the air.* Mr. Boyle says, that silks brought to Jamaica,
will, if there exposed to the air, rot, even while they pre-
serve their colour ; but if kept therefrom, they both re-
tain their strength and gloss. The same happens in
Brazil, where their clothes, which are black, soon turn
of an iron colour; though, in the shops, they preserve

* Buffon, vol, iii. p. 62.

A HISTORY OF

182

their proper hue.* In these tropical climates also, such
are the putrescent qualities of the air, that white sugar
will sometimes be full of maggots. Drugs and plaisters
lose their virtue, and become verminous. In some places
they are obliged to expose their sweetmeats by day in the
sun, otherwise the night air would quickly cause them
to putrefy. On the contrary, in the cold arctic regions,
animal substances, during their winter, are never known
to putrefy ; and meat may be kept for months without
any salt whatsoever. This experiment happily succeeded
with the eight Englishmen that were accidently left
upon the inhospitable coasts of Greenland, at a place
where seven Dutchmen had perished but a few years be-
fore ; for killing some rein-deer for their subsistence, and
having no salt to preserve the flesh, to their great sur-
prise they soon found it did not want any, as it remained
sweet during their eight months continuance upon that
shore.

These powers with which air is endued over unorga-
nized substances, are exerted in a still stronger manner
over plants, animals of an inferior nature, and, lastly, over
man himself. Most of the beauty, and the luxuriance,
of vegetation, is well known to be derived from the be-
nign influence of the air ; and every plant seems to
have its favourite climate, not less than its proper soil.
The lower ranks of animals, also, seem formed for their
respective climates, in which only they can live. Man
alone seems the child of every climate, and capable of
existing in all. However, this peculiar privilege does
not exempt him from the influences of the air ; he is as
much subject to its malignity as the meanest insect or
vegetable.

With regard to plants, air is so absolutely necessary
for their life and preservation, that they will not vegetate
in an exhausted receiver. All plants have within them a
quantity of air, which supports and agitates their juices.
They are continually imbibing fresh nutriment from the
air, to increase this store, and to supply the wants which
they sustain from evaporation. When, therefore, the ex-
ternal air is drawn from them, they are no longer able

* Buffon, vol. iii. p. 68.

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183

to subsist. Even that quantity of air which they before
were possessed of, escapes through their pores, into the
exhausted receiver ; and as this continues to be pumped
away, they become languid, grow flaccid, and die. How-
ever, the plant or flower thus ceasing to vegetate, is kept,
by being secured from the external air, a much longer
time sweet than it would have continued, had it been openly
exposed.

That air which is so necessary to the life of vegetables,
is still more so to that of animals ; there are none found,
how seemingly torpid soever, that do not require their
needful supply. Fishes themselves will not live in water
from whence the air is exhausted ; and it is generally
supposed that they die in frozen ponds, from the want
of this necessary to animal existence. Many have been
the animals that idle curiosity has tortured in the prison
of a receiver, merely to observe the manner of their
dying. We shall, from a thousand instances, produce
that of the viper, as it is known to be one of the most
vivacious reptiles in the world ; and as we shall feel but
little compassion for its tortures. Mr. Boyle took a new-
caught viper, and shutting it up into a small receiver,
began to pump away the air.* “ At first, upon the
air’s being drawn away, it began to swell ; some time
after he had done pumping, it began to gape, and open
its jaws ; being thus compelled to open its jaws, it once
more resumed its former lankness ; it then began to
move up and down within, as if to seek for air, and after
a while foamed a little, leaving the foam sticking to the
inside of the glass ; soon after, the body and neck grew
prodigiously tumid, and a blister appeared upon its
back ; an hour and a half after the receiver was exhausted,
the distended viper moved, and gave manifest signs of
life ; the jaws remained quite distended ; as it were from
beneath the epiglottis, came the black tongue, and reached
beyond it ; but the animal seemed, by its posture, not to
have any life ; the mouth also was grown blackish within ;
and in this situation it continued for twenty-three hours.
But upon the air being re-admitted, the viper’s mouth was
presently closed, and soon after opened again ; and for some

* Boyle’s Physico-Mechan. Exper. passim.

A HISTORY OF

184

time those motions continued, which argued the remains of
life.” Such is the fate of the most insignificant or minute
reptile that can be thus included. Mites, fleas, and even
the little eels that are found swimming in vinegar, die for
want of air. Not only these, but the eggs of these animals,
will not produce in vacuo, but require air to bring them to
perfection.

As in this manner air is necessary to their subsistence,
so also it must be of a proper kind, and not impregnated
with foreign mixtures. That factitious air which is
pumped from plants or fluids, is generally, in a short
time, fatal to them. Mr. Boyle has given us many ex-
periments to this purpose. After having shewn that all
vegetable, and most mineral substances, properly pre-
pared, may afford air, by being placed in an exhausted
receiver, and this in such quantities, that some have
thought it a new substance, made by the alteration which
the mineral or plant has undergone by the texture of its
parts being loosened in the operation — having shewn, I
say, that this air may be drawn in great quantities from
vegetable, animal, or mineral substances, such as apples,
cherries, amber burnt, or hartshorn* — he included a frog
in artificial air, produced from paste ; in seven minutes
space it suffered convulsions, and at last lay still, and
being taken out, recovered no motion at all, but was
dead. A bird inclosed in artificial air, from raisins, died
in a quarter of a minute, and never stirred more. A
snail was put into the receiver, with air of paste ; in four
minutes it ceased to move, and was dead, although it
had survived in vacuo for several hours : so that factitious
air proved a greater enemy to animals than even a vacuum
itself.

Air also may be impregnated with fumes that are in-
stantly fatal to animals. The fumes of hot iron, copper,
or any other heated metal, blown into the place where an
animal is confined, instantly destroy it. We have already
mentioned the vapours in the grotto Del Cane suffocating
a dog. The ancients even supposed, that these animals,
as they always ran with their noses to the ground, were
the first that felt any infection. In short, it should seem

* Boyle’s Physico -Meehan, vol. ii. p. 598.

THE EARTH.

185

that the predominance of any one vapour, from any body,
how wholesome soever in itself, becomes infectious ; and
that we owe the salubrity of the air to the variety of its
mixture.

But there is no animal whose frame is more sensibly
affected by the changes of the air than man. It is true,
he can endure a greater variety of climates than the lower
orders generally are able to do ; but it is rather by the
means which he has discovered of obviating their effects,
than by the apparent strength of his constitution. Most
other animals can bear cold or hunger better, endure
greater fatigues in proportion, and are satisfied with
shorter repose. The variations of the climate, therefore,
would probably affect them the less, if they had the same
means or skill in providing against the severities of the
change. However this be, the body of man is an in-
strument much more nicely sensible of the variations of
the air, than any of those which his own art has produced ;
for his frame alone seems to unite all their properties,
being invigorated by the weight of the air, relaxed by
its moisture, enfeebled by its heat, and stiffened by its
frigidity.

But it is chiefly by the predominance of some peculiar
vapour, that the air becomes unfit for human support. It
is often found, by dreadful experience, to enter into the
constitution, to mix with its juices, and to putrefy the whole
mass of blood. The nervous system is not less affected
by its operations ; palsies and vertigoes are caused by its
damps ; and a still more fatal train of distempers by its ex-
halations. In order that the air should be wholesome, it is
necessary, as we have seen, that it should not be of one
kind, but the compound of several substances ; and the
more various the composition, to all appearance, the more
salubrious. A man, therefore, who continues in one place,
is not so likely to enjoy this wholesome variety, as he who
changes his situation ; and, if I may so express it, instead
of waiting for a renovation of air, walks forward to meet its
arrival. This mere motion, independent even of the
benefits of exercise, becomes wholesome, by thus applying
a great variety of that healthful fluid by which we are
sustained.

VOL. i. — 8.

2 A

A HISTORY OF

186

A thousand accidents are found to increase these bodies of
vapour, that make one place more or less wholesome than
another. Heat may raise them in too great quantities ; and
cold may stagnate them. Minerals may give off their
effluvia in such proportion as to keep away all other kind of
air; vegetables may render the air unwholesome by their
supply ; and animal putrefaction seems to furnish a quantity
of vapour, at least as noxious as any of the former. All
these united, generally make up the mass of respiration,
and are, when mixed together, harmless ; but any one of
them, for a long time singly predominant, becomes at length
fatal.

The effects of heat in producing a noxious quality in
the air, are well known. Those torrid regions under the
Line are always unwholesome. At Senegal, I am told,
the natives consider forty as a very advanced time of life,
and generally die of old age at fifty. At Carthagena,* in
America, where the heat of the hottest day ever known
in Europe is continual, where, during their winter season,
these dreadful heats are united with a continual succession
of thunder, rain, and tempests, arising from their intense-
ness, the wan and livid complexions of the inhabitants
might make strangers suspect that they were just re-
covered from some dreadful distemper : the actions of
the natives are conformable to their colour ; in all their
motions there is somewhat relaxed and languid : the heat
of the climate even affects their speech, which is soft and
slow, and their words generally broken. Travellers from
Europe retain their strength and ruddy colour in that
climate, possibly for three or four months ; but afterwards
suffer such decays in both, that they are no longer to be
distinguished from the inhabitants by their complexion.
However, this languid and spiritless existence is fre-
quently drawled on sometimes even to eighty. Young
persons are generally most affected by the heat of the
climate, which spares the more aged ; but all, upon their
arrival on the coasts, are subject to the same train of fatal
disorders. Few nations have experienced the mortality
of these coasts so much as our own : in our unsuccessful
attack upon Carthagena, more than three parts of our

* Ulloa, vol. i. p. 49.

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187

army were destroyed by the climate alone ; and those
that returned from that fatal expedition, found their
former vigour irretrievably gone. In our more fortunate
expedition, which gave us the Havannah, we had little
reason to boast of our success ; instead of a third, not a
fifth part of the army were left survivors of their victory,
the climate being an enemy that even heroes cannot
conquer.

The distempers that thus proceed from the cruel ma-
lignity of those climates, are many : that, for instance,
called the Chapotonadas , carries off a multitude of people ;
and extremely thins the crews of European ships, whom
gain tempts into those inhospitable regions. The nature
of this distemper is but little known, being caused in some
persons by cold, in others by indigestion. But its effects
are far from being obscure ; it is generally fatal in three
or four days : upon its seizing the patient, it brings on
what is there called the black vomit, which is the sad
symptom after which none are ever found to recover.
Some, when the vomit attacks them, are seized with a
delirium, that, were they not tied down, they would tear
themselves to pieces, and thus expire in the midst of this
furious paroxysm. This disorder, in milder climates, takes
the name of the bilious fever, and is attended with milder
symptoms, but very dangerous in all.

There are many other disorders incident to the human
body, that seem the offspring of heat ; but to mention no
other, that very lassitude which prevails in all the tropical
climates, may be considered as a disease. The inhabitants
of India,* says a modern philosopher, sustain an unceas-
ing languor, from the heats of their climate, and are torpid
in the midst of profusion. For this reason, the great Dis-
poser of nature has clothed their country with trees of
an amazing height, whose shade might defend them from
the beams of the sun ; and whose continual freshness
might, in some measure, temperate their fierceness. From
these shades, therefore, the air receives refreshing mois-
ture, and animals a cooling protection. The whole race
of savage animals retire in the midst of the day, to the
very centre of the forests, not so much to avoid their

* Linnsei Amsenitates, vol. v. p. 444.

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A HISTORY OF

enemy man, as to find a defence against the raging heats of
the season. This advantage which arises from shades in
torrid climates, may probably afford a solution for that ex-
traordinary circumstance related by Boyle, which he imputes
to a different cause. In the island of Ternate, belonging to
the Dutch, a place that had been long celebrated for its
beauty and healthfulness, the clove-trees grew in such plenty,
that they in some measure lessened their own value : for
this reason, the Dutch resolved to cut down the forests, and
thus to raise the price of the commodity : but they had
soon reason to repent of their avarice ; for such a change
ensued, by cutting down the trees, that the whole island,
from being healthy and delightful, having lost its charming
shades, became extremely sickly, and has actually con-
tinued so to this day. Boerhaave considered heat so
prejudicial to health, that he was never seen to go near a
fire.

An opposite set of calamities are the consequence, in
climates where the air is condensed by cold. In such places,
all that train of distempers which are known to arise from
obstructed perspiration, are very common eruptions,
boils, scurvy, and a loathsome leprosy, that covers the
whole body with a scurf, and white putrid ulcers. These
disorders also are infectious ; and, while they thus banish
the patient from society, they generally accompany him to
the grave. The men of those climates seldom attain to the
age of fifty ; but the women, who do not lead such laborious
lives, are found to live longer.

The autumnal complaints which attend a wet summer,
indicate the dangers of a moist air. The long continuance
of an east wind also, shews the prejudice of a dry one.
Mineral exhalations, when copious, are every where known
to be fatal ; and although we probably owe the increase
and luxuriance of vegetation to a moderate degree of their
warmth, yet the natives of those countries where there
are mines in plenty, but too often experience the noxious
effects of their vicinity. Those trades also that deal in
the preparations of metals of all kinds, are always un-
wholesome ; and the workmen, after some time, are ge-
nerally seen to labour under palsies, and other nervous

* Krantz’s History of Greenland, vol. i. p.235

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complaints. The vapours from some vegetable substances
are well known to be attended with dangerous effects.
The shade of the manchineel tree, in America, is said to be
fatal, as was that of the juniper, if we may credit the an-
cients. Those who walk through fields of poppies, or in
any manner prepare those flowers for making opium, are
very sensibly affected with the drowsiness they occasion.
A physician of Mr. Boyle’s acquaintance, causing a large
quantity of black hellebore to be pounded in a mortar, most
of the persons who were in the room, and especially the
person who pounded it, were purged by it, and some of them
strongly. He also gathered a certain plant in Ireland, which
the person who beat it in a mortar, and the physician who
was standing near, were so strongly affected by, that their
hands and faces swelled to an enormous size, and continued
tumid for a long time after.

But neither mineral nor vegetable steams are so dangerous
to the constitution, as those proceeding from animal sub-
stances, putrefying either by disease or death. The effluvia
that comes from diseased bodies, propagate that frightful
catalogue of disorders whieh are called infectious. The
parts which compose vegetable vapours and mineral exha-
lations, seem gross and heavy, in comparison of these
volatile vapours, that go to great distances, and have been
described as spreading desolation over the whole earth.
They fly every where ; penetrate every where ; and the
vapours that fly from a single disease, soon render it
epidemic.

The plague is the first upon the list in this class of human
calamities. From whence this scourge of man’s presump-
tion may have its beginning, is not well known : but we
well know that it is propagated by infection. Whatever
be the general state of the atmosphere, we learn, from ex-
perience, that the noxious vapours, though but singly intro-
duced at first, taint the air by degrees ; every person in-
fected tends to add to the growing malignity ; and, as the
disorder becomes more general, the putrescence of the air
becomes more noxious, so that the symptoms are aggra-
vated by continuance. When it is said that the origin of
this disorder is unknown, it implies, that the air seems to
be but little employed in first producing it. There are
some countries, even in the midst of Africa, that we learn

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have never been infected with it ; but continue for centuries
unmolested. On the contrary, there are others, that are
generally visited once a year, as in Egypt, which, neverthe-
less, seems peculiarly blessed with the serenity and tempera-
ture of its climate. In the former countries, which are of
vast extent, and many of them very populous, every thing
should seem to dispose the air to make the plague continual
among them. The great heats of the climate, the unwhole-
someness of the food, the sloth and dirt of the inhabitants,
but, above all, the bloody battles which are continually
fought among them, after which heaps of dead bodies are
left unburied, and exposed to putrefaction. All these one
' might think would be apt to bring the plague among them ;
and yet, nevertheless, we are assured by Leo Africanus,
that in Numidia the plague is not known once in a hundred
years ; and that in Negroland, it is not known at all.
This dreadful disorder, therefore, must have its rise, not
from any previous disposition of the air, but from some
particular cause, beginning with one individual, and
extending the malignity by communication, till at last
the air becomes actually tainted by the generality of the
infection .

The plague which spread itself over the whole world, in
the year 1346, as we are told by Mezeray, was so contagious,
that scarcely a village, or even a house, escaped being infected
by it. Before it had reached Europe, it had been for two
years travelling from the great kingdom of Cathay, where
it began by a vapour most horridly foetid : this broke out
of the earth like a subterranean fire, and upon the first
instant of its eruption consumed and desolated above two
hundred leagues of that country, even to the trees and
stones.

In that great plague which desolated the city of London,
in the year 1665, a pious and learned schoolmaster of Mr.
Boyle’s acquaintance, who ventured to stay in the city, and
took upon him the humane office of visiting the sick and
the dying, who had been deserted by better physicians,
averred, that being once called to a poor woman who had.
buried her children of the plague, he found the room
where she lay so little that it scarcely could hold any more
than the bed whereon she was stretched. However,
in this wretched abode, beside her, in an open coffin, her

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husband lay, who had some time before died of the same
disease ; and whom she, poor creature, soon followed.
But what shewed the peculiar malignity of the air, thus
suffering from animal putrefaction, was, that the contagious
steams had produced spots on the very wall of theii
wretched apartment : and Mr. Boyle’s own study, which
was contiguous to a pest-house, was also spotted in the
same frightful manner. Happily for mankind, this dis-
order, for more than a century, has not been known in our
island ; and, for this last age, has abated much of its
violence, even in those countries where it is most common.
Diseases, like empires, have their revolutions ; and those
which for a while were the scourge of mankind, sink unheard
of, to give place to new ones, more dreadful, as being less
understood.

For this revolution in disorders, which has employed
the speculation of many, Mr. Boyle accounts in the fol-
lowing manner : “ Since,” says he, “ there want not
causes in the bowels of the earth, to make considerable
changes amongst the materials that nature has plentifully
treasured up in those magazines, and as those noxious
steams are abundantly supplied to the surface, it may
not seem improbable, that in this great variety some may
be found capable .of affecting the human frame in a par-
ticular manner, and thus of producing new diseases. The
duration of these may be greater or less, according to the
lastingness of those subterraneous causes that produced
them. On which account, it need be no wonder that some
diseases have but a short duration, and vanish not long after
they appear ; whilst others may continue longer, as having
under ground more settled and durable causes to maintain
them.”

From the recital of this train of mischiefs produced by
the air upon minerals, plants, animals, and man himself,
a gloomy mind may be apt to dread this indulgent nurse
of nature as a cruel and an inexorable stepmother : but it
is far otherwise ; and, although we are sometimes injured,
yet almost all the comforts and blessings of life spring from
its propitious influence. It would be needless to observe,
that it is absolutely necessary for the support of our lives ;
for of this every moment’s experience assures us. But
how it contributes to this support, is not so readily com-

f

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192

prehended. All allow it to be a friend, to whose benefits
we are constantly obliged ; and yet, to this hour, philoso-
phers are divided as to the nature of the obligation. The
dispute is, whether the air is only useful by its weight to
force our juices into circulation:* or, whether, by con-
taining a peculiar spirit, it mixes with the blood in our
vessels, and acts like a spur to their industry.^ Perhaps
it may exert both these useful offices at the same time.
Its weight may give the blood its progressive motion,
through the larger vessels of the body ; and its admixture
with it, cause those contractions of all the vessels, which
serve to force it still more strongly forward, through the
minutest channels of the circulation. Be this as it may,
it is well known, that that part of our blood which has
just received the influx of the air in our bodies, is of a very
different colour from that which has almost performed its
circuit. It has been found, that the arterial blood, which
has been immediately mixed with the air in the lungs, and,
if I may so express it, is just beginning its journey through
the body, is of a fine florid scarlet colour ; while, on the
contrary, the blood of the veins, that is returning from
having performed its duty, is of a blackish crimson hue.
Whence this difference of colour should proceed, is not well
understood; we only know the fact, that, this florid colour
is communicated by the air; and we are well convinced,
that this air has been admitted into the blood for very useful
purposes.

Beside this vital principle in animals, the air also gives
life and body to flame. A candle quickly goes out in an
exhausted receiver ; for having soon consumed the quan-
tity of air, it then expires for want of a fresh supply.
There has been a flame contrived that will burn under
water ; but none has yet been found that will continue to
burn without air. Gunpowder, which is the most catching
and powerful fire we know, will not go off in an exhausted
receiver ; nay, if a train of gunpowder be laid, so as
that one part may be fired in the open air, yet the other
part in vacuo will remain untouched, and unconsumed.
W ood also set on fire, immediately goes out ; and its flame
ceases upon removing the air ; for something is then

* Keil. Robinson.

f Whytt upon vital and involuntary Motions.

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193

wanting to press the body of the fire against that of the fuel,
and to prevent the too speedy diffusion: of the flame. We
frequently see cooks and others, whose business it is to keep
up strong fires, take proper precautions to exclude the
beams of the sun from shining upon them, which effectually
puts them out. This they are apt to ascribe to a wrong
cause ; namely, the operation of the light : but the real
fact is, that the warmth of the sun-beams lessens and dis-
sipates the body of the air that goes to feed the flame ; and
the fire, of consequence, languishes for want of a necessary
supply.

The air, while it thus kindles fire into flame, is, notwith-
standing, found to moderate the rays of light, to dissipate
their violence, and to spread an uniform lustre over every
object. Were the beams of the sun to dart directly upon
us, without passing through this protecting medium, they
would either burn us up at once, or blind us with their
effulgence. But by going through the air, they are reflected,
refracted, and turned from their direct course, a thousand
different ways ; and thus are more evenly diffused over the
face of nature.

Among the other necessary benefits the air is of to us,
one of the principal is, its conveyance of sound. Even the
vibrations of a bell, which have the loudest effect that we
know of, cease to be heard when under the receiver of an
air-pump. Thus all the pleasures we receive from con-
versation with each other, or from music, depend entirely
upon the air. ,

Odours likewise are diffused only by the means of air ;
without this fluid to swim in, they would for ever remain
torpid in their respective substances ; and the rose would
affect us with as little sensations of pleasure, as the thorn on
which it grew.

Those who are willing to augment the catalogue of the
benefits we receive from this element, assert also, that
tastes themselves would be insipid, were it not that the air
presses their parts upon the nerves of the tongue and palate,
so as to produce their grateful effects. Thus, continue they,
upon the tops of high mountains, as on the Peak of Tene-
riffe, the most poignant bodies, as pepper, ginger, salt, and
spice, have no sensible taste, for want of their particles
being thus sent home to the sensory. But we owe the air
vol, i. — 8. 2 B

194 A HISTORY OF .* ,

sufficient obligations, not to be studious of admitting this
among the number : in fact, all substances have their taste,
as well on the tops of mountains, as in the bottom of the
valley ; and I have been one of many, who have ate a very
savoury dinner on the Alps.

It is sufficient, therefore, that we regard the air as the
parent of health and vegetation ; as a kind dispenser of light
and warmth ; and as th'e conveyer of sounds and odours.
This is an element of which avarice will not deprive us ;
and which power cannot monopolize. The treasures of the
earth, the verdure of the fields, and even the refreshments
of the stream, are too often seen going only to assist the
luxuries of the great; while the less fortunate part of
mankind stand humble spectators of their encroachments.
But the air no limitations can bound, nor any landmarks
restrain. In this benign element, all mankind can boast an
equal possession ; and for this we all have equal obligations
to Heaven. We consume a part of it, for our own suste-
nance, while we live ; and, when we die, our putrefying
bodies give back the supply, which, during life, we had
accumulated from the general mass.

CHAP. XX.

OF WINDS, IRREGULAR AND REGULAR.

Wind is a current of air. Experimental philosophers
produce an artificial wind, by an instrument called an
aolipile. This is nothing more than a hollow copper ball,
with a long pipe ; a tea-kettle might be readily made into
one, if it were entirely closed at the lid, and the spout left
open : through this spout it is to be filled with water, and
then set upon the fire, by which means it produces a vio-
lent blast, like wind, which continues while there is any
water remaining in the instrument. In this manner water
is converted into a rushing air ; which, if caught as it goes
out, and left to cool, is again quickly converted into its
former element. Besides this, as was mentioned in the
former chapter, almost eveiy substance contains some por-
tions of air. Vegetables, or the bodies of animals left to
putrefy, produce it in a very copious manner. But it is

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not only seen thus escaping from bodies, but it may
be very easily made to enter into them. A quantity of
air may be compressed into water, so as to be intimately
blended with it. It finds a much easier admission into
wine, or any fermented liquor ; and an easier still, into
spirits of wine. Some salts suck up the air in such quan-
tities, that they are made sensibly heavier thereby, and
often are melted by its moisture. In this manner, most
bodies, being found either capable of receiving or af-
fording it, we are not to be surprised at those streams
of air that are continually fleeting round the globe. —
Minerals, vegetables, and animals, contribute to increase
the current ; and are sending off their constant supplies.
These, as they are differently affected by cold or heat,
by mixture or putrefaction, all yield different quantities
of air at different times ; and the loudest tempests, and
most rapid whirlwinds, are formed from their united con-
tributions.

The sun is the principal instrument in rarefying the
juices of plants, so as to give an escape to their im-
prisoned air ; it is also equally operative in promoting
the putrefaction of animals. Mineral exhalations are
more frequently raised by subterranean heat. The moon,
the other planets, the seasons, are all combined in pro-
ducing these effects in a smaller degree. Mountains
give a direction* to the courses of the air. Fires carry
a current of air along their body. Night and day alter-
nately chill and warm the earth, and produce an alter-
nate current of its vapours. These, and many other
causes, may be assigned for the variety and the activity
of the winds, their continual change, and uncertain
duration.

With us on land, as the wind proceeds from so many
causes, and meets such a variety of obstacles, there can
be but little hopes of ever bringing its motions to con-
form to theory ; or of foretelling how it may blow a
minute to come. The great Bacon, indeed, was of
opinion, that by a close and regular history of the winds,
continued for a number of ages together, and the par-
ticulars of each observation reduced to general maxims,
we might at last come to understand the variations of
this capricious element ; and that we could foretel the

196

A HISTORY. OF

certainty of a wind, with as much ease as we now foretel
the return of an eclipse. Indeed, his own beginnings in this
arduous undertaking seem to speak the possibility of its
success ; but, unhappily for mankind, this investigation
is the work of ages, and we want a Bacon to direct the
process.

To be able, therefore, with any plausibility, to account
for the variations of the wind upon land, is not to be at
present expected ; and to understand any thing of their
nature, we must have recourse to those places where
they are more permanent and steady. This uniformity
and steadiness we are chiefly to expect upon the ocean.
There, where there is no variety of substances to furnish
the air with various and inconstant supplies, where there
are no mountains to direct the course of its current, but
where all is extensively uniform and even ; in such a place,
the wind arising from a simple cause, must have but one
simple motion. In fact, we find it so. There. are many
parts of the world where the winds, that with us are so
uncertain, pay their stated visits. In some places they
are found to blow one way by day, and another by night ;
in others, for one half of the year they go in a direction
contrary to their former course : but, what is more extra-
ordinary still, there are some places where the winds never
change, but for ever blow the same way. This is par-
ticularly found to obtain between the tropics in the
Atlantic and .Ethiopic oceans ; as well as in the great
Pacific sea.

Few things can appear more extraordinary to a person
who has never been out of our variable latitudes, than
this steady wind, that for ever sits in the sail, sending
the vessel forward ; and as effectually preventing its re-
turn. He who has been taught to consider that nothing
in the world is so variable as the winds, must certainly
be surprised to find a place where there is nothing more
uniform. With us their inconstancy has become a pro-
verb ; with the natives of those distant climates they may
talk of a friend or a mistress as fixed and unchangeable as
the winds, and mean a compliment by the comparison.
When our ships are once arrived into the proper latitudes
of the great Pacific ocean, the mariner forgets the helm,
and his skill becomes almost useless : neither storms nor

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tempests are known to deform the glassy bosom of that
immense sheet of waters ; a gentle breeze, that for ever
blows in the same direction, rests upon the canvass, and
speeds the navigator. In the space of six weeks, ships
are thus known to cross an immense ocean, that takes
more than so many months to return. Upon returning,
the trade-wind, which has been propitious, is then avoided ;
the mariner is generally obliged to steer into the northern
latitudes, and to take the advantage of every casual wind
that offers, to assist him into port. This wind, which
blows with such constancy one way, is known to prevail
not only in the Pacific ocean, but also in the Atlantic,
between the coasts of Guinea and Brazil ; and, likewise,
in the iEthiopic ocean. This seems to be the great
universal wind, blowing from the east to the west, that
prevails in all the extensive oceans, where the land ‘does
lot frequently break the general current. Were the whole
surface of the globe an ocean, there would probably be
but this one wind, for ever blowing from the east, and
pursuing the motions of the sun westward. All the other
winds seem subordinate to this ; and many of them are
made from the deviations of its current. To form, there-
fore, any conception relative to the variations of the wind
in general, it is proper to begin with that which never
varies.

There have been many theories to explain this invariable
motion of the winds ; among the rest, we cannot omit that
of Dr. Lyster, for its strangeness. “ The sea,” says he,
“ in those latitudes, is generally covered over with green
weeds, for a great extent ; and the air produced from the
vegetable perspiration of these, produces the trade-wind.”
The theory of Cartesius was not quite so absurd. He
alleged, that the earth went round faster than its atmosphere
at the equator ; so that its motion, from west to east, gave
the atmosphere an imaginary one from east to west; and
thus an east wind was eternally seen to prevail. Rejecting
those arbitrary opinions, conceived without force, and
asserted without proof, Dr. Halley has given one more
plausible ; which seems to be the reigning system of the
day.

To conceive his opinion clearly, let us for a moment sup-
pose the whole surface of the earth to be an ocean, and the

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198

air encompassing it on every side, without motion. Now
it is evident, that that part of the air which lies directly under
the beams of the sun, will be rarefied ; and if the sun re-
mained for ever in the same place, there would be a great
vacuity in the air, if I may so express it, beneath the place
where the sun stood. The sun moving forward from east
to west, this vacuity will follow too, and still be made under
it. But while it goes on to make new vacuities, the air
will rush in to fill up those the sun has already made ; in
other words, as it is still travelling forward, the air will
continually be rushing in behind, and pursue its motions
from east to west. In this manner the air is put into
motion by day ; and by night the parts continue to impel
each other, till the next return of the sun, that gives a new
force to the circulation.

In this manner is explained the constant east wind that
is found blowing round the globe, near the equator. But
it is also known, that as we recede from the equator on either
side, we come into a trade-wind, that continually blows
from the poles, from the north on one side, or the south
on the other, both directing towards the equator. This
also proceeds from a similar cause with the former ; for the
air being more rarefied in those places over which the sun
more directly darts its rays, the currents will come both
from the north and the south, to fill up the intermediate
vacuity.

These two motions, namely, the general one from east
to west, and the more particular one from both the poles,
will account for all the phenomena of trade-winds ; which,
if the whole surface of the globe were sea, would undoubtedly
be constant, and for ever continue to blow in one direction.
But there are a thousand circumstances to break these
air-currents into smaller ones ; to drive them back against
their general course ; to raise or depress them ; to con-
dense them into storms, or to whirl them in eddies.
In consequence of this, regard must be often had to the
nature of the soil, the position of the high mountains,
the course of the rivers, and even to the luxuriance of
vegetation.

If a country, lying directly under the sun be very flat
and sandy, and if the land be low and extensive, the heat
occasioned by the reflection of the sun-beams produces a

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very great rarefaction of the air. The deserts of Africa,
which are conformable to this description, are scarcely ever
fanned by a breath of wind by day ; but the burning sun is
continually seen blazing in intolerable splendour above
them. For this reason, all along the coasts of Guinea,
the wind is always perceived blowing in upon land, in order
to fill up the vacuity caused by the sun’s operation. In those
shores, therefore, the wind blows in a contrary direction to
that of its general current ; and is constantly found setting
in from the west.

From the same cause it happens, that those constant
calms, attended with deluges of rain, are found in the same
part of the ocean. For this tract being placed in the mid-
dle, between the westerly winds blowing on the coast of
Guinea, and the easterly trade-winds that move at some
distance from shore, in a contrary direction, the tendency of
that part of the air that lies between these two opposite
currents is indifferent to either, and so rests between both in
torpid serenity ; and the weight of the incumbent atmos-
phere, being diminished by the continual contrary winds
blowing from hence, it is unable to keep the vapours sus-
pended that are copiously borne thither ; so that they fall
in continual rains.

But it is not to be supposed, that any theory can account
for all the phenomena of even those winds that are known
to be most regular. Instead of a complete system of the
trade-winds, we must rather be content with an imperfect
history. These,* as was said, being the result of a com-
bination of effects, assume as great a variety as the causes
producing them are various.

Besides the great general wind above mentioned, in
those parts of the Atlantic that lie under the temperate
zone, a north wind prevails constantly during the months
of October, November, December, and January. These,
therefore, are the most favourable months for embarking
for the East-Indies, in order to take the benefit of these
winds, for crossing the Line : and it has been often found
by experience, that those who had set sail five months
before, were not in the least farther advanced in their
voyage, than those who waited for the favourable wind.

* Buffon, vol. ii. p. 230.

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200

During the winter, off Nova Zembla, and the other arctic
countries, a north wind reigns almost continually. In the
Cape de Verd islands, a south wind prevails during the
month of July. At the Cape of Good Hope, a north-west
wind blows during the month of September. There are
also regular winds, produced by various causes, upon land.
The ancient Greeks were the first who observed a constant
breeze, produced by the melting of the snows, in some high
neighbouring countries. This was perceived in Greece,
Thrace, Macedonia, and the iEgean sea. The same kind
of winds are now remarked in the kingdom of Congo, and
the most southern parts of Africa. The flux and reflux of
the sea also produces some regular winds, that serve the
purposes of trade ; and, in general, it may be observed, that
wherever there is a strong current of water, there is a
current of air that seems to attend it.

Besides these winds that are found to blow in one direc-
tion, there are, as was said before, others that blow for
certain months of the year one way, and the rest of the
year the contrary way ; these are called the Monsoons ,
from a famous pilot of that name, who first used them in
navigation with success.* In ail that part of the ocean
that lies between Africa and India, the east winds begin
at the month of January, and continue till about the com-
mencement of June. In the month of August or Sep-
tember, the contrary direction takes place: and the west
winds prevail for three or four months. The interval be-
tween these winds, that is to say, from the end of June
to the beginning of August, there is no fixed wind ; but
the sea is usually tossed by violent tempests, proceeding
from the north. These winds are always subject to their
greatest variations, as they approach the land ; so that on
one side of the great peninsula of India, the coasts are,
for near half the year, harassed by violent hurricanes, and
northern tempests ; while, on the opposite side, and all
along the coasts of Coromandel, these dreadful tempests are
wholly unknown. At Java, and Ceylon, a wrest wind
begins to reign in the month of September ; but at fifteen
degrees of south latitude, this wind is found to be lost, and
the great general trade-wind from the east is perceived to

* Varenii Geographia Generalis, cap. 20.

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201

prevail. On the contrary, at Cochin, in China, the west
wind begins in March ; so that these monsoons prevail, at
different seasons, throughout the Indies. So that the
mariner takes one part of the year to go from Java to the
Moluccas ; another from Cochin to Molucca ; another from
Molucca to China ; and still another to direct him from
China to Japan.

There are winds also that may be considered as peculiar
to certain coasts : for example, the south wind is almost
constant upon the coasts of Chili and Peru ; western winds
almost constantly prevail on the coast of Terra Magellanica,
and in the environs of the Straits le Maire. On the coasts
of Malabar, north and north-west winds prevail conti-
nually ; along the coast of Guinea, the north-west wind is
also very frequent ; and, at a distance from the coasts, the
north-east is always found prevailing. From the beginning
of November to the end of December, a west wind prevails
on the coasts of Japan ; and, during the whole winter, no
ships can leave the port of Cochin, on account of the im-
petuosity of the winds that set upon the coast. These
blow with such vehemence, that the ports are entirely
choked up with sand, and even boats are not able to enter.
However, the east winds that prevail for the other half of
the year, clear the mouths of their harbours from the accu-
mulations of the preceding winter, and set the confined ships
at liberty. At the straits of Babelmandel, there is a south
wind that periodically returns, and which is always followed
by a north-east.

Besides winds thus peculiar to certain coasts, there are
others found to prevail on all the coasts, in warm climates,
which, during one part of the day, blow from the shore,
and, during another part of it, blow from the sea. The
sea-breeze, in those countries, as Dampier observes, com-
monly rises in the morning about nine, proceeding slowly,
in a fine small black curl, upon the surface of the water,
and making its way to refresh the shore. It is gentle at
first, but increases gradually till twelve, then insensibly
sinks away, and is totally hushed at five. Upon its ceasing,
the land-breeze begins to take its turn, which increases
gradually till twelve at night, and is succeeded, in the
morning, by the sea-breeze again. Without all doubt,
nothing could be more fortunate for the inhabitants of the
vol. i. — 9. 2 C

A HISTORY OF

202

'warm countries where those breezes blow, than this alternate

refreshment, which they feel at those seasons when it is

' «

most wanted. The heat, on some coasts, would be insup-
portable, were it not for such a supply of air, when the sun
has rarefied all that which lay more immediately under the
coast. The sea-breeze temperates the heat of the sun by
day ; and the land-breeze corrects the malignity of the dews
and vapours by night. Where these breezes, therefore,
prevail, and they are very common, the inhabitants enjoy
a share of health and happiness, unknown to those that
live much farther up the country, or such as live in similar
latitudes without this advantage. The cause of these
obviously seems to arise from the rarefaction of the air
by the sun, as their duration continues with its appearance,
and alters when it goes down. The sun, it is observed,
equally diffusing his beams upon land and sea, the land,
being a more solid body than the water, receives a greater
quantity of heat, and reflects it more strongly. Being thus,
therefore, heated to a greater degree than the waters, it,
of consequence, drives the air from land out to sea ; but,
its influence being removed, the air returns to fill up the
former vacuity. Such is the usual method of accounting
for this phenomenon ; but, unfortunately, these sea and
land breezes are visitants that come at all hours. On the
coasts of Malabar,* the land-breezes begin at midnight,
and continue till noon ; then the sea-breezes take their
turn, and continue till midnight. While again, at Congo,
the land-breezes begin at five, and continue till nine the
next day.

But if the cause of these be so inscrutable, that are, as we
see, tolerably regular in their visitations, what shall we say
to the winds of our own climate, that are continually shifting,
and incapable of rest ? Some general causes may be
assigned, which nothing but particular experience can apply.
And, in the first place, it may he observed, that clouds and
heat, and, in short, whatever either increases the density or
the elasticity of the air, in any one place, will produce a
wind there : for the increased activity of the air thus pressing
more powerfully on the parts of it that are adjacent, will
drive them forward, and thus go on, in a current, till the
whole comes to an equality.

* Buffon, vol. ii. p. 25 2.

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203

In this manner, as a denser air produces a wind, on one
hand ; so will any accident, that contributes to lighten the
air, produce it on the other : for, a lighter air may be con-
sidered as a vacuity, into which the neighbouring air will
rush : and hence it happens, that when the barometer marks
a peculiar lightness in the air, it is no wonder that it fore-
tells a storm.

The winds upon large waters, are generally more regular
than those upon land. The wind at sea generally blows with
an even steady gale ; the wind at land puffs by intervals,
increasing its strength, and remitting it, without any apparent
cause. This, in a great measure, may be owing to the
many mountains, towers, or trees, that it meets in its way,
all contributing either to turn it from its course, or interrupt
its passage.

The east wind blows more constantly than any other, and
for an obvious reason : all other winds are, in some measure,
deviations from it, and partly may owe their origin thereto.
It is generally, likewise, the most powerful, and for the same
reason.

There are often double currents of the air. While the
wind blows one w*ay, we frequently see the clouds move
another. This is generally the case before thunder ; for it
is well known that the thunder-cloud always moves against
the wind : the cause of this surprising appearance has
hitherto remained a secret. From hence we may conclude,
that weathercocks only inform us of that current of the air
which is near the surface of the earth ; but are often errone-
ous with regard to the upper regions, and, in fact, Derhain
has often found them erroneous.

Winds are generally more powerful on elevated situations
than on the plain, because their progress is interrupted by
fewer obstacles. In proportion as we ascend the heights of
a mountain, the violence of the weather seems to increase,
until we have got above the region of storms, where all is
usually calm and serene. Sometimes, however, the storms
rise even to the tops of the highest mountains ; as we learn
from those who have been on the Andes, and as we
are convinced by the deep snows that crown even the
highest.

Winds blowing from the sea are generally inoister, and
more attended with rains, than those which blow over

204

A HISTORY OF

extensive tracts of land ; for the sea gives off more vapours to
the air, and these are rolled forward upon land by the wind’s
blowing from thence.* For this reason our easterly winds,
that blow from the continent, are dry, in comparison of those
that blow from the surface of the ocean, with which we are
surrounded on' every other quarter.

In general the winds are more boisterous in spring and
autumn than at other seasons : for that being the time of
high tides, the sea may communicate a part of its motions to
the winds. The sun and moon, also, which then have a
greater effect upon the waters, may also have some influence
upon the winds : for, there being a great body of air sur-
rounding the globe, which, if condensed into water, would
cover it to the depth of thirty-two feet, it is evident that the
sun and moon will, to a proportionable degree, affect the
atmosphere, and make a tide of air. This tide will be
scarcely perceivable, indeed ; but, without doubt, it actually
exists ; and may contribute to increase the vernal and
autumnal storms, which are then known to prevail.

Upon narrowing the passage through which the air is
driven, both the density and the swiftness of the wind is in-
creased. For, as currents of water flow with greater force
and rapidity by narrowing their channels ; so also will a
current of air, driven through a contracted space, grow more
violent and irresistible. Hence we find those dreadful storms
that prevail in the defiles of mountains, where the wind,
pushing from behind through a narrow channel, at once
increases in speed and density, levelling, or tearing up, every
obstacle that rises to obstruct its passage.

Winds reflected from the sides of mountains and towers,
are often found to be more forceful than those in direct
progression. This we frequently perceive near lofty build-
ings, such as churches or steeples, where winds are generally
known to prevail, and that much more powerfully than at
some distance. The air, in this case, by striking against the
side of the building, acquires additional density, and, there-
fore, blows with more force.

These different degrees of density, which the air is found
to possess, sufficiently shew that the force of the winds do
not depend upon their velocity alone ; so that those instru-

* Derham’s Physico-Theol.

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205

merits called anemometers , which are made to measure the
velocity of the wind, will by no means give us certain in-
formation of the force of the storm. In order to estimate
this with exactness, we ought to know its density ; which
also these are not calculated to discover. For this reason
we often see storms, with very powerful effects, that do
not seem to shew any great speed ; and, on the contrary,
we see these wind' measurers go round with great swift-
ness, when scarcely any damage has followed from the
storm.

Such is the nature and the inconstancy of the irregular
winds, with which we are best acquainted. But their effects
are much more formidable in those climates near the tropics,
where they are often found to break in upon the steady
course of the trade-winds, and to mark their passage with
destruction. With us the tempest is but rarely known, and
its ravages are registered as an uncommon calamity ; but in
the countries that lie between the tropics, and for a good
space beyond them, its visits are frequent, and its effects are
anticipated. In these regions the winds vary their terrors ;
sometimes involving all things in a suffocating heat ; some-
times mixing all the elements of fire, air, earth, and water,
together ; sometimes, with a momentary swiftness, passing
over the face of the country, and destroying all things in
their passage ; and sometimes raising whole sandy deserts
in one country, to deposit them upon some other. We
have little reason, therefore, to envy these climates the
luxuriance of their soil, or the brightness of their skies.
Our own muddy atmosphere, that wraps us round in
obscurity, though it fails to gild our prospects with sunshine,
or our groves with fruitage, nevertheless answers the call of
industry. They may boast of a plentiful, but precarious,
harvest ; while, with us, the labourer toils in a certain ex-
pectation of a moderate, but a happy, return.

In Egypt,* a kingdom so noted for its fertility, and the
brightness of its atmosphere, during summer, the south
winds are so hot, that they almost stop respiration ; besides
which, they are charged with such quantities of sand, that
they sometimes darken the air as with a thick cloud.

These sands are so fine, and driven with such violence.

* Buffon, vol. ii. p. 258

A HISTORY OF

206

that they penetrate every where, even into chests, be they
shut never so closely. If these winds happen to continue
for any length of time, they produce epidemic diseases,
and are often followed by a great mortality. It is also
found to rain but very seldom in that country : however,
the want of showers is richly compensated by the copi-
ousness of their dews, which greatly tend to promote
vegetation.

In Persia, the winter begins in November, and continues
till March. The cold at that time is intense enough to
congeal the water ; and snow falls in abundance upon their
mountains. During the months of March and April, winds
arise, that blow with great force, and seem to usher in the
heats of summer. These return again, in autumn, with
some violence ; without, however, producing any dreadful
effects. But, during their summer, all along the coasts of
the Persian Gulph, a very dangerous wind prevails, which
the natives call the Sameyel, still more dreadful and burn-
ing than that of Egypt, and attended with instant and fatal
effects. This terrible blast, which was, perhaps, the pes-
tilence of the ancients, instantly kills all those that it in-
volves in its passage. What its malignity consists in, none
can tell, as none have ever survived its effects, to give in-
formation. It frequently, as I am told, assumes a visible
form, and darts, in a kind of bluish vapour, along the sur-
face of the country. The natives, not only of Persia, but of
Arabia, talk of its effects with terror ; and their poets have
not failed to heighten them with the assistance of imagi-
nation. They have described it as under the conduct of a
minister of vengeance, who governs its terrors, and raises,
or depresses it, as he thinks proper. * These deadly winds
are also known along the coasts of India, at Negapatam,
Masulipatam, and Petapoli. But, luckily for mankind, the
holiness of their duration diminishes the injuries that might
ensue from their malignity.

The Cape of Good Hope, as well as many islands in the
West-Indies, are famous for their hurricanes, and that ex-
traordinary kind of cloud which is said to produce them.
This cloud, which is the forerunner of an approaching
hurricane, appears, when first seen, like a small black spot,
on the verge of the horizon ; and is called, by sailors, the
* Herbelot, Bibliotheque Oriental.

Ml's eye, from being seen so minute at a vast distance.
All this time a perfect calm reigns over the sea and land,
while the cloud grows gradually broader as it approaches
At length, coming to the place where its fury is to fall,
it invests the whole horizon with darkness. During all the
time of its approach, an hollow murmur is heard in the
cavities of the mountains ; and beasts and animals, sensible
of its approach, are seen running over the fields, to seek
for shelter. Nothing can be more terrible than its violence
when it begins. The houses in those countries, which are
made of timber, the better to resist its fury, bend to the
blast like osiers, and again recover their rectitude. The
sun, which but a moment before blazed with meridian
splendour, is totally shut out ; and a midnight darkness
prevails, except that the air is incessantly illuminated with
gleams of lightning, by which one can easily see to read.
The rain falls, at the same time, in torrents ; and its descent
has been resembled to what pours from the spouts of our
houses after a violent shower. These hurricanes are not
less offensive to the sense of smelling also, and never come
without leaving the most noisome stench behind them. If
the seamen also lay by their wet clothes, for twenty-four
hours, they are all found swarming with little white mag-
gots, that were brought with the hurricane. Our first
mariners, when they visited these regions, were ignorant
of its effects, and the signs of its approach ; their ships,
therefore, were dashed to the bottom at the first onset ; and
numberless were the wrecks which the hurricane occa-
sioned. But, at present, being forewarned of its approach,
they strip their masts of all their sails, and thus patiently
abide its fury. These hurricanes are common in all the
tropical climates. On the coasts of Guinea they have fre-
quently three or four in a day, that thus shut out the
heavens for a little space ; and, when past, leave all agaie
in former splendour. They chiefly prevail, on that coasb
in the intervals of the trade winds ; the approach of which
clears the air of its meteors, and gives these mortal showers
that little degree of wholesomeness which they possess.
They chiefly obtain there during the months of April and
May; they are known, at Loango, from January to April ;
on the opposite coast of Africa, the hurricane seasoji begins
in May; and, in general, whenever a trade-wind begins to

A HISTORY OF

208

cease, these irregular tempests are found to exert their
fury.

All this is terrible: — but there is a tempest known in
those clim <tes, more formidable than any we have hitherto
been describing, which is called, by the Spaniards, a Tor-
nado. As the former was seen arriving from one part of
the heavens, and making a line of destruction ; so the
winds in this seem to blow from every quarter, and settle
upon one destined place, with such fury, that nothing can
resist their vehemence. When they have all met, in their
central spot, then the whirlwind begins with circular ra-
pidity. The sphere every moment widens, as it continues
to turn, and catches every object that lies* within its at-
traction. This also, like the former, is preceded by a
flattering calm ; the air is every where hushed, and the
sea is as smooth as polished glass : however, as its effects
are more dreadful than those of the ordinary hurricane,
the mariner tries all the power of his skill to avoid it ;
which, if he fails of doing, there is the greatest danger of
his going to the bottom. All along the coasts of Guinea,
beginning about two degrees north of the Line, and so
downward, lengthwise, for about a thousand miles, and as
many broad, the ocean is unnavigable, on account of these
tornadoes. In this torrid region there reigns unceasing
tornadoes, or continual calms ; among which, whatever ship
is so unhappy as to fall, is totally deprived of all power of
escaping. In this dreadful repose of all the elements, the
solitary vessel is obliged to continue, without a single breeze
to assist the mariner’s wishes, except those whirlwinds,
which only serve to increase his calamity. At present,
therefore, this part of the ocean is totally avoided; and,
although there may be much gold along the coasts of that
part of Africa, to tempt avarice, yet there is something,
much more dreadful than the fabled dragon of antiquity,
to guard the treasure. As the internal parts of that
country are totally unknown to travellers, from their burning
sand and extensive deserts ; so here we find a vast tract
of ocean, lying off its shores, equally unvisited by the
mariner.

But of all these terrible tempests that deform the face
of nature, and repress human presumption, the sandy
tempests of Arabia and Africa are the most terrible, and

THE EARTH.

209

strike the imagination most strongly. To conceive a proper
idea of these, we are by no means to suppose them resem-
bling those whirlwinds of dust that we sometimes see scat-
tering in our air, and sprinkling their contents upon our roads
or meadows. The sand-storm of Africa exhibits a very dif-
ferent appearance. As the sand of which the whirlwind is
composed is excessively fine, and almost resembles the parts
of water, its motion entirely resembles that of a fluid ; and
the whole plain seems to float onward, like a slow inunda-
tion. The body of sand thus rolling, is deep enough to bury
houses and palaces in its bosom : travellers who are crossing
those extensive deserts perceive its approach at a distance ;
and in general have time to avoid it, or turn out of its way,
as it generally extends but to a moderate breadth. However,
when it is extremely rapid, or very extensive, as sometimes
is the case, no swiftness, no art, can avail ; nothing then re-
mains but to meet death with fortitude, and submit to be
buried alive with resignation.

It is happy for us of Britain that we have no such cala-
mity to fear : for from this even some parts of Europe are
not entirely free. We have an account given us in the His-
tory of the French Academy, of a miserable town in France,
that is constantly in danger of being buried under a similar
inundation ; with which I will take leave to close this chap-
ter. “ In the neighbourhood of St. Paul de Leon, in Lower
Brittany,* there lies a tract of country along the sea-side,
which, before the year 1666, was inhabited, but now lies
deserted, by reason of the sands which cover it, to the height
of twenty feet ; and which every year advance more and more
inland, and gain ground continually. From the time men-
tioned above, the sand has buried more than six leagues of
the country inward ; and it is now but half a league from the
town of St. Paul ; so that, in all appearance, the inhabitants
must be obliged to abandon it entirely. In the country that
has been overwhelmed, there are still to be seen the tops of
some steeples peeping through the sand, and many chimnies
that still remain above this sandy ocean. The inhabitants,
however, had sufficient time to escape ; but being deprived
of their little all, they had no other resource but begging for
their subsistence. This calamity chiefly owes its advance-

* Histoire de I’Acad&nie des Sciences, an. 1722.

vol. i. — 9. 2 D

A HISTORY OF

210

ment to a north or an east wind, raising the sand, which is
extremely fine, in such great quantities, and with such velo-
city, that M. Deslands, who gave the account says, that
while he was walking near the place, during a moderate
breeze of wind, he was obliged, from time to time, to shake
the sand from his clothes and his hat, on which it was lodged
in great quantities, and made them too heavy to be easily
borne. Still further, when the wind was violent, it drove the
sand across a little arm of the sea, into the town of Roscoff,
and covered the streets of that place two feet deep ; so that
they have been obliged to carry it off in carts. It may also
be observed, that there are several particles of iron mixed
with the sand, which are readily affected by the loadstone.
The part of the coast that furnishes these sands is a tract of
about four leagues in length, and is upon a level with the
sea at high-water. The shore lies in such a manner as to
leave its sands subject only to the north and east winds, that
bear them farther up the shore. It is easy to conceive how the
same sand that has at one time been borne a short way inland,
may, by some succeeding and stronger blast, be carried up
much higher ; and thus the whole may continue advancing
forward, deluging the plain, and totally destroying its fer-
tility. At the same time the sea, from whence this deluge
of sand proceeds, may furnish it in inexhaustible quantities.
This unhappy country, thus overwhelmed in so singular a
manner, may well justify what the ancients and the moderns
have reported concerning those tempests of sand in Africa,
that are said to destroy villages, and even armies, in their
bosom.”

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211

CHAP. XXL

OF METEORS, AND SUCH APPEARANCES AS RESULT FROM
A COMBINATION OF THE ELEMENTS.

In proportion as the substances of nature are more com-
pounded and combined, their appearances become more in-
explicable and amazing. The properties of water have been
very nearly ascertained. Many of the qualities of air, earth,
and fire, have been discovered and estimated; but when
these come to be united by nature, they often produce a re-
sult which no artificial combinations can imitate ; and we
stand surprised, that although we are possessed of all those
substances which nature makes use of, she shews herself a
much more various operator than the most skilful chemist
ever appeared to be. Every cloud that moves, and eveiy
shower that falls, serves to mortify the philosopher’s pride,
and to shew him hidden qualities in air and water, that he
finds it difficult to explain. Dews, hail, snow, and thunder,
are not less difficult for being more common. Indeed, when
we reflect on the manner in which nature performs any or*&
of these operations, our wonder increases. To see water, which
is heavier than air, rising in air, and then falling in a form
so very different from that in which it rose ; to see the same
fluid at one time descending in the form of hail, at anothei
in that of snow ; to see two clouds, by dashing against each
other, producing an electrical fire, which no watery compo-
sition that we know of can effect ; these, I say, serve suffi-
ciently to excite our wonder ; and still the more, in propor-
tion as the objects are ever pressing on our curiosity. Much,
however, has been written concerning the manner in which
nature operates in these productions ; as nothing is so un-
grateful to mankind as hopeless ignorance.

And first, with regard to the manner in which water
evaporates, and rises to form clouds, much has been ad-
vanced, and many theories devised. All water,* say some.

* Spectacle de la Nature, vol. i i.

A mSTOitr or

212

lias a quantity of air mixed with it ; and the heat of the
sun darting down, disengages the particles of this air from
the grosser fluid ; the sun’s rays being reflected back from
the water, carry back with them those bubbles of air and
water, which, being lighter than the condensed air, will
ascend till they meet with a more rarefied air ; and they
will then stand suspended. Experience, however, proves
nothing of all this. Particles of air or fire, are not thus
known to ascend with a thin coat of water ; and, in fact,
we know that the little particles of steam are solid drops
of water. But, besides this, water is known to evaporate
more powerfully in the severest frost, than when the air
is moderately warm.* Dr. Hamilton, therefore, of the
university of Dublin, rejecting this theory, has endea-
voured to establish another. According to him, as aqua
fortis is a menstruum that dissolves iron, and keeps it
mixed in the fluid ; as aqua regia is a menstruum that dis-
solves gold ; or as water dissolves salts to a certain quan-
tity, so air is a menstruum that corrodes and dissolves a
certain quantity of water, and keeps it suspended above.
But however ingenious this may be, it can hardly be ad-
mitted : as we know by Mariotte’s experiment, that if
water and air be inclosed together, instead of the air’s
acting as a menstruum upon the water, the water will act
as a menstruum upon the air, and take it all up. We
know also, that of two bodies, that which is most fluid
and penetrating, is most likely to be the menstruum of
the other ; but water is more fluid and penetrating than
air, and therefore the most likely of the two to be the
menstruum. We know that all bodies are more speedily
acted upon, the more their parts are brought into con-
tact with the menstruum that dissolves them ; but water,
enclosed with compressed air, is not the more diminished
thereby.^ In short, we know, that cold, which diminishes
the force of other menstruums, is often found to promote
evaporation. In this variety of opinion and uncertainty of
conjecture, I cannot avoid thinking that a theory of eva-
poration may be formed upon very simple and obvious

* Memoires de l’Academie des Sciences, an. 1705.

t Mariotte, de la Nature de l’Air, p. 97, 106.

I See Boyle’s Works, vol. ii. p. 619.

THE EARTH. 213

principles, and embarrassed, as far as I can conceive, with
very few objections.

We know that a repelling power prevails in nature,
not less than an attractive one. This repulsion prevails
strongly between the body of fire and that of water. If
I plunge the end of a red-hot bar of iron into a vessel of
water, the fluid rises, and large drops of it fly up in all
manner of directions, every part bubbling and steaming
until the iron be cold. Why may we not for a mo-
ment compare the rays of the sun, darted directly upon
the surface of the water, to so many bars of red-hot iron,
each bar indeed infinitely small, but not the less powerful ?
In this ease, wherever a ray of fire darts, the water, from
its repulsive quality, will be driven on all sides; and, of
consequence, as in the case of the bar of iron, a part of
it will rise. The parts thus rising, however, will be ex-
tremely small ; as the ray that darts is extremely so. The
assemblage of the rays darting upon the water in this
manner, will cause it to rise in a light thin steam above
the surface ; and as the parts of the steam are extremely
minute, they will be lighter than air, and consequently
float upon it. There is no need for supposing them
bubbles of water filled with fire; for, any substance, even
gold itself, will float on air, if its parts be made small
enough ; or, in other words, if its surface be sufficiently
increased. This water, thus disengaged from the general
mass, will be still farther attenuated and broken by the
reflected rays, and consequently, more adapted for as-
cending.

From this, plain account, eveiy appearance in evapora-
tion may be easily deduced. The quantity of heat in-
creases evaporation, because it raises a greater quantity
of steam. The quantity of wind increases evaporation ;
for, by waving the surface of the water, it thus exposes
a greater surface to the evaporating rays. A dry frost,
in some measure, assists the quantity of evaporation ; as
the quantity of rays are found to be no way diminished
thereby. Moist weather alone prevents evaporation ; for the
rays being absorbed, refracted, and broken, by the inter-
vening moisture, before they arrive at the surface, cannot
produce the effect ; and the vapour will rise in a small
proportion.

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214

Thus far we have accounted for the ascent of vapours ;
but to account for their falling again, is attended with
rather more difficulty. We have already observed, that
the particles of vapour, disengaged from the surface of
the water, will be broken and attenuated in their ascent,
by the reflected, and even the direct rays, that happen to
strike upon their minute surfaces. They will, therefore,
continue to ascend, till they rise above the operation of
the reflected rays, which reaches but to a certain height
above the surface of the earth. Being arrived at this
region, which is cold for want of reflected heat, they will
be condensed, and suspended in the form of clouds.
Some vapours that ascend to great heights, will be frozen
into snow; others, that are condensed lower down, will'
put on the appearance of a mist, which we find the clouds
to be, when we ascend among them, as they hang along
the sides of a mountain. These clouds of snow and rain,
being blown about by winds, are either entirely scattered
and dispersed above, or they are still more condensed
by motion, like a snow-ball, that grows more large and
solid as it continues to roll. At last, therefore, they will
become too weighty for the air which first raised them
to sustain ; and they will descend with their excesses of
weight, either in snow or rain. But as they will fall
precipitately, when they begin to descend, the air, in
some measure, will resist the falling ; for as the descend-
ing fluid gathers velocity in its precipitation, the air will
increase its resistance to it, and the water will, there-
fore, be thus broken into rain ; as we see, that water
which falls from the tops of houses, though it begins in
a spout, separates into drops before it has got to the
bottom. Were it not for this happy interposition of the
air, between us and the water falling from a consider-
able height above us, a drop of rain might fall with dan-
gerous force, and a hailstone might strike us with fatal
rapidity.

In this manner, evaporation is produced by day; but
when the sun goes down, a part of that vapour which his
rays had excited, being no longer broken and attenuated
by the reflecting rays, it will become heavier than the air,
even before it has reached the clouds ; and it will, there-
fore, fall back in dews, which differ only from rain in

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descending before they have had time to condense into a
visible form.

Hail, the Cartesians say, is a frozen cloud, half melted,
and frozen again in its descent. A hoar-frost is but a frozen
dew. Lightning we know to be an electrical flash, produced
by the opposition of two clouds ; and thunder to be the
sound proceeding from the same, continued by an echo re-
verberated among them. It would be to very little purpose
to attempt explaining exactly how these wonders are effected :
we have as yet but little insight into the manner in which
these meteors are found to operate upon each other ; and
therefore we must be contented with a detail rather of their
effects than their causes.

In our own gentle climate, where nature wears the mildest
and kindest aspect, every meteor seems to befriend us.
With us, rains fall in refreshing showers, to enliven our
fields, and to paint the landscape with a more vivid beauty.
Snows cover the earth, to preserve its tender vegetables from
the inclemency of the departing winter. The dews descend
with such an imperceptible fall as no way injures the consti-
tution. Even thunder is seldom injurious ; and it is often
wished for by the husbandman to clear the air, and to kill
numberless insects that are noxious to vegetation. Hail is
the most injurious meteor that is known in our climate ; but
it seldom visits us with violence, and then its fury is but
transient.

One of the most dreadful storms we hear of,* was that
of Hertfordshire, in the year 1697. It began by thunder
and lightning, which continued for some hours, when sud-
denly a black cloud came forward, against the wind, and
marked its passage with devastation. The hail -stones which
it poured down, being measured, were found to be many of
them fourteen inches round, and consequently as large as a
bowling-green ball. Wherever it came, every plantation
fell before it ; it tore up the ground, split great oaks, and
other trees, without number ; the fields of rye were cut
down, as if levelled with a scythe ; wheat, oats, and barley,
suffered the same damage. The inhabitants found but a
precarious shelter, even in their houses, their tiles and win-
dows being broke by the violence of the hail-stones, which.

* Phil. Trans, vol. ii. p. 147.

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216

by the force with which they came, seemed to have descended
from a great height. The birds, in this universal wreck,
vainly tried to escape by flight; pigeons, crows, rooks, and
many more of the smaller and feebler kinds were brought
down. An unhappy young man, who had not time to take
shelter, was killed ; one of his eyes was struck out of his
head, and his body was all over black with bruises ; another
had just time to escape, but not without the most imminent
danger, his body being bruised all over. But what is
most extraordinary, all this fell within the compass of a
mile.

Mezeray, in his history of France, tells us of a shower
of hail much more terrible, which happened in the year
1510, when the French monarch invaded Italy. There
was, for a time, a horrid darkness, thicker than that of
midnight, which continued till the terrors of mankind were
changed to still more terrible objects, by thunder and light-
ning breaking the gloom, and bringing on such a shower
of hail, as no history of human calamities could equal.
These hailstones were of a bluish colour; and some of
them weighed not less than a hundred pounds. A noi-
some vapour of sulphur attended the storm. All the birds
and beasts of the country were entirely destroyed. Numbers
of the human race suffered the same fate. But what is
still more extraordinary, the fishes found no protection from
their native element ; but were equal sufferers in the general
calamity.

These, however, are terrors that are seldom exerted in
our mild climates. They only serve to mark the page of
history with wonder ; and stand as admonitions to mankind,
of the various stores of punishment in the hands of the
Deity, which his power can treasure up, and his mercy can
suspend.

In the temperate zones, therefore, meteors are rarely
found thus terrible ; but between the tropics, and near the
poles, they assume very dreadful and various appearances.
In those inclement regions, where cold and heat exert
their chief power, meteors seem peculiarly, to have fixed
their residence. They are seen there in a thousand terri-
fying forms, astonishing to Europeans, yet disregarded by
the natives, from their frequency. The wonders of air,
fire, and water, are there combined, to produce the most

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217

tremendous effects ; and to sport with the labours and ap-
prehensions of mankind. Lightnings, that flash withou
noise ; hurricanes, that tear up the earth ; clouds, that all
at once pour down their contents, and produce an in-
stant deluge ; mock suns ; nothern lights, that illuminate
half the hemisphere ; circular rainbows ; halos ; fleeting
balls of fire ; clouds reflecting back the images of things
on earth, like mirrors ; and water-spouts, that burst from
the sea, to join with the mists that hang immediately above
them. These are but a part of the phenomena that are
common in those countries ; and from many of which
our own climate is, in a great measure, exempted.

The meteors of the torrid zone are different from those
that are found near the polar circles ; and it may readily be
supposed, that in those countries where the sun exerts the
greatest force in raising vapours of all kinds, there should
be the greatest quantity of meteors. Upon the approach
of the winter months, as they are called, under the Line,
which usually begin about May, the sky, from a fiery
brightness, begins to be overcast, and the whole horizon
seems wrapt in a muddy cloud. Mists and vapours still
continue to rise ; and the air, which so lately before was
clear and elastic, now becomes humid, obscure, and
stifling ; the fogs become so thick, that the light of the
sun seems, in a manner, excluded ; nor would its presence
be known, but for the intense and suffocating heat of its
beams, which dart through the gloom, and, instead of
dissipating, only serve to increase the mist. After this
preparation, there follows an almost continual succession
of thunder, rain, and tempests. During this dreadful sea-
son, the streets of cities flow like rivers ; and the whole
country wears the appearance of an ocean. The inhabitants
often make use of this opportunity to lay in a stock of
fresh water, for the rest of the year ; as the same cause
which pours down the deluge at one season, denies the
kindly shower at another. The thunder which attends
the fall of these rains, is much more terrible than that
we are generally acquainted with. With us, the flash is
seen at some distance, and the noise shortly after ensues ;
our thunder generally rolls in one quarter of the sky,
and one stroke pursues another. But here it is other-
wise ; the whole sky seems illuminated with unremitted
vol. i. — 10. 2 E

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218

flashes of lightning ; every part of the air seems produc-
tive of its own thunders ; and every cloud produces its
own shock. The strokes come so thick, that the in-
habitants can scarcely mark the intervals ; but all is one un-
remitted roar of elementary confusion. It should seem,
however, that the lightning of those countries is not so fatal,
or so dangerous, as with us ; since, in this case, the torrid
zone would be uninhabitable.

When these terrors have ceased, with which, however,
the natives are familiar, meteors of another kind begin to
make their appearance. The intense beams of the sun,
darting upon stagnant waters, that generally cover the sur-
face of the country, raise vapours of various kinds. Float-
ing bodies of fire, which assume different names, rather
from their accidental forms than from any real difference
between them, are seen without surprise. The draco
volans, or flying dragon, as it is called ; the ignis fatuus ,
or wandering fire ; the fires of St. Helmo, or the mariner’s
light; are every where frequent: and of these we have
numberless descriptions. “ As I was riding in Jamaica,”
says Mr. Barbham, “ one morning from my habitation,
situated about three miles north-west from Jago de la
Vega, I saw a ball of fire, appearing to me of the bigness
of a bomb, swiftly falling down with a great blaze. At
first I thought it fell into the town ; but when I came
nearer, I saw many people gathered together, a little to
the southward, in the savanna, to whom I rode up, to
inquire the cause of their meeting : they were admiring,
as I found, the ground’s being strangely broke up and
ploughed by a ball of fire ; which, as they said, fell down
there. I observed there were many holes in the ground ;
one in the middle of the bigness of a man’s head, and five
or six smaller round about it, of the bigness of one’s fist,
and so deep as not be fathomed by such implements as
were at hand. It was observed, also, that all the green
herbage was burnt up, near the holes ; and there con-
tinued a strong smell of sulphur near the place, for some
time after.”

Ulloa gives an account of one of a similar kind, at
Quito.* “ About nine at night,” says he, “ a globe of

* Ulloa, vol. i. p. 41.

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219

fire appeared to rise from the side of the mountain Pichin-
ea, and so large, that it spread a light over all the part of
the city facing that mountain. The house where I lodged
looking that way, I was surprised with an extraordinary
light, darting through the crevices of the window-shutters.
On this appearance, and the bustle of the people in the
street, I hastened to the window, and came time enough
to see it, in the middle of its career ; which continued
from west to south, till I lost sight of it, being intercepted
by a mountain, that lay between me and it. It was round ;
and its apparent diameter about a foot. I observed it to
rise from the sides of Pichinca ; although, to judge from its
course, it was behind that mountain where this congeries
of inflammable matter was kindled. In the first half of
its visible course, it emitted a prodigious effulgence, then
it began gradually to grow dim ; so that, upon its disap-
pearing behind the intervening mountain, its light was
very faint.”

Meteors of this kind are very frequently seen between
the tropics but they sometimes, also, visit the more tem-
perate regions of Europe. We have the description of a
very extraordinary one, given us by Montanari, that serves
to shew to what great heights, in our atmosphere, these
vapours are found to ascend. In the year 1676, a great
globe of fire was seen at Bononia, in Italy, about three
quarters of an hour after sun-set. It passed westward, with
a most rapid course, and at the rate of not less than a
hundred and sixty miles in a minute, which is much
swifter than the force of a cannon-ball, and at last stood
over the Adriatic sea. In its course it crossed over all
Italy ; and, by computation, it could not have been less than
thirty-eight miles above the surface of the earth. In
the whole line of its course, wherever it approached, the
inhabitants below could distinctly hear it, with a hissing
noise, resembling that of a fire-work. Having passed
away to sea, towards Corsica, it was heard, at last, to
go off with a most violent explosion, much louder than
that of a cannon : and, immediately after, another noise
was heard, like the rattling of a great cart upon a stony
pavement ; which was, probably, nothing more than the
echo of the former sound. Its magnitude, when at
Bononia, appeared twice as long as the moon, one way.

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220

and as broad the other ; so that, considering its height, it
could not have been less than a mile long, and half a mile
broad. From the height at which this was seen, and there
being no volcano on that quarter of the world from whence
it came, it is more than probable that this terrible globe
was kindled on some part of the contrary side of the globe,
in those regions of vapours which we have been just de-
scribing; and thus, rising above the air, and passing in a
course opposite to that of the earth’s motion, in this man-
ner it acquired its amazing rapidity.

To these meteors, common enough southward, we will
add one more of a very uncommon kind, which was seen
by Ulloa, at Quito, in Peru ; the beauty of which will, in
some measure, serve to relieve us, after the description of
those hideous ones preceding. “ At day break,” says he,
“ the whole mountain of Pambamarca, where we then re-
sided, was encompassed with very thick clouds ; which the
rising of the sun dispersed so far, as to leave only some va-
pours, too fine to be seen. On the side opposite to the
rising sun, and about ten fathoms distant from the place
where we were standing, we saw, as in a looking-glass, each
his own image ; the head being as it were, the centre of
three circular rainbows, one without the other, and just near
enough to each other as that the colours of the internal
verged upon those more external ; while round all was a
circle of white, but with a greater space between. In this
manner these circles were erected, like a mirror, before us ;
and as we moved, they moved, in disposition and order.
But, what is most remarkable, though we were six in num-
ber, every one saw the phenomenon with regard to him-
self, and not that relating to others. The diameter of the
arches gradually altered, as the sun rose above the horizon ;
and the whole after continuing a long time, insensibly
faded away. In the beginning, the diameter of the inward
iris, taken from its last colour, was about five degrees and
a half ; and that of the white arch, which surrounded the
rest, was not less than sixty-seven degrees. At the begin -
ing of the phenomenon, the arches seemed of an oval, or
elliptical figure, like the disk of the sun ; and afterwards be-
came perfectly circular. Each of these was of a red colour,
bordered with an orange ; and the last bordered by a bright
yellow, which altered into a straw colour, and this turned

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221

to a green ; but, in all, the external colour remained red.”
Sueh is the description of one of the most beautiful illusions
that has ever been seen in nature. This alone seems to
have combined all the splendours of optics in one view. To
understand the manner, therefore, how this phenomenon
was produced, would require a perfect knowledge of optics ;
which it is not our present province to enter upon. It will
be sufficient, therefore, only to observe, that all these ap-
pearances arise from the density of the cloud, together with
its uncommon and peculiar situation, with respect to the
spectator and the sun. It may be observed, that but one
of these three rainbows was real, the rest being only re-
flections thereof. It may also be observed, that whenever
the spectator stands between the sun and a cloud of falling
rain, a rainbow is seen, which is nothing more than the
reflection of the different coloured rays of light from the bo-
som of the cloud. If, for instance, we take a glass globe,
filled with water, and hang it up before us opposite the
sun, in many situations it will appear transparent; but
if it is raised higher, or sideways, to an angle of forty-five
degrees, it will at first appear red; altered a very little
higher, yellow ; then green, then blue, then violet colour :
in short, it will assume successively all the colours of the
rainbow ; but, if raised higher still, it will become trans-
parent again. A falling shower may be considered as
an infinite number of these little transparent globes, as-
suming different colours, by being placed at their proper
heights. The rest of the shower will appear transparent,
and no part of it will seem coloured ; but such as are at
angles of forty-five degrees from the eye, forty-five degrees
upward, forty-five degrees on each side, and forty-five
degrees downward, did not the plane of the earth prevent
us. We therefore see only an arch of the rainbow, the
lower part being cut off from our sight by the earth’s in-
terposition. However, upon the tops of very high moun-
tains, circular rainbows are seen, because we can see to
an angle of forty-five degrees downward, as well as up-
ward, or sideways, and therefore we take in the rainbow’s
complete circle.

In those forlorn regions round the poles, the meteors,
though of another kind, are not less numerous and alarm-
ing. When the winter begins, and the cold prepares to set

222

A HISTORY OF

in, the same misty appearance which is produced in the
southern climates by the heat, is there produced by the con-
trary extreme.* The sea smokes like an oven, and a fog
arises, which mariners call the frost smoke. This cutting
mist commonly raises blisters on several parts of the body ;
and, as soon as it is wafted to some colder part of the at-
mosphere, it freezes to little icy particles, which are driven
by the wind, and create such an intense cold on land, that
the limbs of the inhabitants are sometimes frozen, and
drop off.

There, also, halos, or luminous circles round the moon,
are oftener seen than in any other part of the earth, being
formed by the frost smoke ; although the air otherwise seems
to be clear. A lunar rainbow also is often seen there, though
somewhat different from that which is common with us ;
as it appears of a pale white, striped with gray. In these
countries also, the aurora borealis streams with peculiar lustre,
and variety of colours. In Greenland it generally arises
in the east, and darts its sportive fires, with variegated
beauty, over the whole horizon. Its appearance is almost
constant in winter ; and at those seasons when the sun de-
parts to return no more for half a year, this meteor kindly
rises to supply its beams, and affords sufficient light for all
the purposes of existence. However, in the very midst of
their tedious night, the inhabitants are not entirely forsaken.
The tops of the mountains are often seen painted with the
red rays of the sun ; and the poor Greenlander from thence
begins to date his chronology. It would appear whimsical
to read a Greenland calendar, in which we might be told,
That one of their chiefs, having lived forty days, died, at last,
of a good old age ; and that his widow continued for half a
day to deplore his loss, with great fidelity, before she admitted
a second husband.

The meteors of the day, in these countries, are not less
extraordinary than those of the night : mock suns are often
reflected upon an opposite cloud ; and the ignorant spectator
fancies that there are often three or four real suns in the
firmament at the same time. In this splendid appearance
the real sun is always readily known by its superior bright-
ness, every reflection being seen with diminished splendour.
The solar rainbow there, is often seen different from ours.

* Paul Egede’s History of Greenland.

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223

Instead of a pleasing variety of colours, it appears of a
pale white, edged with a stripe of dusky yellow ; the whole
being reflected from the bosom of a frozen cloud.

But, of all the meteors which mock the imagination with
an appearance of reality, those strange illusions that are
seen there, in fine serene weather, are the most extraordinary
and entertaining. “ Nothing,” says Krantz, “ ever sur-
prised me more, than on a fine warm summer’s day, to per-
ceive the islands that lie four leagues west of our shore, put-
ting on a form quite different from what they are known to
have. As I stood gazing upon them, they appeared at first
infinitely greater than what they naturally are ; and seemed as
if I viewed them through a large magnifying glass. They
were not thus only made larger, but brought nearer to me.
I plainly descried every stone upon the land, and all the
furrows filled with ice, as if I stood close by. When this
illusion had lasted for a while, the prospect seemed to break
up, and a new scene of wonder to present itself. The
islands seemed to travel to the shore, and represented a
wood, or a tall cut hedge. The scene then shifted, and
shewed the appearance of all sorts of curious figures ; as
ships with sails, streamers, and flags ; antique elevated cas-
tles, with decayed turrets ; and a thousand forms, for which
fancy found a resemblance in nature. When the eye had
been satisfied with gazing, the whole group of riches seemed
to rise in air, and at length vanish into nothing. At
such times the weather is quite serene and clear ; but com-
pressed with such subtle vapours, as it is in very hot weather ;
and these appearing between the eye and the object, give
it all that variety of appearances which glasses of differ-
ent refrangibilities would have done.” Mr. Krantz ob-
serves, that commonly a couple of hours afterwards, a
gentle west wind and a visible mist follow, which put an
end to this hisus nature.

It were easy to swell this catalogue of meteors with the
names of many others, both in our own climate and in
other parts of the world. Such as falling stars, which are
thought to be no more than unctuous vapours, raised from
the earth to small heights, and continuing to shine till that
matter which first raised, and supported them, being burnt
out, they fall back again to the earth with extinguished
flame. Burning spears, which are a peculiar kind of aurora

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224

borealis ; bloody rains, which are said to be the excrements
of an insect, that at that time has been raised into the air.
Showers of stones, fishes, and ivy-berries, at first, no doubt,
raised into the air by tempests in one country, and falling at
some considerable distance, in the manner of rain, to
astonish another. But omitting these, of which we know
little more than what is thus briefly mentioned, I will con-
clude this chapter with the description of a water-spout ; a
most surprising phenomenon, not less dreadful to mariners
than astonishing to the observer of nature.

These spouts are seen very commonly in the tropical seas,
and sometimes in our own. Those seen by Tournefort, in
the Mediterranean, he has described as follows : “ The
first of these,” says this great botanist, “ that we saw,
was about a musket-shot from our ship. There we per-
ceived the water began to boil, and to rise about a foot
above its level. The water was agitated and whitish ; and
above its surface there seemed to stand a smoke, such as
might be imagined to come from wet straw before it begins
to blaze. It made a sort of a murmuring sound, like that
of a torrent heard at a distance, mixed, at the same time,
with a hissing noise like that of a serpent ; shortly after
we perceived a column of this smoke rise up to the clouds,
at the same time whirling about with great rapidity. It
appeared to be as thick as one’s finger ; and the former
sound still continued. When this disappeared, after last-
ing for about eight minutes, upon turning to the opposite
quarter of the sky, we perceived another, which began in
the manner of the former ; presently after a third appeared
in the west ; and instantly beside it still another arose.
The most distant of these three could not be above a mus-
ket-shot from the ship. They all continued like so many
heaps of wet straw set on fire, that continued to smoke,
and to make the same noise as before. We soon after
perceived each, with its respective canal, mounting up in
the clouds, and spreading where it touched; the cloud,
like the mouth of a trumpet, making a figure (to express
it intelligibly) as if the tail of an animal were pulled at
one end by a weight. These canals were of a whitish
colour, and so tinged, as I suppose, by the water which
was contained in them ; for, previous to this, they were
apparently empty, and of the colour of transparent glass.

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225

These canals were not straight, but bent in some parts, and
far from being perpendicular, but rising in their clouds with
a very inclined ascent. But what is very particular, the
cloud to which one of them was pointed happening to be
driven by the wind, the spout still continued to follow its
motion, without being broken ; and passing behind one of
the others, the spouts crossed each other, in the form of a
St. Andrew’s cross. In the beginning they were all about
as thick as one’s finger, except at the top, where they were
broader, and two of them disappeared ; but shortly after, the
last of the three increased considerably ; and its canal, which
was at first so small, soon became as thick as a man’s arm,
then as his leg, and at last thicker than his whole body.
We saw distinctly, through this transparent body, the water,
which rose up with a kind of spiral motion ; and it some-
times diminished a little of its thickness, and again resumed
the same ; sometimes widening at top, and sometimes at bot-
tom ; exactly resembling a gut filled with water, pressed with
the fingers to make the fluid rise or fall ; and I. am well con-
vinced that this alteration in the spout was caused by the
wind, which pressed the cloud, and impelled it to give up
its contents. After some time its bulk was so diminished as
to be no thicker than a man’s arm again ; and thus swelling,
and diminishing, it at last became very small. In the end,
I observed the sea which was raised above it to resume its
level by degrees, and the end of the canal that touched it to
become as small as if it had been tied round with a cord ;
and this continued till the light, striking through the cloud,
took away the view. I still however continued to look ex-
pecting that its parts would join again, as I had before seen
in one of the others, in which the spout was more than once
broken, and yet again came together ; but I was disappointed,
for the spout appeared no more.”

Many have been the solutions offered for this surprising
appearance. Mr. Buffon supposes the spout, here described,
to proceed from the operation of fire, beneath the bed of the
sea ; as the waters at the surface are thus seen agitated.
However, the solution of Dr. Stuart is not divested of pro-
bability ; who thinks it may be accounted for by suction, as
in the application of a cupping-glass to the skin.

Wherever spouts of this kind are seen, they are extremely
dreaded by mariners ; for if they happen to fall upon a ship,
vol. i. — 10. 2 F

226

A HISTORY OF

they most commonly dash it to the bottom. But if the ship
be large enough to sustain the deluge, they are at least sure
to destroy its sails and rigging, and render it unfit for sailing.
It is said that vessels of any force usually fire their guns at
them, loaden with a bar of iron ; and if so happy as to strike
them, the water is instantly seen to fall from them, with a
dreadful noise, though without any farther mischief.

I am at a loss whether we ought to reckon these spouts,
called typhous , which are sometimes seen at land, of the
same kind with those so often described by mariners at sea,
as they seem to differ in several respects. That, for instance,
observed at Hatfield, in Yorkshire, in 1687, as it is described
by the person who saw it, seems rather to have been a whirl-
wind than a water-spout. The season in which it appeared
was very dry, the weather extremely hot, and the air very
cloudy. After the wind had blown for some time with con-
siderable force, and condensed the black clouds one upon
another, a great whirling of the air ensued ; upon which the
centre of the clouds every now and then darted down, in the
shape of a thick long black pipe ; in which the relator could
distinctly view a motion, like that of a screw, continually
screwing up to itself, as it were, whatever it happened to
touch. In its progress it moved slowly over a grove of young
trees, which it violently bent in a crcular motion. Going
forward to a barn, it, in a minute, stript it of all the thatch,
and filled the whole air with the same. As it came near the
relator, he perceived that its blackness proceeded from a
gyration of the clouds, by contrary winds meeting in a point,
or a centre ; and where the greatest force was exerted, there
darting down, like an Archimedes’s screw, to suck up all that
came in its way. Another which he saw, some time after,
was attended with still more terrible effects ; levelling or
tearing up great oak-trees, catching up the birds in its vor-
tex, and dashing them against the ground. In this manner
it proceeded, with an audible whirling-noise, like that of
a mill ; and at length dissolved, after having done much
mischief.

But we must still continue to suspend our assent as to the
nature even of these land spouts, since they have been some-
times found to drop, in a great column of water, at once
upon the earth, and produce an instant inundation,* which
* Phil. Trans, vol. iv. p. ii. 108.

THE EARTH.

227

could not readily have happened had they been caused by the
gyration of a whirlwind only. Indeed, every conjecture,
regarding these meteors, seems to me entirely unsatisfac-
tory. They sometimes appear in the calmest weather at sea,
of which I have been an eye-witness ; and therefore these are
not caused by a whirlwind. They are always capped by a
cloud ; and therefore are not likely to proceed from fires at
the bottom. They change place ; and therefore suction
seems impracticable. In short, we still want facts, upon
which to build a rational theory ; and instead of knowledge,
we must be contented with admiration. To be well ac-
quainted with the appearances of nature, even though we are
ignorant of their causes, often constitutes the most useful
wisdom.

[But among all the wonders that have lately engaged the
attention of the philosopher and the chemist, is the circum-
stance, that after the explosion of certain luminous meteors,
heavy stones, varying in bulk and number, have almost con-
stantly fallen from them to the earth. Credibility in a fact,
for which not even a conjectural cause in the remotest de-
gree probable could be assigned, was for some time sus-
pended ; but the proofs are now so numerous, and of such
respectable authority, that it can no longer be doubted.

In July, 1794, about twelve stones fell near Sienna, in
Tuscany, as related by the Earl of Bristol. December 13,
1795, a large stone of fifty-six pounds weight fell at Wold
cottage, in Yorkshire, and is described by Captain Topham.
February 19, 1796, a stone of ten pounds weight fell in Por-
tugal, an account of which is given by M. Southey. Decem-
ber 19, 1798, showers of stones fell at Benares, in the East
Indies, upon the testimony of J. Lloyd Williams, Esq.
April 26, 1803, according to M. Fourcroy, several stones,
from ten to fourteen pounds weight, fell near L’Aigle, in
Normandy.

Various conjectures have been made to account for their
appearance ; but such is the obscurity of the subject, that no
opinion in the slightest degree probable has yet been ad-
vanced. It was at first supposed, that they had been thrown
out of volcanoes, but the immense distance from all volca-
noes renders this opinion of little value. Chaldni endea-
voured to prove, that the meteors from which they fell, were
bodies floating in space, unconnected with any planetary

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228

system, attracted by the earth in their progress, and kindled
by their rapid motion in the atmosphere. Laplace suggests
the probability of their having been thrown off by the vol-
canoes of the moon ; but the meteors which almost always
accompany them, and the swiftness of their horizontal
motion, persuade us to reject this opinion. Sir William
Hamilton, and Mr. King, with greater probability, consider
them as concretions actually formed in the atmosphere. —
After all, we must be content to leave this phenomenon (as
also the showers of sulphur and the vast masses of iron said
to have fallen in South America and Siberia, and supposed
to have their origin from the same causes,) to the accumu-
lated wisdom of future ages.]

CHAP. XXII.

THE CONCLUSION.

Having thus gone through a particular description of the
earth, let us now pause for a moment, to contemplate the
great picture before us. The universe may be considered as
the palace in which the Deity resides ; and this earth as one
of its apartments. In this, all the meaner races of animated
nature mechanically obey him ; and stand ready to execute
his commands without hesitation. Man alone is found re-
fractory; he is the only being endued with a power of con-
tradicting these mandates. The Deity was pleased to exert
superior power in creating him a superior being ; a being
endued with the choice of good and evil ; and capable, in
some measure, of co-operating with his own intentions.
Man, therefore, may be considered as a limited creature,
endued with powers imitative of those residing in the Deity.
He is thrown into a world that stands in need of his help ;
and has been granted a power of producing harmony from
partial confusion.

If, therefore, we consider the earth as alloted for our habi-
tation, we shall find that much has been given us to enjoy,
and much to amend ; that we have ample reasons for our
gratitude, and still more for our industry. In those great
outlines of nature, to which art cannot reach, and where our

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229

greatest efforts must have been ineffectual, God himself has
finished these with amazing grandeur and beauty. Our
beneficent Father has considered these parts of nature as
peculiarly his own ; as parts which no creature could have
skill or strength to amend : and therefore made them inca-
pable of alteration, or of more perfect regularity. The hea-
vens and the firmament shew the wisdom and the glory of
the workman. Astronomers, who are best skilled in the
symmetry of systems, can find nothing there that they can
alter for the better. God made these perfect, because no
subordinate being could correct their defects.

When, therefore, we survey nature on this side, nothing
can be more splendid, more correct, or amazing. We there
behold a Deity residing in the midst of an universe, infinitely
extended every way, animating all, and cheering the vacuity
with his presence ! We behold an immense and shapeless
mass of matter, formed into worlds by his power, and dis-
persed at intervals, to which even the imagination cannot
travel ! In this great theatre of his glory, a thousand suns,
like our own, animate their respective systems, appearing and
vanishing at Divine command. We behold our own bright
luminary fixed in the centre of its system, wheeling its planets
in times proportioned to their distances, and at once dis-
pensing light, heat, and action. The earth also is seen with
its two-fold motion ; producing, by the one, the change of
seasons ; and by the other, the grateful vicissitudes of day
and night. With what silent magnificence is all this per-
formed ! with what seeming ease ! The works of art are
exerted with interrupted force ; and their noisy progress
discovers the obstructions they receive : but the earth, with
a silent steady rotation, successively presents every part of its
bosom to the sun ; at once imbibing nourishment and light
from that parent of vegetation and fertility.

But not only provisions of heat and light are thus sup -
plied, but its whole surface is covered with a transparent
atmosphere, that turns with its motion, and guards it from
external injury. The rays of the sun are thus broken into a
genial warmth ; and, while the surface is assisted, a gentle
heat is produced in the bowels of the earth, which contributes
to cover it with verdure. Waters also are supplied in health-
ful abundance, to support life, and assist vegetation. Moun-
tains arise, to diversify the prospect, and give a current to the

230 A HISTORY OF THE EARTH.

stream. Seas extend from one continent to the other, re-
plenished with animals that may be turned to human sup-
port ; and also serving to enrich the earth with a sufficiency
of vapour. Breezes fly along the surface of the fields, to
promote health and vegetation. The coolness of the even-
ing invites to rest ; and the freshness of the morning renews
for labour.

Such are the delights of the habitation that has been as-
signed to man ! Without any one of these, he must have
been wretched ; and none of these could his own industry
have supplied. But while many of his wants are thus kindly
furnished on the one hand, there are numberless inconveni-
ences to excite his industry on the other. This habitation,
though provided with all the conveniences of air, pasturage,
and water, is but a desert place, without human cultivation.
The. lowest animal finds more conveniences in the wilds of
nature than he who boasts himself their lord. The whirl-
wind, the inundation, and all the asperities of the air, are
peculiarly terrible to man, who knows their consequences,
and, at a distance, dreads their approach. The earth itself,
where human art has not pervaded, puts on a frightful
gloomy appearance. The forests are dark and tangled ; the
meadows overgrown with rank weeds ; and the brooks stray
without a determined channel. Nature, that has been kind
to every lower order of beings, has been quite neglectful with
regard to him ; to the savage uncontriving man the earth is
an abode of desolation, where his shelter is insufficient, and
his food precarious.

A world thus furnished with advantages on one side, and
inconveniences on the other, is the proper abode of reason,
is the fittest to exercise the industry of a free and a thinking
creature. These evils, which art can remedy, and prescience
guard against, are a proper call for the exertion of his facul-
ties ; and they tend still more to assimilate him to his
Creator. God beholds with pleasure that being which he
has made, converting the wretchedness of his natural situa-
tion into a theatre of triumph ; bringing all the headlong
tribes of nature into subjection to his will ; and producing
that order and uniformity upon earth, of which his own hea-
venly fabric is so bright an example. ' £

PART II.

OF ANIMALS.

CHAP. I.

A COMPARISON OF ANIMALS WITH THE INFERIOR RANKS

OF CREATION.

HAVING given an account of the earth in general, and the
advantages and inconveniences with which it abounds, we
now come to consider it more minutely. Having described
the habitation, we are naturally led to inquire after the inha-
bitants. Amidst the infinitely different productions which
the earth offers, and with which it is every where covered,
animals hold the first rank ; as well because of the finer for-
mation of their parts, as of their superior power. The
vegetable, which is fixed to one spot, and obliged to wait for
its accidental supplies of nourishment, may be considered as
the prisoner of nature. Unable to correct the disadvantages
of its situation, or to shield itself from the dangers that sur-
round it, every object that has motion may be its destroyer.

But animals are endowed with powers of motion and de-
fence. The greatest part are capable, by changing place, of
commanding nature ; and of thus obliging her to furnish
that nourishment which is most agreeable to their state.
Those few that are fixed to one spot, even in this seemingly
helpless situation, are, nevertheless, protected from external
injury by a hard shelly covering ; which they often can close
at pleasure, and thus defend themselves from every assault.
And here, I think we may draw the line between the animal

%

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232

and vegetable kingdoms. Every animal, by some means or
other, finds protection from injury ; either from its force or
courage, its swiftness or cunning. Some are protected by
hiding in convenient places ; and others by taking refuge in
a hard resisting shell. But vegetables are totally unpro-
tected; they are exposed to every assailant, and patiently
submissive in every attack. In a word, an animal is an or-
ganized being, that is, in some measure, provided for its own
security; a vegetable is destitute of every protection.

But though it is very easy, without the help of definitions,
to distinguish a plant from an animal, yet both possess many
properties so much alike, that the two kingdoms, as they are
called, seem mixed with each other. Hence, it frequently
puzzles the naturalist to tell exactly where animal life begins,
and vegetative terminates ; nor indeed is it easy to resolve,
whether some objects offered to view be of the lowest of the
animal, or the highest of the vegetable races. The sensi-
tive plant, that moves at the touch, seems to have as much
perception as the fresh-water polypus, that is possessed of
a still slower share of motion. Besides, the sensitive plant
will not reproduce upon cuttting in pieces, which the poly-
pus is known to do ; so that the vegetable production seems
to have the superiority. But, notwithstanding this, the
polypus hunts for its food, as most other animals do. It
changes its situation ; and therefore possesses a power of
choosing its food, or retreating from danger. Still, there-
fore, the animal kingdom is far removed above the veget-
able ; and its lowest denizen is possessed of very great pri-
vileges, when compared with the plants with which it is often
surrounded.

However, both classes have many resemblances, by
which they are raised above the unorganized and inert
masses of nature. Minerals are mere inactive, insensible
bodies, entirely motionless of themselves, and waiting some
external force to alter their forms, or their properties.
But it is otherwise with animals and vegetables ; these
are endued with life and vigour ; they have their state
of improvement and decay ; they are capable of repro-
ducing their kinds ; they grow from seeds in some, and
from cuttings in others ; they seem all possessed of sen-
sation, in a greater or less degree ; they both have their
enmities and affections ; and, as some animals are, by nature.

*

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233

impelled to violence, so some plants are found to exter-
minate all others, and make a wilderness of the places
round them. As the lion makes a desert of the forest
where it resides, thus no other plant will grow under the
shade of the manchineel-tree. Thus, also, that plant, in
the West-Indies, called caraguata, clings round whatever
tree it happens to approach : there it quickly gains the
ascendant ; and loading the tree with a verdure not its
own, keeps away that nourishment designed to feed the
trunk ; and, at last, entirely destroys its supporter. As
all animals are ultimately supported upon vegetables, so
vegetables are greatly propagated by being made a part
of animal food. Birds distribute the seeds wherever they
fly, and quadrupeds prune them into greater luxuriance.
By these means the quantity of food, in a state of
nature, is kept equal to the number of the consumers ;
and, lest some of the weaker ranks of animals should
find nothing for their support, but all the provisions be
devoured by the strong, different vegetables are appro-
priated to different appetites. If, transgressing this rule,
the stronger ranks should invade the rights of the weak,
and breaking through all regard to appetite, should make
an indiscriminate use of every vegetable, nature then
punishes the transgression, and poison marks the crime as
capital.

If, again, we compare vegetables and animals, with respect
to the places where they are found, we shall find them
bearing a still stronger similitude. The vegetables that
grow in a dry and sunny soil, are strong and vigorous,
though not luxuriant ; so also are the animals of such a
climate. Those, on the contrary, that are the joint pro-
duct of heat and moisture, are luxuriant and tender ; and
the animals assimilating to the vegetable food, on which
they ultimately subsist, are much larger in such places
than in others. Thus, in the internal parts of South
America and Africa, where the sun usually scorches all above,
while inundations cover all below, the insects, reptiles, and
other animals, grow to a prodigious size : the earth-worm
of America is often a yard in length, and as thick as a
walking cane ; the boiguacu, which is the largest of the
serpent kind, is sometimes forty feet in length ; the bats,
in those countries, are as big as a rabbit ; the toads are
vol. i. — 10. 2 G

A HISTORY OF

234

bigger than a duck ; and their spiders are as large as a
sparrow. On the contrary, in the cold frozen regions of
the north, where vegetable nature is stinted of its growth,
the few animals in those climates partake of the diminution ;
all the wild animals, except the bear, are much smaller
than in milder countries ; and such of the domestic kinds
as are carried thither, quickly degenerate, and grow less.
Their very insects are of the minute kinds, their bees and
spiders being not half so large as those in the temperate
zone.

The similitude between vegetables and animals is no
where more obvious than in those that belong to the ocean,
where the nature of one is admirably adapted to the neces-
sities of the other. This element, it is well known, has its
vegetables, and its insects that feed upon them in great
abundance. Over many tracts of the sea, a weed is seen
floating, which covers the surface, and gives the resemblance
of a green and extensive meadow. On the under side of
these unstable plants, millions of little animals are found,
adapted to their situation. For as their ground, if I may so
express it, lies over their heads, their feet are placed upon
their backs ; and as land animals have their legs below their
bodies, these have them above. At land also, most animals
are furnished with eyes to see their food ; but at sea, almost
all the reptile kinds are without eyes, which might only give
them prospects of danger at a time when unprovided with
the means of escaping it.#

Thus, in all places, we perceive an obvious similitude
between the animals and the vegetables of every region.
In general, however, the most perfect races have the least
similitude to the vegetable productions on which they are
•ultimately fed ; while, on the contrary, the meaner the
animal, the more local it is found to be, and the more it is
influenced by the varieties of the soil where it resides.
Many of the more humble reptile kinds are not only con-
fined to one country, but also to a plant ; nay, even to a
leaf. Upon that they subsist ; increase with its vegetation,
and seem to decay as it declines. They are merely the
circumscribed inhabitants of a single vegetable : take them
from that, and they instantly die ; being entirely assimilated

* I/innaei Aftiaemtates, vol. v. p, <5S.

ANIMALS.

235

to the plant they feed on, assuming its colour, and even its
medicinal properties. For this reason there are infinite
numbers of the meaner animals that we have never an op-
portunity of seeing in this part of the world ; they are inca-
pable of living separate from their kindred vegetables, which
grow only in a certain climate.

Such animals as are formed more perfect, lead a life
of less dependence; and some kinds are found to subsist
in many parts of the world at the same time. But, of
all the races of animated nature, man is the least affected
by the soil where he resides, and least influenced by the
variations of vegetable sustenance : equally unaffected
by the luxuriance of the warm climates, or the sterility
of the poles, he has spread his habitations over the whole
earth ; and finds subsistence as well amidst the ice of
the north as the burning deserts under the Line. All
creatures of an inferior nature, as has been said, have
peculiar propensities to peculiar climates ; they are cir-
cumscribed to zones, and confined to territories, where
their proper food is found in the greatest abundance ; but
man may be called the animal of every climate, and suf-
fers but very gradual alterations from the nature of any
situation.

As to animals of a meaner rank, whom man compels to
attend him in his migrations, these being obliged to live in
a kind of constraint, and upon vegetable food often different
from that of their native soil, they very soon alter their
natures with the nature of their nourishment, assimilate to
the vegetables upon which they are fed, and thus assume
very different habits as well as appearances. Thus man,
unaffected himself, alters and directs the nature of other
animals at his pleasure ; increases their strength for' his
delight, or their patience for his necessities.

This power of altering the appearances of things, seems
to have been given him for very wise purposes. The
Deity, wrhen he made the earth, was willing to give his
favoured creature many opponents, that might at once
exercise his virtues, and call forth his latent abilities.
Hence we find, in those wide uncultivated wildernesses,
where man, in his savage state, owns inferior strength, and
the beasts claim divided dominion, that the whole forest
swarms with noxious animals and vegetables ; animals as

A HISTORY OF

236

yet undescribed, and vegetables which want a name. In
those recesses, nature seems rather lavish than magnificent
in bestowing life. The trees are usually of the largest
kinds, covered round with parasite plants, and inter-
woven at the tops with each other. The boughs, both
above and below, are peopled with various generations ;
some of which have never been upon the ground, and
others have never stirred from the branches on which they
were produced. In this manner millions of minute and
loathsome creatures pursue a round of uninterrupted
existence, and enjoy a life scarcely superior to vegetation.
At the same time, the vegetables in those places are of
the larger kinds, while the animal race is of the smaller :
but man has altered this disposition of nature ; having,
in a great measure, levelled the extensive forests, cul-
tivated the softer and finer vegetables, destroyed the
numberless tribes of minute and noxious animals, and
taken every method to increase a numerous breed of the
larger kinds. He thus has exercised a severe control ;
unpeopled nature, to embellish it ; and diminished the size
of the vegetable, in order to improve that of the animal
kingdom.

To subdue the earth to his own use, was, and ought to
be, the aim of man ; which was only to be done by in-
creasing the number of plants, and diminishing that of ani-
mals : to multiply existence, alone was that of the Deity.
For this reason, we find, in a state of nature, that animal
life is increased to the greatest quantity possible ; and, we
can scarcely form a system that could add to its numbers.
First, plants, or trees, are provided by nature of the largest
kinds ; and, consequently, the nourishing surface is thus
extended. In the second place, there are animals peculiar
to every part of the vegetable, so that no part of it is lost.
But the greatest possible increase of life would still be
deficient, were there not other animals that lived upon
animals ; and these are, themselves, in turn, food for some
other greater and stronger set of creatures. Were all
animals to live upon vegetables alone, thousands would
be extinct that now have existence, as the quantity of
their provision would shortly fail. But, as things are
wisely constituted, one animal now supports another ;
and thus, all take up less' room than they would by living

ANIMALS.

237

on the same food ; as, to make use of a similar instance,
a greater number of people may be crowded into the
same space, if each is made to bear his fellow upon his
shoulders.

To diminish the number of animals, and increase that of
vegetables, has been the general scope of human industry ;
and, if we compare the utility of the kinds, with respect
to man, we shall find, that of the vast variety in the animal
kingdom, but very few are serviceable to him ; and, in the
vegetable, but very few are entirely noxious. How small
a part of the insect tribes, for instance, are beneficial to
mankind, and what numbers are injurious ! In some coun-
tries they almost darken the air : a candle cannot be lighted
without their instantly flying upon it, and putting out the
flame.* The closest recesses are no safeguard from their
annoyance ; and the most beautiful landscapes of nature
only serve to invite their rapacity. As these are injurious,
from their multitudes, so most of the larger kinds are
equally dreadful to him from their courage and ferocity.
In the most uncultivated parts of the forest these main-
tain an undisputed empire ; and man invades their re-
treats with terror. These are dreadful ; and there are
still more which are utterly useless to him, that serve to
take up the room which more beneficial creatures might
possess ; and incommode him rather with their numbers
than their enmities. Thus, in a catalogue of land-animals,
that amounts to more than twenty thousand, we can
scarcely reckon up* an hundred that are any way useful
to him ; the rest being either all his open or his secret
enemies, immediately attacking him in person, or in-
truding upon that food he has appropriated to himself.
Vegetables, on the contrary, though existing in greater
variety, are but few of them noxious. The most deadly
poisons are often of great use in medicine ; and even those
plants that only seem to cumber the ground, serve for food
to that race of animals which he has taken into friendship
or protection. The smaller tribes of vegetables, in parti-
cular, are cultivated, as contributing either to his necessities
or amusement ; so that vegetable life is as much pro-
moted by human industry, as animal life is controlled and
diminished.

* Ulloa’s Description of Guayaquil.

A HISTORY OF

238

Hence it was not without a long struggle, and various
combinations of experience and art, that man acquired his
present dominion. Almost every good that he possesses
was the result of the contest ; for, every day, as he was con-
tending, he was growing more wise ; and patience and forti-
tude were the fruits of his industry.

Hence, also, we see the necessity of some animals living
upon each other, to fill up the plan of Providence ; and we
may, consequently, infer the expediency of man’s living
upon all. Both animals and vegetables seem equally fitted
to his appetites ; and, were any religious or moral motives
to restrain him from taking away life, upon any account,
he would only thus give existence to a variety of beings
made to prey upon each other ; and, instead of preventing,
multiply mutual destruction.

CHAP. II.

OF THE GENERATION OF ANIMALS.

Before we survey animals in their state of maturity,
and performing the functions adapted to their respective
natures, method requires that we should consider them in
the more early periods of their existence. There has been
a time when the proudest and the imblest animal was a
partaker of the same imbecility with me meanest reptile
and, while yet a candidate for existence, equally helpless
and contemptible. In their incipient state, all are upon
a footing ; the insect and the philosopher being equally in-
sensible, clogged with matter, and unconscious of exist-
ence. Where then are we to begin with the history of those
beings, that make such a distinguished figure in the creation ?
Or, where lie those peculiar characters in the parts that go
to make up animated nature — that mark one animal as
destined to creep in the dust, and another to glitter on the
throne P

This has been a subject that has employed the curiosity
of all ages, and the philosophers of every age have attempted
the solution. In tracing nature to her most hidden

ANIMALS.

239

recesses, she becomes too minute or obscure for our
inspection ; so that we find it impossible to mark her first
differences, to discover the point where animal life begins,
or the cause that conduces to set it in motion. We know
little more than that the greatest number of animals require
the concurrence of a male and female to reproduce their
kind ; and that these distinctly and invariably are found
to beget creatures of their own species. Curiosity has,
therefore, been active in trying to discover the immediate
result of this union ; how far either sex contributes to the
bestowing animal life, and whether it be to the male or
female that we are most indebted for the privilege of our
existence.

Hippocrates has supposed that fecundity proceeded from
the mixture of the seminal liquor of both sexes, each of
which equally contributes to the formation of the incipient
animal. Aristotle, on the other hand, would have the
seminal liquor in the male alone to contribute to this pur-
pose, while the female supplied the proper nourishment
for its support. Such were the opinions of these fathers
of philosophy ; and these continued to be adopted by the
naturalists and schoolmen of succeeding ages, with blind
veneration. At length Steno and Harvey, taking anatomy
for their guide, gave mankind a nearer view of nature just
advancing into animation. These perceived, in all such
animals as produced their young alive, two glandular
bodies, near the womb, resembling that ovary, or cluster
of small eggs, which is found in fowls ; and from the ana-
logy between both, they gave these also the name of
ovaria. These, as they resembled eggs, they naturally
concluded had the same- offices ; and, therefore, they were
induced to think that all animals, of what kind soever,
were produced from eggs. At first, however, there was
some altercations raised against this system: for, as these
ovaria were separate from the womb, it was objected that
they could not be any way instrumental in replenishing
that organ, with which they did not communicate. But,
upon more minute inspection, Fallopius, the anatomist,
perceived two tubular vessels depending from the womb,
which, like the horns of a snail, had a power of erecting
themselves, of embracing the ovaria, and of receiving the
eggs, in order to be fecundated by the seminal liquor.

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240

This discovery seemed, for a long time after, to fix the opini-
ons of philosophers. The doctrine of Hippocrates was re-
established, and the chief business of generation was
ascribed to the female. This was for a long time the estab-
lished opinion of the schools ; but Leuwenhoeck, once more,
shook the whole system, and produced a new schism among
the lovers of speculation. Upon examining the seminal
liquor of a great variety of male animals with microscopes,
which helped his sight more than that of any of his suc-
cessors, he perceived therein infinite numbers of little living
creatures, like tadpoles, very brisk, and floating in the fluid
with a seeming voluntary motion. Each of these, there-
fore, was thought to be the rudiments of an animal, similar
to that from which it was produced ; and this only required
a reception from the female, together with proper nourish-
ment, to complete its growth. The business of generation
was now, therefore, given back to the male a second
time, by many ; while others suspended their assent,
and chose rather to confess ignorance than to embrace
error.*

In this manner has the dispute continued for several
ages, some accidental discovery serving, at intervals, to
renew the debate, and revive curiosity. It was a subject
where speculation could find much room to display itself ;
and Mr. Buffon, who loved to speculate, would not omit
such an opportunity of giving scope to his propensity.
According to this most pleasing of all naturalists, the mi-
croscope discovers that the seminal liquor, not only of
males, but of females also, abounds in these moving little
animals which have been mentioned above, and that they
appear equally brisk in either fluid. These he takes not
to be real animals, but organical particles, which, being
simple, cannot be said to be organized themselves, but go
to the composition of all organized bodies whatsoever ; in
the same manner as a tooth, in the wheel of a watch,
cannot be called either the wheel or the watch, and yet
contributes to the sum of the machine. These organical
particles are, according to him, diffused throughout all
nature, and to be found not only in the seminal liquor,
but in most other fluids in the parts of vegetables, and all

* Bonet Considerations sur les Corps Organises.

ANIMALS.

241

parts of animated nature. As they happen, therefore, to
be differently applied, they serve to constitute a part of the
animal, or the vegetable, whose growth they serve to increase,
while the superfluity is thrown off in the seminal liquor
of both sexes, for the reproduction of other animals or
vegetables of the same species. These particles assume
different figures, according to the receptacle into which
they enter ; falling into the womb, they unite into a
foetus ; beneath the bark of a tree they pullulate into
branches ; and, in short, the same particles that first formed
the animal in the womb contribute to increase its growth
when brought forth.*

To this system it has been objected, that it is impossible
to conceive organical substances without being organized;
and that, if divested of organization themselves, they could
never make an organized body, as an infinity of circles
could never make a triangle. It has been objected, that
it is more difficult to conceive the transformation of these
organical particles, than even that of the animal, whose
growth we are inquiring after; and this system, therefore,
attempts to explain one obscure thing by another still more
obscure.

But an objection, still stronger than these, has been ad-
vanced by an ingenious countryman of our own ; who
asserts, that these little animals, which thus appear swim-
ming and sporting in almost every fluid we examine with
a microscope, are not real living particles, but some of the
more opaque parts of the fluid that are thus increased in
size, and seem to have a much greater motion than they
have in reality. For the motion being magnified with the
object, the smallest degree of it will seem very con-
siderable; and a being almost at rest may, by these
means, be apparently put into violent action. Thus, for
instance, if we look upon the sails of a windmill moving
at a distance, they appear to go very slow ; but, if we
approach them, and thus magnify their bulk to our eye,
they go round with great rapidity. A microscope, in the
same manner, serves to bring our eye close to the object,
and thus to enlarge it ; and not only increase the mag-
nitude of its parts, but of its motion. Hence, therefore,

* Mr. Buffon.

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it would follow, that these organical particles, that are
said to constitute the bulk of living nature, are but mere
optical illusions ; and the system founded on them must,
like them, be illusive.

These, and many other objections, have been made to this
system ; which, instead of enlightening the mind, serve only
to shew, that too close a pursuit of nature very often leads
to uncertainty. Happily, however, for mankind, the most in-
tricate inquiries are generally the most useless. Instead,
therefore, of balancing accounts between the sexes, and at-
tempting to ascertain to which the business of generation
most properly belongs, it will be more instructive, as well as
amusing, to begin with animal nature, from its earliest re-
tirements, and evanescent outlines,' and pursue the incipient
creature through all its changes in the womb, till it arrives
into open day.

The usual distinction of animals, with respect to their
manner of generation, has been into the oviparous and vivi-
parous kinds ; or in other words, into those that bring forth
an egg, which is afterwards hatched into life, and those that
bring forth their young alive and perfect. In one of these
two ways all animals were supposed to have been produced,
and all other kinds of generation were supposed imaginary
or erroneous. But later discoveries have taught us to be
more cautious in making general conclusions, and have even
induced many to doubt whether animal life may not be pro-
duced merely from putrefaction.*

Indeed, the infinite number of creatures that putrid sub-
stances seem to give birth to, and the variety of little in-
sects seen floating in liquors, by the microscope, appear
to favour this opinion. But however this may be, the
former method of classing animals can now by no means
be admitted, as we find many animals that are produced
neither from the womb, nor from the shell, but merely
from cuttings ; so that to multiply life in some creatures,
it is sufficient only to multiply the dissection. This being
the simplest method of generation, and that in which life
seems to require the smallest preparation for its existence,
I will begin with it, and so proceed to the two other
kinds, from the meanest to the most elaborate.

* Bonet Consul, p. 100.

ANIMALS. 243

The earth-worm, the millipedes, the sea-worm, and
many marine insects, may be multiplied by being cut ir
pieces ; but the polypus is noted for its amazing fertility;
and from hence it will be proper to take the description.
The structure of the polypus may be compared to the
finger of a glove, open at one end, and closed at the other.
The closed end represents the tail of the polypus, with
which it serves to fix itself to any substance it happens to
be upon ; the open end may be compared to the mouth ;
and, if we conceive six or eight small strings issuing from
this end, we shall have a proper idea of its arms, which
it can erect, lengthen, and contract, at pleasure, like the
horns of a snail. This creature is very voracious, and
makes use of its arms as a fisherman does of his net, to
catch and entangle such little animals as happen to come
within its reach. It lengthens these arms several inches,
keeps them separated from each other, and thus occupies
a large space in the water in which it resides. These
arms, when extended, are as fine as threads of silk, and
have a most exquisite degree of feeling. If a small worm
happens to get within the sphere of their activity, it is
quickly entangled by one of these arms, and, soon after
the other arms come to its aid : these all together shorten-
ing, the woi'rn is drawn into the' animal’s mouth, and
quickly devoured, colouring the body as it is swallowed.
Thus much is necessary to be observed of this animal’s
method of living, to shew that it is' not of the vegetable tribe
but a real animal, performing the functions which other
animals are found to perform, and endued with powers
that many of them are destitute of. But what is most
extraordinary remains yet to be told ; for, if examined
with a microscope, there are seen several little specks, like
buds, that seem to pullulate from different parts of its
body ; and these soon after appear to be young polypi,
and, like the large polypus, begin to cast their little arms
about for prey, in the same manner. Whatever they
happen to ensnare is devoured, and gives a colour not only
to their own bodies, but to that of the parent ; so that the
same food is digested, and serves for the nourishment of
both. The food of the little one passes into the large
polypus, and colours its body ; and this, in its turn,
digests and swallows its food to pass into theirs. In this

. Us n of •

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244

manner every polypus has a new colony sprouting from its
body ; and these new ones, even while attached to the
parent animal, become parents themselves, having a smaller
colony also budding from them ; all, at the same time,
busily employed in seeking for their prey, and the food of
any one of them serving for the nourishment, and cir-
culating through the bodies, of all the rest. This society,
however, is every hour dissolving ; those newly produced
are seen at intervals to leave the body of the large polypus,
and become, shortly after, the head of a beginning colony
themselves.

In this manner the polypus multiplies naturally ; but one
may take a much readier and shorter way to increase them,
and this only by cutting them in pieces. Though cut into
thousands of parts, each part still retains its vivacious
qualities, and each shortly becomes a distinct and a com-
plete polypus ; whether cut lengthways, or crossways, it is
all the same ; this extraordinary creature seems a gainer
by our endeavours, and multiplies by apparent destruc-
tion. The experiment has been tried, times without num-
ber, and still attended with the same success. Here,
therefore, naturalists, who have been blamed for the cruelty
of their experiments upon living animals, may now boast
of their increasing animal life, instead of destroying it.
The production of the polypus is a kind of philosophical ge-
neration. The famous Sir Thomas Brown hoped one day
to be able to produce children by the same method as
trees are produced: the polypus is multiplied in this man-,
ner ; and every philosopher may thus, if he please, boast
of a very numerous, though, I should suppose, a very use-
less progeny.

This method of generation, from cuttings, may be con-
sidered as the most simple kind, and is a strong instance of
the little pains Nature takes in the formation of her lower
and humbler productions. As the removal of these from
inanimate into animal existence is but small, there are but
few preparations made for their journey. No organs of ge-
neration seem provided, no womb to receive, no shell to
protect them in their state of transition. The little reptile
is quickly fitted for all the offices of its humbler sphere, and
in a very short time, arrives at the height of its contempti-
ble perfection.

ANIMALS.

245

well ; for either the
equally efficacious in
perfection. In this
generation from the

The next generation is of those animals that we see pro-
duced from the egg. In this manner all birds, most fishes,
and many of the insect tribes, are brought forth. An egg
may be considered as a womb detached from the body of
the parent animal, in which the embryo is but just begin-
ning to be formed. It may be regarded as a kind of in-
complete delivery, in which the animal is disburdened of
its young before its perfect formation. Pishes and insects,
indeed, most usually commit the care of their eggs to
hazard; but birds, which are more perfectly formed, are
found to hatch them into maturity by the warmth of their
bodies. However, any other heat, of the same tem-
perature, would answer the end as
warmth of the sun, or of a stove, is
bringing the animal in the egg to
respect, therefore, we may consider

egg as inferior to that in which the animal is brought forth
alive. Nature has taken care of the viviparous animal in
every stage of its existence. . That force which separates it
from the parent, separates it from life; and the embryo
is shielded with unceasing protection till it arrives at
exclusion. But it is different with the little animal in the
egg; often totally neglected by the parent, and always
separable from it, every accident may retard its growth,
or even destroy its existence. Besides, art or accident,
also, may bring this animal to a state of perfection ; so
that it never can be considered as a complete work of
nature, in which so much is left for accident to finish or
destroy.

But however inferior this kind of generation may be, the
observation of it will afford great insight into that of nobler
animals, as we can here watch the progress of the growing
embryo in every period of its existence, and catch it in
those very moments when it first seems stealing into mo-
tion. Malpighi and Haller have been particularly indus-
trious on this subject ; and, with a patience almost equalling
that of the sitting hen, have attended incubation in all its
stages. From them, therefore, we have an amazing history
of the chicken in the egg, and of its advances into complete
formation.

It would be methodically tedious to describe those parts
of the egg which are well known and obvious ; such as its

A HISTORY OF

246

shell, its white, and its yolk ; but the disposition of these
is not so apparent. Immediately under the shell lies that
common membrane, or skin, which lines it on the inside,
adhering closely to it every where, except at the broad end,
where a little cavity is left, that is filled with air, which
increases as the animal within grows larger. Under this
membrane are contained two whites, though seeming to us
to be only one, each wrapped up in a membrane of its
own, one white within the other. In the midst of all is
the yolk, wrapped round likewise in ts own membrane. At
each end of this are two ligaments, called chalaza, which
are, as it were, the poles of this microcosm, being white
dense substances, made from the membranes, and serving
to keep the white and the yolk in their places. It was the
opinion of Mr. Derham that they served also for another
purpose ; for a line being drawn from one ligament to the
other, would not pass directly through the middle of the
yolk, but rather towards one side, and would divide the
yolk into two unequal parts, by which means these liga-
ments served to keep the smallest side of the yolk always
uppermost; and in this part he supposed the cicatricula,
or first speck of life, to reside ; which by being uppermost,
and consequently next the hen, would be thus in the warm-
est situation. But this is rather fanciful than true, the
incipient animal being found in all situations, and not par-
ticularly influenced by any.* The cicatricula, which is the
part where the animal first begins to shew signs of life, is
not unlike a vetch, or a lentil, lying on one side of the
yolk, and within its membrane. All these contribute to
the little animal’s convenience or support ; the outer mem-
branes and ligaments, preserve the fluids in their proper
places ; the white serves as nourishment ; and the yolk,
with its membranes, after a time, becomes a part of the
animal’s body.-'f- This is the description of a hen’s egg,
and answers to that of all others, how large or how small
soever.

Previous to putting the eggs to the hen, our philosophers
first examined the cicatricula, or little spot, already men-
tioned ; and which may be considered as the most impor-
tant part of the egg. This was found, in those that were
impregnated by the cock, to be large ; but in those laid

* Haller. f Ibid.

ANIMALS.

247

without the cock, very small. It was found, by the mi-
croscope, to be a kind of bag, containing a transparent li-
quor, in the midst of which the embryo was seen to reside.
The embryo resembled a composition of little threads,
which the warmth of future incubation tended to enlarge,
by varying and liquefying the other fluids contained within
the shell, and thus pressing them either into the pores or
tubes of their substance.

Upon placing the eggs in a proper warmth,* either under
the sun, or in a stove, after six hours the vital speck begins
to dilate, like the pupil of the eye. The head of the
chicken is distinctly seen, with the back-bone, something
resembling a tadpole, floating in its ambient fluid, but as yet
seeming to assume none of the functions of animal life.
In about six hours more the little animal is seen more dis-
tinctly ; the head becomes more plainly visible, and the ver-
tebrae of the back more easily perceivable. All these signs
of preparation for life are increased in six hours more : and
at the end of twenty-four, the ribs begin to take their places,
the neck begins to lengthen, and the head to turn to
one side.

At this time,~f~ also, the fluids in the egg seem to have
changed place ; the yolk, which was before in the centre
of the shell, approaches nearer to the broad end. The
watery part of the white is, in some measure, evaporated
through the shell, and the grosser part sinks to the small
end. The little animal appears to turn towards the part
of the broad end, in which a cavity has been described,
and with its yolk seems to adhere to the membrane there.
At the end of forty hours the great work of life seems fairly
begun, and the animal plainly appears to move ; the back-
bone, which is of a whitish colour, thickens ; the head is
turned still more on one side ; the first rudiments of the
eyes begin to appear, the heart beats, and the blood begins
already to circulate. The parts, however, as yet are fluid ;
but, by degrees, become more and more tenacious, and
harden into a kind of jelly. At the end of two days, the
liquor in which the chicken swims, seems to increase ; the
head appears with two little bladders in the place of eyes ;
the heart beats in the manner of every embryo where the

* Malpighi.

t Harvey.

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248

blood does not circulate through the lungs. In about four-
teen hours after this, the chicken is grown more strong ;
-its head however is still bent downwards; the veins and
arteries begin to branch, in order to form the brain ;
and the spinal marrow is seen stretching along the back-
bone. In three days the whole body of the chicken appears
bent ; the head, with its two eye-balls, with their dif-
ferent humours, now distinctly appear ; and five other
- vesicles are seen, which soon unite to form the rudiments
of the brain. The outlines also of the thighs and wings be-
gin to be seen, and the body begins to gather flesh. At
the end of the fourth day, the vesicles, that go to form the
brain, approach each other ; the wings and thighs appear
more solid; the whole body is covered with a jelly-like flesh;
the heart, that was hitherto exposed, is now covered up
within the body, by a very thin transparent membrane ;
and, at the same time, the umbilical vessels, that unite the
animal to the yolk, now appear to come forth from the
abdomen. After the fifth and sixth days, the vessels of
the brain begin to be covered over ; the wings and thighs
lengthen ; the belly is closed up, and tumid ; the liver is
seen within it, very distinctly, not yet grown red, but of
a very dusky white ; both the ventricles of the heart are
discerned, as if they were two separate hearts, beating dis-
tinctly ; the whole body of the animal is covered over ;
and the traces of the incipient feathers are already to be
seen. The seventh day, the head appears very large ; the
brain is covered entirely over ; the bill begins to appear be-
twixt the eyes ; and the wings, the thighs, and the legs, have
acquired their perfect figure.* Hitherto, however, the ani-
mal appears as if it had two bodies ; the yolk is joined to it
by the umbilical vessels that come from the belly, and is
furnished with its vessels, through which the blood circu-
lates, as through the rest of the body of the chicken,
making a bulk greater than that of the animal itself. But
towards the end of incubation, the umbilical vessels shorten
the yolk, and with it the intestines are thrust up into the
body of the chicken, by the action of the muscles of the
belly; and the two bodies are thus formed into one. Dur-
ing this state, all the organs are found to perform their

* Haller.

ANIMALS.

249

secretions ; the bile is found to be separated, as in grown
animals ; but it is fluid, transparent, and without bitter-
ness : and the chicken then also appears to have lungs.
On the tenth the muscles of the wings appear, and the
feathers begin to push out. On the eleventh, the heart,
which hitherto had appeared divided, begins to unite ; the
arteries which belong to it join into it, like the fingers into
tile palm of the hand. All these appearances only come
more into view, because the fluids the vessels had hitherto -
secreted were more transparent ; but as the colour of the
fluids deepen, their operations and circulations are more
distinctly seen. As the animal thus, by the eleventh day
completely formed, begins to gather strength, it becomes
more uneasy in its situation, and exerts its animal powers
with increasing force. For some time before it is able to
break the shell in which it is imprisoned, it is heard to
chirrup, receiving a sufficient quantity of air for this purpose,
from that cavity which lies between the membrane and
the shell, and which must contain air to resist the external
pressure. At length, upon the twentieth day, in some
birds sooner, and later in others, the enclosed animal
breaks the shell, within which it has been confined, with
its beak ; and, by repeated efforts, at last procures its
enlargement.

From this little history we perceive, that those parts which
are most conducive to life are the first that are begun : the
head and the back-bone, which, no doubt, enclose the
brain and the spinal marrow, though both are too limpid
to be discerned, are the first that are seen to exist : the
beating of the heart is perceived soon after : the less noble
parts seem to spring from these ; the wings, the thighs, the
feet, and, lastly, the bill. Whatever, therefore, the animal
has double, or whatever it can live without the use of,
these are latest in production ; Nature first sedulously
applying to the formation of the nobler organs, without which
life would be of short continuance, and would be begun in
vain.

The resemblance between the beginning animal in the
egg, and the embryo in the womb, is very striking; and
this similitude has induced many to assert, that all animals
are produced from eggs, in the same manner. They con-
sider an egg excluded from the body by some, and sepa*
vol. i. — 11-1*2. 2 1

A HISTORY OF

250

rated into the womb by others, to be actions merely of
one kind ; with this only difference, that the nourish-
ment of the one is kept within the body of the parent,
and increases as the embryo happens to want the sup-
ply ; the nourishment of the other is prepared all at once,
and sent out with the beginning animal, as entirely suf-
ficient for its future support. But leaving this to the
discussion of anatomists, let us proceed rather with facts
than dissertations ; and, as we have seen the progress of
an oviparous animal, or one produced from the shell, let
us likewise trace that of a viviparous animal, which is
brought forth alive. In this investigation, Graaf has,
with a degree of patience characteristic of his nation, at-
tended the progress and increase of various animals in
the womb, and minutely marked the changes they un-
dergo. Having dissected a rabbit, half an hour after im-
pregnation, he perceived the horns of the womb, that
go to embrace and communicate with the ovary, to
be more red than before ; but no other change in the
rest of the parts. Having dissected another, six hours
after, he perceived the follicules, or the membrane
covering the eggs contained in the ovary, to become
reddish. In a rabbit dissected after twenty-four hours,
he perceived in one of the ovaries, three follicules, and,
in the other, five, that were changed ; having become,
from transparent, dark and reddish. In one dissected
after three days, he perceived the horns of the womb very
strictly to embrace the ovaries ; and he observed three of
the follicules in one of them, much longer and harder than
before ; pursuing his inquisition* he also found two of the
eggs actually separated into the horns of the womb, and
each about the size of a grain of mustard-seed ; these
little eggs were each of them enclosed in a double mem-
brane, the inner parts being filled with a very limpid
liquor. After four days, he found in one of the ovaries
four, and, in the other, five follicules, emptied of their
eggs ; and, in the horns correspondent to these, he found
an equal number of eggs thus separated : these eggs were,
now grown larger than before, and somewhat of the size
of sparrow-shot. In five days, the eggs were grown to
the size of duck-shot, and could be blown from the part
of the womb where they were, by the breath. In seven

ANIMALS.

251

days, these eggs were found of the size of a pistol-bullet,
each covered with its double membrane, and these much
more distinct than before. In nine days, having examined
the liquor contained in one of these eggs, he found it,
from a limpid colour, less fluid, to have got a light cloud
floating upon it. In ten days, this cloud began to thicken,
and to form an oblong body, of the figure of a little
worm : and, in twelve days, the figure of the embryo
was distinctly to be perceived, and even its parts came
into view. In the region of the breast he perceived two
bloody specks ; and two more that appeared whitish.
Fourteen days after impregnation, the head of the embryo
was become large and transparent, the eyes prominent,
the mouth open, and the rudiments of the ears beginning
to appear ; the back-bone, of a whitish colour, was bent
towards the breast ; the two bloody specks being now
considerably increased, appeared to be nothing less than
the outlines of the two ventricles of the heart ; and the two
whitish specks on each side, now appeared to be the
rudiments of the lungs ; towards the region of the belly,
the liver began to be seen, of a reddish colour, and a little
intricate mass, like ravelled thread, discerned, which soon
appeared to be the stomach and the intestines ; the legs soon
after began to to be seen, and to assume their natural
positions : and from that time forth, all the parts being
formed, every day only served to develope them still more,
until the thirty-first day, when the rabbit brought forth her
young, completely fitted for the purposes of their humble
happiness.

Having thus seen the stages of generation in the meaner
animals, let us take a view of its progress in man ; and
trace the feeble beginnings of our own existence. An
account of the lowliness of our own origin, if it cannot
amuse, will at least serve to humble us ; and it may take
from our pride, though it fails to gratify our curiosity.
We cannot here trace the variations of the beginning
animal, as in the former instances ; for the opportunities
. of inspection are but few and accidental : for this reason,
we must be content often to fill up the blanks of our
history with conjecture. And, first, we are entirely ignorant
of the state of the infant in the womb, immediately after
conception ; but we have good reason to believe, that *

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252

it proceeds, as in most other animals, from the egg.*
Anatomists inform us, that four days after conception,
there is found in the womb an oval substance, about
the size of a small pea, but longer one way than the
other ; this little body is formed by an extremely fine
membrane, inclosing a liquor a good deal resembling the
white of an egg: in this may, even then, be perceived,
several small fibres, united together, which form the first
rudiments of the embryo. Beside these, are seen another
set of fibres, which soon after become the placenta, or
that body by which the animal is supplied with nourish-
ment.

Seven days after conception, we can readily distinguish,
by the eye, the first lineaments of the child in the womb.
However, they are as yet without form ; shewing at the end
of seven days pretty much such an appearance as that of the
chicken after four and twenty hours, being a small jelly-like
mass, yet exhibiting the rudiments of the head ; the trunk
is barely visible : there likewise is to be discerned a small
assemblage of fibres issuing from the body of the infant,
which afterwards become the blood-vessels that convey nou-
rishment from the placenta to the child, while enclosed in
the womb.

Fifteen days after conception, the head becomes distinctly
visible, and even the most prominent features of the visage
begin to appear. The nose is a little elevated : there are
two black specks in the place of eyes ; and two little holes,
where the ears are afterwards seen. The body of the
embryo also is grown larger ; and, both above and below,
are seen two little protuberances, which mark the places
from whence the arms and thighs are to proceed. The
length of the whole body, at this time, is less than half an
inch.

At the end of three weeks, the body has received very little
increase ; but the legs and feet, with the hands and arms,
are become apparent. The growth of the arms is more
speedy than that of the legs ; and the fingers are sooner
separated than^ie toes. About this time the internal parts
are found, upon dissection, to become distinguishable. The

* This history of the child in the womb is translated from Mr. Buffo n,
with some alterations.

ANIMALS.

253

places of the bones are marked by small thread-like sub-
stances, that are yet more fluid even than a jelly. Among
them, the ribs are distinguishable, like threads also, disposed
on each side of the spine ; and even the fingers and toes
scarcely exceed hairs in thickness.

In a month, the embryo is an inch long ; the body is bent
forward, a situation which it almost always assumes in the
womb, either because a posture of this kind is the most
easy, or because it takes up the least room. The human
figure is now no longer doubtful : every part of the face is
distinguishable ; the body is sketched out ; the bowels are to
be distinguished as threads ; the bones are still quite soft,
but in some places beginning to assume a greater rigidity ;
the blood-vessels that go to the placenta, which, as was said,
contributes to the child’s nourishment, are plainly seen
issuing from the navel (being therefore called the umbilical
vessels ,) and going to spread themselves upon the placenta.
According to Hippocrates, the male embryo developes
sooner than the female : he adds, that, at the end of thirty
days, the parts of the body of the male are distinguishable ;
while those of the female are not equally so till ten days
after.

In six weeks, the embiyo is grown two inches long ; the
human figure begins to grow every day more perfect ; the
head being still much larger, in proportion to the rest of the
body ; and the motion of the heart is perceived almost by
the eye. It has been seen to beat in an embryo of fifty
days old, a long time after it had been taken out of the
womb.

In two months, the embryo is more than two inches in
length. The ossification is perceivable in the arms and
thighs, and in the point of the chin, the under jaw being
greatly advanced before the upper. These parts, however,
may as yet be considered as bony points, rather than as
bones.- The umbilical vessels, which before went side by
side, are now begun to be twisted, like a rope, one over the
other, and go to join with the placenta, which, as yet, is but
small. «r

In three months, the embryo is above three inches long,
and weighs about three ounces. Hippocrates observes, that
not till then the mother perceives the child’s motion : and
he adds, that in female children, the motion is not observable

A HISTORY OF

254

till the end of four months. However, this is no general
rule, as there are women who assert, that they perceived
themselves to be quick with child, as their expression is,
at the end of two months ; so that this quickness seems
rather to arise from the proportion between the child’s
strength and the mother’s sensibility, than from any deter-
minate period of time. At all times, however, the child is
equally alive; and, consequently, those juries of matrons,
that are to determine upon the pregnancy of criminals, should
not inquire whether the woman be quick, but whether she be
with child ; if the latter be perceivable, the former follows
of course.

Four months and a half after conception, the embryo
is from six to seven inches long. All the parts are so
augmented, that even their proportions are now distin-
guishable. The very nails begin to appear upon the fingers
and toes : and the stomach and intestines already begin to
perform their functions of receiving and digesting. In
the stomach is found a liquor similar to that in which the
embryo floats ; in one part of the intestines, a milky sub-
stance ; and, in the other, an excrementitious. There is
found, also, a small quantity of bile in the gall bladder ; and
some urine in its own proper receptacle. By this time,
also, the posture of the embryo seems to be determined.
The head is bent forward, so that the chin seems to rest
upon its breast ; the knees are raised up towards the head,
and the legs bent backward, somewhat resembling the
posture of those who sit on their haunches. Sometimes
the knees are raised so high as to touch the cheeks, and the
feet are crossed over each other ; the arms are laid upon
the breast, while one of the hands, and often both, touch
the visage ; sometimes the hands are shut, and sometimes
also the arms are found hanging down by the body. These
are the most usual postures which the embryo assumes ;
but these it is frequently known to change ; and it is
owing to these alterations that the mother so frequently
feels those twitches, which are usually attended with
pain .

The embryo, thus situated, is furnished by nature with
all things proper for its support ; and, as it increases in
size, its nourishment also is found to increase with it.
As soon as it first begins to grow in the womb, that

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receptacle, from being very small, grows larger ; and, what
is more surprising, thicker every day. The sides of a
bladder, as we know, the more they are distended, the
more they become thin. But here the larger the womb
grows, the more it appears to thicken. Within this the
embryo is still farther involved, in two membranes, called
the chorion and amnios ; and floats in a thin transparent
fluid, upon which it seems, in some measure, to subsist.
However, the great storehouse, from whence its chief
nourishment is supplied, is called the -placenta ; a red sub-
stance somewhat resembling a sponge, that adheres to
the inside of the womb, and communicates, by the umbilical
vessels, with the embryo. These umbilical vessels, which
consist of a vein and two arteries, issue from the navel of
the child, and are branched out upon the placenta ; where
they, in fact, seem to form its substance ; and, if I may
so express it, to suck up their nourishment from the womb,
and the fluids contained therein. The blood thus received
from the womb, by the placenta, and communicated by the
umbilical vein to the body of the embryo, is conveyed to
the heart ; where, without ever passing into the lungs,
as in the born infant, it takes a shorter course ; for
entering the right auricle of the heart instead of passing
up into the pulmonary artery, it seems to break this
partition, and goes directly through the body of the heart,
by an opening called the foramen ovale , and from thence
to the aorta, or great artery ; by which it is driven into
all parts of the body. Thus we see the placenta, in some
measure, supplying the place of lungs ; for as the little
animal can receive no air by inspiration, the lungs are
therefore useless. But we see the placenta converting
the fluid of the womb into blood, and sending it, by the
umbilical vein, to the heart ; from whence it is dispatched
by a quicker and shorter circulation through the whole
frame.

In this manner the embryo reposes in the womb ; sup-
plied with that nourishment which is fitted to its neces-
sities, and furnished with those organs that are adapted
to its situation. As its sensations are but few, its wants
are in the same proportion ; and it is probable that a
sleep, with scarcely any intervals, marks the earliest period
of human life. As the little creature, however, gathers

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strength and size, it seems to become more wakeful and
uneasy; even in the womb it begins to feel the want of
something it does not possess ; a sensation that seems
coeval with man’s nature, and never leaves him till he
dies. The embryo even then begins to struggle for a
state more marked by pleasure and pain, and, from about
the sixth month, begins to give the mother warning of
the greater pain she is yet to endure. The continuation
of pregnancy, in woman, is usually nine months ; but
there have been many instances when the child has lived
that was born at seven ; and some are found to continue
pregnant a month above the usual time. When the ap-
pointed time approaches, the infant, that has for some
months been giving painful proofs of its existence, now
begins to increase its efforts lor liberty. The head is ap-
plied downward, to the aperture of the womb, and by
reiterated efforts it endeavours to extend the same : these
endeavours produce the pain, which all women, in labour,
feel in some degree ; those of strong constitutions the
least, those most weakly the most severely ; since we learn,
that the women of Africa always deliver themselves,
and are well a few* hours after ; while those of Europe
require assistance, and recover more slowly. Thus the
infant, still continuing to push with its head forward, by
the repetition of its endeavours, at last succeeds, and issues
into life. The blood which had hitherto passed through
the heart, now takes a wider circuit ; and the foramen
ovale closes ; the lungs, that had till this time been in-
active, now first begin their functions ; the air rushes in
to distend them ; and this produces the first sensation of
pain, which the infant expresses by a shriek : so that the
beginning of our lives, as well as the end, is marked with
anguish.*

From comparing these accounts, we perceive that the
most laboured generation is the most perfect ; and that
the animal, which, in proportion to its bulk, takes the
longest time for production, is always the most complete
when finished. Of all others, man seems the slowest in
coming into life, as he is the slowest in coming to per-
fection ; other animals, of the same bulk, seldom remain

* Bonet Contemplat. de la Nature, vol, i. p. 212.

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257

in the womb above six months, while he continues nine ;
and even after his birth appears more than any other to have
his state of imbecility prolonged.

We may observe also, that that generation is the most
complete in which the fewest animals are produced : Nature,
by attending to the production of one at a time, seems to
exert all her efforts in bringing it to perfection ; but, where
this attention is divided, the animals so produced come into
, the world with partial advantages. In this manner twins are
never, at least while infants, so large, or so strong, as those
that come singly into the world ; each having, in some mea-
sure, robbed the other of its right ; as that support, which
Nature meant for one, has been prodigally divided.

In this manner, as those animals are the best that are
produced singly, so we find that the noblest animals are ever
the least fruitful. These are seen usually to bring forth but
one at a time, and to place all their attention upon that alone.
On the other hand, all the oviparous kinds produce in
amazing plenty ; and even the lower tribes of viviparous ani-
mals increase in a seeming proportion to their minuteness
and imperfection. Nature seems lavish of life in the lower
orders of the creation ; and, as if she meant them entirely
for the use of the nobler races, she appears to have bestowed
greater pains in multiplying the number than in completing
the kind. In this manner, while the elephant and the horse
bring forth but one at a time, the spider and the beetle are
seen to produce a thousand : and even among the smaller
quadrupeds, all the inferior kinds are extremely fertile ; any
one of these being found, in a very few months, to become
the parent of a numerous progeny.

In this manner, therefore, the smallest animals multiply
in the greatest proportion ; and we have reason to thank
Providence that the most formidable animals are the least
fruitful. Had the lion and the tiger the same degree of
fecundity with the rabbit or the rat, all the arts of man
would be unable to oppose these fierce invaders; and we
should soon perceive them become the tyrants of those who
claim the lordship of the creation. But heaven, in this
respect, has wisely consulted the advantage of all. It
has opposed to man only such enemies as he has art and
strength to conquer ; and as large animals require propor-
tional supplies, nature was unwilling to give new life, where
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258

it, in some measure, denied the necessary means of sub-
sistence.

In consequence of this pre-established order, the animals
that are endowed with the most perfect methods of genera-
tion, and bring forth but one at a time, seldom begin to
procreate till they have almost acquired their full growth.
On the other hand, those which bring forth many, engender
before they have arrived at half their natural size. The
horse and the bull come almost to perfection before' they
begin to generate ; the hog and the rabbit scarcely leave the
teat before they become parents themselves. In whatever
light, therefore, we consider this subject, we shall find that
all creatures approach most to perfection, whose generation
most nearly resembles that of man. The reptile produced
from cutting is but one degree above the vegetable. The
animal produced from the egg is a step higher in the scale
of existence ; that class of animals which are brought forth
alive, are still more exalted. Of these, such as bring
forth one at a time are the most complete ; and the fore-
most of these stands Man, the great master of all, who
seems to haye united the perfections of all the rest in his
formation.

CHAP. III. : ;

THE INFANCY OF MAN

When we take a survey of the various classes of animals,
and examine their strength, their beauty, or their structure,
we shall find man to possess most of those advantages
united, which the rest enjoy partially. Infinitely superior to
all others in the powers of the understanding, he is also
superior to them in the fitness and proportions of his form.
He would, indeed, have been one of the most miserable
beings upon earth, if, with a sentient mind, he was so formed
as to be incapable of obeying its impulse ; but nature has
otherwise provided ; as with the most extensive intellects to

ANIMALS. 259

command, she has furnished him with a body the best fitted
for obedience.

In infancy,* however, that mind and this body form the
most helpless union in all animated nature ; and, if any thing
can give us a picture of complete imbecility, it is a man when
just come into the world. The infant just born stands in
need of all things, without the power of procuring any.
The lower races of animals, upon being produced are active,
vigorous, and capable of self-support ; but the infant is
obliged to wait in helpless expectation ; and its cries are its
only aid to procure subsistence.

An infant just born may be said to come from one element
into another : for, from the watery fluid in which it was
surrounded, it now immerges into air ; and its first cries
seem to imply how greatly it regrets the change. How
much longer it could have continued in a state of almost
total insensibility in the womb, is impossible to tell ; but
it is very probable that it could remain there some hours
more. In order to throw some light upon this subject,
Mr. Buffon so placed a pregnant bitch, as that her puppies
were brought forth in warm water, in which he kept them
above half an hour at a time. However, he saw no change
in the animals thus newly brought forth ; they continued
the whole time vigorous ; and during the whole time, it is
very probable that the blood circulated through the same
channels through which it passed while they continued in
the womb.

Almost all animals have their eyes closed, -f* for some days
after being brought into the world. The infant opens them
the instant of its birth. However, it seems to keep them
fixed and idle ; they want that lustre which they acquire by
degrees ; and if they happen to move, it is rather an acci-
dental gaze, than an exertion of the act of seeing. The
light alone seems to make the greatest impression upon
them. The eyes of infants are sometimes found turned to
the place where it is strongest ; and the pupil is seen
to dilate and diminish, as in grown persons, in proportion
to the quantity it receives. But still the infant is inca-
pable of distinguishing objects ; the sense of seeing, like the
rest of the senses, require an habit before it becomes any

* Buffon, vol. iv. p. 173

t Buffon, vol. iv. p. 173-

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260

way serviceable. All the senses must be compared with
each other, and must be made to correct the defects of one
another, before they can give just information. It is pro-
bable, therefore, that if the infant could express its own sen-
sations, it would give a very extraordinary description of the
illusions which it suffers from them. The sight might,
perhaps, be represented as inverting objects, or multiplying
them ; the hearing, instead of conveying one uniform tone,
might be said to bring up an interrupted succession of noises ;
and the touch apparently would divide one body into as many
as there are fingers that grasped it. But all these errors
are lost in one confused idea of existence ; and it is happy
for the infant that it then can make but very little use
of its senses, when they could serve only to bring it false
information.

If there be any distinct sensations, those of pain seem
to be much more frequent and stronger than those of plea-
sure. The infant’s cries are sufficient indications of the
uneasiness it must, at every interval, endure ; while, in the
beginning, it has got no external marks to testify its satis-
factions. It is not till after forty days that it is seen to
smile ; and not till that time also, that tears begin to appear,
its former expressions of uneasiness being always without
them. As to any other marks of the passions, the infant
being as yet almost without them, it can express none of
them in its visage ; which, except in the act of crying and
laughing, is fixed in a settled serenity. All the other 'parts
of the body seem equally relaxed and feeble : its motions are
uncertain, and its postures without choice ; it is unable to
stand upright ; it hams are yet bent, from the habit which it
received from its position in fhe womb ; it has not strength
enough in its arms to stretch them forward, much less to
grasp any thing with its hands ; it rests just in the posture
it is laid ; and, if abandoned, must continue in the same
position.

Nevertheless, though this be the description of infancy
among mankind in general, there are countries and races
among whom infancy does not seem marked with such uttter
imbecility, but where the children, not long after they are
born, appear possessed of a greater share of self-support.
The children of negroes have a surprising degree of this pre-
mature industry : they are able to walk at two months ; or,

ANIMALS.

261

at least, to move from one place to another : they also hang
to the mother’s back without any assistance, and seize the
breast over her shoulder ; continuing in this posture till she
thinks proper to lay them down. This is very different in
the children of our countries, that seldom are able to walk
under a twelvemonth.

The skin of children newly brought forth is always red,
proceeding from its transparency, by which the blood beneath
appears more conspicuous. Some say that this redness is
greatest in those children that are afterwards about to have
the finest complexions ; and it appears reasonable that it
should be so, since the thinnest skins are always the fairest.
The size of a new-born infant is generally about twenty
inches, and its weight about twelve pounds. The head is
large, and all the members delicate, soft, and puffy. These
appearances alter with its age ; as it grows older, the head
becomes less in proportion to the rest of the body ; the flesh
hardens ; the bones, that before birth grew very thick in pro-
portion, now lengthen by degrees, and the human figure
more and more acquires its due dimensions. In such chil-
dren, however, as are but feeble or sickly, the head always
continues too big for the body ; the heads of dwarfs being
extremely large in proportion.

Infants, when newly born, pass most of their time in sleep-
ing, and awake with eying ; excited either by sensations of
pain or of hunger. Man, when come to maturity, but rarely
feels the want of food, as eating twice or thrice in the four
and twenty hours is known to suffice the most voracious :
but the infant may be considered as a ittle glutton, whose
only pleasure consists in its appetite ; and this, except when
it sleeps, it is never easy without satisfying. Thus nature
has adapted different desires to the different periods of life ;
each as it seems most necessary for human support or suc-
cession. While the animal is yet forming, hunger excites
it to that supply which is necessary for its growth ; when it
is completely formed, a different appetite takes place, that
incites it to communicate existence. These two desires
take up the whole attention of different periods, but are very
seldom found to prevail strongly together in the same age ;
one pleasure ever serving to repress the other : and, if we
find a person of full age placing a principal part of his hap-
piness in the nature and quantity of his food, we have

262

A HISTORY OF

strong reasons to suspect, that with respect to his other
appetites he still retains a part of the imbecility of his
childhood.

It is extraordinary, however, that infants, who are thus
more voracious than grown persons, are nevertheless more
capable of sustaining hunger. We have several instances,
in accidental cases of famine, in which the child has been
known to survive the parent, and seen clinging to the breast
of its dead mother. Their little bodies also are more patient
of cold ; and we have similar instances of the mother’s
perishing in the snow, while the infant has been found alive
beside her. However, if we examine the internal structure of
infants, we shall find an obvious reason for both these advan-
tages. Their blood-vessels are known to be much larger
than in adults ; and their nerves much thicker and softer :
thus being furnished with a more copious quantity of juices,
both of the nervous and sanguinary kinds, the infant finds a
temporary sustenance in this superfluity, and does not expire
till both are exhausted. The circulation also being larger
and quicker, v supplies it with proportionable warmth, so that
it is more capable of resisting the accidental rigours of the
weather.

The first nourishment of infants is well known to be the
mother’s milk ; and, what is remarkable, the infant has milk
in its own breasts, which may be squeezed out by compres-
sion : this nourishment becomes less grateful as the child
gathers strength ; and perhaps, also, more unwholesome.
However, in cold countries, which are unfavourable to pro-
pagation, and where the female has seldom above three or
four children at the most, during her life, she continues to
suckle the child for four or five years together. In this
manner the mothers of Canada and Greenland are often
seen suckling two or three children, of different ages, at a
time.

The like of infants is very precarious till the age of three
or four, from which time it becomes more secure ; and when
a child arrives at its seventh year, it is then considered as a
more certain life, as Mr. Buffon asserts, than at any other
age whatever. It appears, from Simpson’s Tables, that of
a certain number of children born at the same time, a fourth
part are found dead at the end of the first year ; more than
one-third at the end of the second : and, at least, half at

ANIMALS.

263

the end of the third : so that those who live to be above
three years old, are indulged a longer term than half the
Test of their fellow-creatures. Nevertheless, life, at that
period, may be considered as mere animal existence ; and
rather a preparation for, than an enjoyment of, those
satisfactions, both of mind and body, that make life of
real value : and hence it is more natural for mankind to
deplore a fellow-creature, cut off in the bloom of life,
than one dying in early infancy. The one, by living up
to youth, and thus wading through the disadvantageous
parts of existence, seems to have earned a short continu-
ance of its enjoyments : the infant, on the contrary, has
served but a short apprenticeship to pain ; and when taken
away, may be considered as rescued from a long continu-
ance of misery.

There is something very remarkable in the growth of the
human body.* The embryo in the womb continues to in-
crease still more and more till it is born. On the other
hand, the child’s growth is less every year, till the time of
puberty, when it seems to start up of a sudden. Thus, for
instance, the embryo, which is an inch long in the first
month, grows but one inch and a quarter in the second ; it
then grows one and a half in the third ; two and a half in
the fourth ; and in this manner it keeps increasing till in the
last month of its continuance it is actually found to grow
four inches ; and in the whole about eighteen inches long.
But it is otherwise with the child when born : if we suppose
it eighteen inches at that time, it grows in the first year six
or seven inches ; in the second year, it grows but four inches ;
in the third year, about three ; and so on, at the rate of
about an inch and an half, or two inches, each year, till the
time of puberty, when nature seems to make one great last
effort, to complete her work, and unfold the whole animal
machine.

The growth of the mind in children seems to correspond
with that of the body. The comparative progress of the
understanding is greater in infants than in children of three
or four years old. If we only reflect a moment on the amaz-
ing acquisitions that an infant makes in the first and second
years of life, we shall have much cause for wonder. Being
sent into a world where every thing is new and unknown,

Buffon, vol. iv. p. 173

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264

the first months of life are spent in a kind of torpid amaze-
ment ; an attention distracted by the multiplicity of objects
that press to be known. The first labour, therefore, of the
little learner is, to correct the illusions of the senses, to dis-
tinguish one object from another, and to exert the memory,
so as to know them again. In this manner a child of a year
old has already made a thousand experiments ; all which it
has properly ranged, and distinctly remembers. Light, heat,
fire, sweets, and bitters, sounds soft or terrible, are all dis-
tinguished at the end of a very few months. Besides this,
every person the child knows, every individual object it be-
comes fond of, its rattles, or its bells, may be all considered
as so many new lessons to the young mind, with which it
has not become acquainted, without repeated exertions of
the understanding. At this period of life, the knowledge of
every individual object cannot be acquired without the same
effort which, when grown up, is employed upon the most
abstract idea; every thing the child hears or sees, all the
marks and characters of nature, are as much unknown, and
require the same attention to attain, as if the reader were
set to understand the characters of an Ethiopic manuscript ;
and yet we see in how short a time the little student begins
to understand them all, and to give evident marks of early
industry.

It is very amusing to pursue the young mind, while em-
ployed in its first attainments. At about a year old the
same necessities that first engaged its faculties, increase as
its acquaintance with nature enlarges. Its studies, there-
fore, if I may use the expression, are no way relaxed ; for
having experienced what gave pleasure at one time, it de-
sires a repetition of it from the same object ; and in order
to obtain this, that object must be pointed out ; here, there-
fore, a new necessity arises, which, very often, neither its
little arts nor importunities can remove ; so that the child
is at last obliged to set about naming the objects it desires
to possess or avoid. In beginning to speak, which is usually
about a year old, children find a thousand difficulties. It
is not without repeated trials that they come to pronounce
any one of the lettters ; nor without an effort of the memory,
that they can retain them. For this reason, we frequently
see them attempting a sound which they had learned, but
forgot ; and when they have failed, I have often seen their

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265

attempt attended with apparent confusion. The letters
soonest learned, are those which are most easily formed ;
thus A and B require an obvious disposition of the organs,
and their pronunciation is consequently soon attained.
Z and R, which require a more complicated position, are
learned with greater difficulty. And this may, perhaps, be
the reason why the children in some countries speak sooner
than in others ; for the letters mostly occurring in the lan-
guage of one country, being such as are of easy pronun-
ciation, that language is of course more easily attained. In
this manner the children of the Italians are said to speak
sooner than those of the Germans, the language of the one
being smooth and open ; that of the other, crowded with
consonants, and extremely guttural.

But be this as it will, in all countries children are found
able to express the greatest part of their wants by the
time they arrive at two years old ; and from the moment
the necessity of learning new words ceases, they relax
their industry. It is then that the mind, like the body,
seems every year to make slow advances ; and, in order to
spur up attention, many systems of education have been
contrived.

Almost every philosopher, who has written on the edu-
cation of children, has been willing to point out a method
of his own, chiefly professing to advance the health, and
improve the intellects at the same time. These are usually
found to begin with finding nothing right in the common
practice ; and by urging a total reformation. In conse-
quence of this, nothing can be more wild or imaginary
than their various systems of improvement. Some will
have the children every day plunged in cold water, in
order to strengthen their bodies ; they will have them con-
verse with the servants in nothing but the Latin language,
in order to strengthen their minds ; every hour of the day
must be appointed for its own studies, and the child must
learn to make these very studies an amusement ; till about
the age of ten or eleven it becomes a prodigy of premature
improvement. Quite opposite to this, we have others,
whom the courtesy of mankind also calls philosophers ; and
they will have the child learn nothing till the age of ten
or eleven, at which the former has attained so much per-
fection ; with them the mind is to be kept empty, until it
voL. i.-n — 1 1-12. ‘2L

A HISTORY OF

266

f

has a proper distinction of some metaphysical ideas about
truth ; and the promising pupil is debarred the use of even
his own faculties, lest they should conduct him into preju-
dice and error. In this manner, some men, whom fashion
has celebrated for profound and fine thinkers, have given
their hazarded and untried conjectures, upon one of the
most important subjects in the world, and the most in-
teresting to humanity. When men speculate at liberty
upon innate ideas, or the abstracted distinctions between
will and power, they may be permitted to enjoy their sys-
tems at pleasure, as they are harmless, although they may
be wrong ; but when they allege that children are to be
every day plunged in cold water, and, whatever be their
constitutions, indiscriminately inured to cold and mois-
ture ; that they are to be kept wet in the feet, to prevent
their catching cold ; and never to be corrected when
young, for fear of breaking their spirits when old ; these
are such noxious errors, that all reasonable men should
endeavour to oppose them. Many have been the children
■whom these opinions, begun in speculation, have injured
or destroyed in practice ; and I have seen many a little
philosophical martyr, whom I wished, but was unable, to
relieve.

If any system be therefore necessary, it is one that would
serve to shew a very plain point ; that very little system is
necessary. The natural and common course of education
is in every respect the best ; I mean that in which the
child is permitted to play among its little equals, from
whose similar instructions it often gains the most useful
stores of knowledge. A child is not idle because it is
playing about the fields, or pursuing a butterfly ; it is all
this time storing its mind with objects, upon the nature, the
properties, and the relations of which, future curiosity may
speculate.

I have ever found it a vain task to try to make a child’s
learning its amusement ; nor do I see what good end it
would answer, were it actually attained. The child, as
was said, ought to have its share of play, and it will be
benefited thereby ; and for every reason also it ought to
have its share of labour. The mind, by early labour, will
be thus accustomed to fatigues and subordination and
whatever be the person’s future employment in life, he

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267

will be better fitted to endure it : he will be thus enabled
to support the drudgeries of office with content ; or to fill
up the vacancies of life with variety. The child, there-
fore, should by times be put to its duty ; and be taught to
know, that the task is to be done, or the punishment to be
endured. I do not object against alluring it to duty by
reward ; but we well know, that the mind will be more
strongly stimulated by pain ; and both may, upon some
occasions, take their turn to operate. In this manner, a
child, v by playing with its equals abroad, and labouring
with them at school, will acquire more health and know-
ledge, than by being bred up under the wing of any spe-
culative system-maker ; and will be thus qualified for a
life of activity and obedience. It is true, indeed, that
when educated in this manner, the boy may not be so
seemingly sensible and forward as one bred up under
solitary instruction ; and, perhaps, this early forwardness
is more engaging than useful. It is well known, that
many of those children who have been* such prodigies of
literature before ten, have not made an adequate progress
to twenty. It should seem, that they only began learning
manly things before their time ; and, while others were
busied in picking up that knowledge adapted to their age and
curiosity, these were forced upon subjects unsuited to their
years ; and, upon that account alone, appearing extraor-
dinary. The stock of knowledge in both may be equal ; but
with this difference, that each is yet to learn what the other
knows.

But whatever may have been the acquisitions of children
at ten or twelve, their greatest, and most rapid progress,
is made when they arrive near the age of puberty. It is then
that all the powers of nature seem at work in strengthening
the mind and completing the body ; the youth acquires
courage, and the virgin modesty ; the mind, with new sen-
sations, assumes new powers ; it conceives with greater force,
and remembers with greater tenacity. About this time,
therefore, which is various in different countries, more is
learned in one year than in any two of the preceding ; and on
this age, in particular, the greatest weight of instruction
ought to be thrown.

268

A HISTORY OF

CHAP. IV.

OF PUBERTY,

It has been often said, that the season of youth is the sea-
son of pleasures : but this can only be true in savage coun-
tries, where but little preparation is made for the perfection
of human nature ; and where the mind has but a very small
part in the enjoyment. It is otherwise in those places where
nature is carried to the highest pitch of refinement, in which
this season of the greatest sensual delight is wisely made
subservient to the succeeding and more rational one of
manhood. Youth, with us, is but a scene of preparation;
a drama, upon the right conduct of which all future happiness
is to depend. The youth who follows his appetites, too
soon seizes the cup, before it has received its best ingredients ;
and, by anticipating his pleasures, robs the remaining parts
of life of their share ; so that his eagerness only produces a
manhood of imbecility, and an age of pain.

The time of puberty is different in various countries, and
always more late in men than in women. In the warm
countries of India, the women are marriageable at nine or
ten, and the men at twelve or thirteen. It is also different in
cities, where the inhabitants lead a more soft luxurious life,
from the country, where they work harder, and fare less
delicately. Its symptoms are seldom alike in different per-
sons ; but it is usually known by a swelling of the breasts in
one sex, and a roughness of the voice in the other. At this
season, also, the women seem to acquire new beauty, while
the men lose all that delicate effeminacy of countenance
which they had when boys.

All countries, in proportion as they are civilized or barbar-
ous, improve or degrade the nuptial satisfaction. In those
miserable regions, where strength makes the only law, the
stronger sex exerts its power, and becomes the tyrant over
the weaker : while the inhabitant of Negroland is indolently
taking his pleasure in the fields, his wife is obliged to till the
ground that serve for their mutual support. It is thus in

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269

all barbarous countries, where the men throw all the labori-
ous duties of life upon the women ; and, regardless of beauty,
put the softer sex to those employments that must effectually
destroy it.

But, in countries that are half barbarous, particularly
wherever Mahometanism prevails, the men run into the very
opposite extreme. Equally brutal with the former, they
exert their tyranny over the weaker sex, and consider that
half of the human creation as merely made to be subservient
to the depraved desires of the other. The chief, and, indeed,
the only aim of an Asiatic, is to be possessed of many
women ; and to be able to furnish a seraglio is the only
tendency of his ambition. As the savage was totally re-
gardless of beauty, he, on the contrary, prizes it too highly ;
he excludes the person who is possessed of such personal
attractions from any share in the duties or employments of
life ; and, as if willing to engross all beauty to himself,
increases the number of his captives in proportion to the
progress of his fortune. In this mannej he vainly expects
to augment his satisfactions, by seeking from many that
happiness which he ought to look for in the society of one
alone. He lives a gloomy tyrant, amidst wretches of his
own making ; he feels none of those endearments which
spring from affection, none of those delicacies which arise
from knowledge. His mistresses, being shut out from
the world, and totally ignorant of all that passes there,
have no arts to entertain his mind, or calm his anxieties ;
the day passes with them in sullen silence, or languid
repose ; appetite can furnish but few opportunities of varying
the scene; and all that falls beyond it must be irksome
expectation.

From this avarice of women, if I may be allowed to ex-
press it so, has proceeded that jealousy and suspicion which
ever attends the miser : hence those low and barbarous
methods of keeping the women of those countries guarded,
and of making and procuring eunuchs to attend them.
These unhappy creatures are of two kinds, the white and
the black. The wrhite are generally made in the country
where they reside, being but partly deprived of the marks
of virility ; the black are generally brought from the interior
parts of Africa, and are made entirely bare. These are
chiefly chosen for their deformity ; the thicker the lips, the

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270

flatter the nose, and the more black the teeth, the more
valuable the eunuch ; so that the vile jealousy of mankind
here inverts the order of nature, and the poor wretch finds
himself valued in proportion to his deficiencies. In Italy,
where this barbarous custom is still retained, and eunuchs
are made in order to improve the voice, the laws are severely
aimed against such practice ; so that being entirely pro-
hibited, none but the poorest, and most abandoned of the
people, still secretly practise it upon their children. Of
those served in this manner, not one in ten is found to be-
come a singer ; but such is the luxurious folly of the times,
that the success of one amply compensates for the failure of
the rest. It is very difficult to account for the alterations
which castration makes in the voice, and the other parts of
the body. The eunuch is shaped differently from others.
His legs are of an equal thickness above and below ; his
knees weak ; his shoulders narrow ; and his beard thin and
downy. In this manner his person is rendered more de-
formed ; but his ^desires, as I am told, still continue the
same ; and actually, in Asia, some of them are found to have
their seraglios, as well as their masters. Even in our
country, w?e have an instance of a very fine woman being
married to one of them, whose appearance was the most
unpromising ; and what is more extraordinary still, I am
told, that this couple continue perfectly happy in each other’s
society.

The mere necessities of life seem the only aim of the
savage ; the sensual pleasures are the only study of the
semi- barbarian ; but the refinement of sensuality by rea-
son, is the boast of real politeness. Among the merely
barbarous nations, such as the natives of Madagascar, or
the inhabitants of Congo, nothing is desired so ardently as
to prostitute their wives, or daughters, to strangers, for the
most trifling advantages ; they will account it a dishonour
not to be among the foremost who ai;e thus received into
favour : on the other hand, the Mahometan keeps his wife
faithful, by confining her person ; and w^ould instantly put
her to death, if he but suspected her chastity. With the
politer inhabitants of Europe both these barbarous ex-
tremes are avoided ; the woman’s person is left free, and
no constraint is imposed but upon her affections. The
passion of love, which may be considered as the nice conduct

ANIMALS.

271

of ruder desire, is only known and practised in this part
of the world ; so that what other nations guard as their
right, the more delicate European is contented to ask as a
favour. In this manner the concurrence of mutual appetite
contributes to increase mutual satisfaction ; and the power
on one side of refusing, makes every blessing more grateful
when obtained by the other. In barbarous countries
woman is considered merely as an useful slave; in such as
are somewhat more refined, she is regarded as a desirable
toy ; in countries entirely polished, she enjoys juster
privileges, the wife being considered as an useful friend,
and an agreeable mistress. Her mind is still more prized
than her person ; and without the improvement of both,
she can never expect to become truly agreeable ; for her
good sense alone can preserve what she has gained by h6r
beauty.

Female beauty, as was said, is always seen to improve
about the age of puberty : but if we should attempt to de-
fine in what this beauty consists, or what constitutes its
perfection, we should find nothing more difficult to deter-
mine. Every country has its peculiar way of thinking,
in this respect ; and even the same country thinks differ-
ently at different times. The Ancients had a very different
taste from what prevails at present. The eye-brows join-
ing in the middle was considered as a very peculiar grace
by Tibullus, in the enumeration of the charms of his mis-
tress. Narrow foreheads were approved of, and scarce any
of the Roman ladies, that are celebrated for their other
perfections, but are also praised for the redness of their
hair. The nose also of the Grecian Venus, was such as
would appear at present an actual deformity ; as it fell in a
straight line from the forehead, without the smallest sink-
ing between the eyes, without which we never see a face at
present.

Among the moderns, every country seems to have pecu-
liar ideas of beauty.* The Persians admire large eye-
brows, joining in the middle ; the edges and corners of the
eyes are tinctured with black, and the size of the head is
increased by a great variety of bandages, formed into a
turban. In some parts of India, black teeth and white

* Buffon.

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272

hair are desired with ardour ; and one of the principal em-
ployments of the women of Thibet, is to redden the teeth
with herbs, and to make their hair white by a certain
preparation. The passion for coloured teeth obtains also
in China and Japan ; where, to complete their idea of
beauty, the object of desire must have little eyes, nearly
closed, feet extremely small, and a waist far from being
shapely. There are some nations of the American Indians
that flatten the heads of their children, by keeping them,
while young, squeezed between two boards, so as to make
the visage much larger than it would naturally be. Others
flatten the head at top ; and others make it as round
as they possibly can. The inhabitants along the western
coasts of Africa have a very extraordinary taste for beauty.
A flat nose, thick lips, and a jet black complexion, are
there the most indulgent gifts of nature. Such, indeed,
they are all, in some degree, found to possess. However,
they take care by art to increase their natural deformities,
as they should seem to us ; and they have many additional
methods of rendering their persons still more frightfully
pleasing. The whole body and visage is often scarred with
a variety of monstrous figures ; which is not done without
great pain, and repeated incision : and even sometimes
parts of the body are cut away. But it would be endless
to remark the various arts which caprice, or custom, has
employed to distort and disfigure the body, in order to
render it more pleasing ; in fact, every nation, how bar-
barous soever, seems unsatisfied with the human figure, as
Nature has left it, and has its peculiar arts of heightening
beauty. Painting, powdering, cutting, boring the nose and
the ears, lengthening the one and depressing the other,
are arts practised in many countries ; and, in some degree,
admired in all. These arts might have been at first
introduced to hide epidemic deformities : custom, by degrees,
reconciles them to the view ; till, from looking upon them
with indifference, the eye at length begins to gaze with
pleasure.

ANIMALS.

273

CHAP. V

OF THE AGE OF MANHOOD.*

The human body attains to its full height during the age
of puberty; or, at least, a short time after. Some young
people are found to cease growing at fourteen or fifteen ;
others continue their growth till two or three *and twenty.
During this period they are all of a slender make ; their
thighs and legs small, and the muscular parts are yet unfilled.
But by degrees the fleshy fibres augment ; the muscles swell,
and assume their figure ; the limbs become proportioned,
and rounder ; and before the age of thirty, the body in men
has acquired the most perfect symmetry. In women, the
body arrives at perfection much sooner, as they arrive at the
age of maturity move early ; the muscles, and all the other
parts, being weaker, less compact and solid, than those of
man, they require less time in coming to perfection; and,
as they are less in size, that size is sooner completed. Hence
the persons oft women are found to be as complete at twenty,
as those of /men are found to be at thirty.

The bofjy^of a well-shaped man ought to be square ; the
muscles, should be expressed with boldness, and the lines of
the fa(;e strongly marked. In the woman, all the muscles
shouVl be rounder, the lines softer, and the features more
delicate. Strength and majesty belong to the man; grace
and softness are the peculiar embellishments of the other
sex1. In both every part of their form declares their sove-
reignty over other creatures. Man supports his body erect ;
-'his attitude is that of command; and his face, which is
turned towards the heavens, displays the dignity of his

* This chapter is translated from Mr. Buffon, whose description is
very excellent. Whatever I have added is marked by inverted commas,
“ thus.” And in whatever trifling points I have differed, the notes will
serve to shew.

vol. i. — 11-12. 2M

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274

station. The image of his soul is painted in his visage ;
and the excellence of his nature penetrates through the
material form in which it is enclosed. His majestic port,
his sedate and resolute step, announce the nobleness of his
rank. He touches the earth only with his extremity ; and
beholds it as if at a disdainful distance. His arms are not
given him, as to other creatures, for pillars of support ; nor
does he lose, by rendering them callous against the ground,
that delicacy of touch which furnishes him with so many
of his enjoyments. His hands are made for very different
purposes ; to second every intention of his will, and to perfect
the gifts of Nature.

When the soul is at rest, all the features of the visage
seem settled in a state of profound tranquillity. Their pro-
portion, their union, and their harmony, seem to mark the
sweet serenity of the mind, and give a true information of
what passes within. But when the soul is excited, the hu-
man visage becomes a living picture ; where the passions are
expressed with as much delicacy as energy, where every
motion is designed by some correspondent feature, where
every impression anticipates the will, and betrays those hid-
den agitations, that he would often wish to conceal.

It is particularly in the eyes that the passions are painted ;
and in which we may most readily discover their beginning.
The eye seems to belong to the soul more than any other
organ ; it seems to participate of all its emotions ; as well as
the most soft and tender, as the most tumultuous and force-
ful. It not only receives, but transmits them by sympathy ;
the observing eye of one catches the secret fire fr6ni\pnother ;
and the passion thus often becomes general.

Such persons as are short-sighted labour under a . parti-
cular disadvantage in this respect. They are, in a manner,
entirely cut off from the language of the eyes ; and j. this
gives an air of stupidity to the face, which often produces
very unfavourable prepossessions. However intelligent we
find such persons to be, we can scarcely be brought back;
from our first prejudice, and often continue in the first1
erroneous opinion. In this manner we are too much in-
duced to judge of men by their physiognomy ; and having,
perhaps, at first, caught up our judgments prematurely, they
mechanically influence us all our lives after. This extends
even to the very colour, or the cut, of people’s clothes ; and

ANIMALS.

275

we should for this reason be careful, even in such trifling
particulars, since they go to make up a part of the total
judgment which those we converse with may form to our
advantage.

The vivacity, or the languid motion of the eyes, give the
strongest marks of physiognomy; and their colour contri-
butes still more to enforce the expression. The different
colours of the eye are the dark hazel, the light hazel, the
green, the blue and gray, the whitish gray, “ and also the
red.” These different colours arise from the different colours
of the little muscles that serve to contract the pupil ; “ and
they are very often found to change colour with disorder, and
with age.”

The most Ordinary colours are the hazel and the blue, and
very often both these colours are found in the eyes of the
same person. Those eyes which are called black, are only
of the dark hazel, which may be easily seen upon close in-
spection ; however, those eyes are reckoned the most beau-
tiful where the shade is the deepest : and either in these, or
the blue eyes, the fire, which gives its finest expression to
the eye, is more distinguishable in proportion to the dark-
ness of the tint. For this reason, the black eyes, as they
are called, have the greatest vivacity ; but, probably, the blue
have the most powerful effect in beauty, as they reflect a
greater variety of lights, being composed of more various
colours.

This variety, which is found in the colour of the eyes, is
peculiar to man, and one or two other kinds of animals ;
but, in general, the colour in any one individual is the same
in all the rest. The eyes of oxen are brown ; those of sheep
of a water colour ; those of goats are gray : “ and it may
also be, in general, remarked that the eyes of most white
animals are red ; thus the rabbit, the ferret, and, even in the
human race, the white Moor, all have their eyes of a red
colour.”

Although the eye, when put into motion, seems to be
drawn on one side, yet it only moves round the centre ; by
which its coloured part moves nearer or farther from the
angle of the eye-lids, or is elevated or depressed. The dis-
tance between the eyes is less in man than in any other ani-
mal ; and in some of them it is so great, that it is impossible
that they should ever view the same object with both eyes at

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276

once, unless it be very far off. “ This, however, in them, is
rather an advantage than an inconvenience, as they are thus
able to watch round them, and guard against the dangers of
their precarious situation.”

Next to the eyes, the features which most give a character
to the face, are the eye-brows ; which being, in some mea-
sure, more apparent than the other features, are most rea-
dily distinguished at a distance. “ Le Brun, in giving a
painter directions, with regard to the passions, places the
principal expression of the face in the eye-brows.” From
their elevation or depression, most of the furious passions
are characterized ; and such as have this feature extremely
moveable are usually known to have an expressive face. By
means of these we can imitate all the other passions, as they
are raised or depressed at command ; the rest of the features
are generally fixed ; or, when put into motion, they do not
obey the will : the mouth and eyes, in an actor, for instance,
may, by being violently distorted, give a very different ex-
pression from what he would intend ; but the eye-brows can
scarcely be exerted improperly ; their being raised denotes
all those passions which pride or pleasure inspire ; and
their depression marks those which are the effects of
contemplation and pain ; and such who have this feature,
therefore, most at command, are often found to excel as
actors.”

The eye-lashes have an effect, in giving expression to
the eye, particularly when long and close : they soften its
glances, and improve its sweetness. Man and apes are
the only animals that have eye-lashes both upon the upper
and lower lids ; all other animals want them on the lid
below.

The eye-lids serve to guard the ball of the eye, and to
furnish it with a proper moisture. The upper lid rises and
falls ; the lower has scarcely any motion ; and although their
being moved depends on the will, yet it often happens that
the will is unable to keep them open, when sleep, or fatigue,
oppresses the mind. In birds and amphibious quadrupeds,
the lower lid alone has motion ; fishes and insects have no
eye-lids whatsoever.

The forehead makes a large part of the face, and a part
which chiefly contributes to its beauty. It ought to be justly
proportioned ; neither too round nor too flat ; neither too

ANIMALS.

277

narrow nor too low ; and the hair should, come thick upon
its extremities. It is known to every body how much
the hair tends to improve the face; and how much the
being bald serves to take away from beauty. The highest
part of the head is that which becomes bald the soonest,
as well as that part which lies immediately above the
temples. The hair under the temples, and at the back
of the head, is very seldom known to fail, “ and women
are much less apt to become bald than men : Mr.
Buffon seems to think they never become bald at all ; but
we have too many instances of the contrary among us
not to contradict very easily the assertion. Of all parts
or appendages of the body, the hair is that which is found
most different, in different climates ; and often not only
contributes to mark the country, but also the disposition
of the man. It is in general thickest where the consti-
tution is strongest ; and more glossy and beautiful, where
the health is most permanent. The ancients held the hair
to be a sort of excrement, produced like the nails ; the
part next the root pushing out that immediately conti-
guous. But the moderns have found that every hair may
be truly said to live, to receive nutriment, to fill and dis-
tend itself, like the other parts of the body. The roots,
they observe, do not turn gray sooner than the extremities,
but the whole hair changes colour at once; and we have
many instances of persons who have grown gray in one
night’s time.* Each hair, if viewed with a microscope,
is found to consist of five or six lesser ones, all wrapped
up in one common covering ; it appears knotted, like
some sorts of grass, and sends forth branches at the joints.
It is bulbous at the root, by which it imbibes its moisture
from the body : and it is split at the points ; so/ that a
single hair, at its ends, resembles a brush. Whatever be
the size or the shape of the pore, through which the hair
issues, it accommodates itself to the same ; being either
thick, as they are large ; small, as they are less ; round,
triangular, and variously formed, as the pores happen to be
various. The hair takes its colour from the juices flowing
through it, and it is found that this colour differs in dif-

* Mr. Buffon says, that the hair begins to grow gray at the point* $
out the fact is otherwise

A HISTORY OF

2/8

ferent tribes and races of people. The Americans, and the
Asiatics, have their hair black, thick, straight, and shining.
The inhabitants of the torrid climates of Africa have it black,
short, and woolly. The people of Scandinavia have it red,
long, and curled ; and those of our own, and the neigh-
bouring countries, are found with hair of various colours.
However, it is supposed by many, that every man resembles
in his disposition the inhabitants of those countries whom
he resembles in the colour and the nature of his hair ; so
that the black are said, like the Asiatics, to be grave and
acute ; the red, like the Gothic nations, to be choleric and
bold. However this may be, the length and the strength
of the hair is a general mark of a good constitution ; and as
that hair which is strongest is most commonly curled, so
curled hair is generally regarded among us as a beauty.
The Greeks, however, had a ■wry different idea of beauty in
this respect ; and seem to have taken one of their peculiar
national distinctions from the length and the straightness of
the hair.”

The nose is the most prominent feature in the face ; but,
as it has scarcely any motion, and that only in the strongest
passions, it rather adds to the beauty than to the expression
of the countenance. However, I am told, by the skilful in
this branch of knowledge, that wide nostrils add a great
deal to the bold and resolute air of the countenance ; and
where they are narrow, though it may constitute beauty,
it seldom improves expression.” The form of the nose,
and its advanced position, are peculiar to the human
visage alone. Other animals, for the most part, have nos-
trils, with a partition between them ; but none of them
have an elevated nose. Apes themselves have scarcely any
thing else of this feature but the nostrils ; the rest of the
feature lying flat upon the visage, and scarcely higher than
the cheek-bones. “ Among all the tribes of savage men
also, the nose is very flat ; and I have seen a Tartar who
had scarcely any thing else but two holes through which to
breathe.”

The mouth and lips, next to the eyes, are found to have
the greatest expression. The passions have great power
over this part of the face ; and the mouth marks its dif-
ferent degrees by its different forms. The organ of speech
still more animates this part, and gives it more life than

ANIMALS.

279

any other feature in the countenance. The ruby colour of
the lips, and the white enamel of the teeth, give it such
a superiority over every other feature, that it seems to make
the principal object of our regards. In fact, the whole
attention is fixed upon the lips of the speaker : however
rapid his discourse, however various the subject, the mouth
takes correspondent situations ; and deaf men have been
often found to see the force of those reasonings which
they could not hear, understanding every word as it was
spoken.

“ The under jaw in man possesses a great variety of
motions ; while the upper has been thought, by many, to
be quite immoveable.* However, that it moves in man, a
very easy experiment will suffice to convince us. If we
keep the head fixed, with any thing between our teeth, the
edge of a table for instance, and then open our mouths,
we shall find that both jaws recede from it at the same
time ; the upper jaw rises, the lower falls, and the table
remains untouched between them. The upper jaw has
motion as well as the under; and, what is remarkable, it
has its proper muscles behind the head for thus raising
and depressing it. Whenever, therefore, we eat, both jaws
move at the same time, though veiy unequally; for the
whole head moving with the upper jaw, of which it makes
a part, its motions are thus less observable.” In the hu-
man embryo, the under jaw is very much advanced before
the upper. (t In the adult, it hangs a good deal more
backward ; and those whose upper and under row of teeth
are equally prominent, and strike directly against each
other, are what the painters call under-hung ; and they
consider this as a great defect in beauty.^ The under
jaw in a Chinese face falls greatly more backward than
with us ; and I am told the difference is half an inch,
when the mouth is shut naturally.” In instances of the
most violent passion, the under jaw has often an involun-
tary quivering motion ; and often also, a state of languor
produces another, which is that of yawning. “ Every one

* Mr. Buffon is of this opinion. He says that the upper jaw is im-
moveable in all animals. However, the parrot is an obvious exception j
and so is man himself, as shewn above.

t Mr. Buffon says, that both jaws, in a perfect face, should be on a
level ; but this is denied by the best painters.

280

A HISTORY OF

knows how very sympathetic this kind of languid motion
is ; and that for one person to yawn, is sufficient to set
all the rest of the company a yawning. A ridiculous in-
stance of this was commonly practised upon the famous
M’Laurin, one of the professors at Edinburgh. He was
very subject to have his jaw dislocated; so that when he
opened his mouth wider than ordinary, or when he yawned,
he could not shut it again. In the midst of his harangues,
therefore, if any of his pupils began to be tired of his lec-
ture, he had only to gape or yawn, and the professor in-
stantly caught the sympathetic affection ; so that he thus
continued to stand speechless, with his mouth wide open, till
his servant, from the next room, was called in to set his jaw
again. *

When the mind reflects with regret upon some good
unattained or lost, it feels an internal emotion, which acting
upon the diaphragm, and that upon the lungs, produces a
sigh ; this, when the mind is strongly affected, is repeated ;
sorrow succeeds these first emotions, and tears are often
seen to follow: sobbing is the sigh still more invigorated;
and lamentation, or crying, proceeds from the continuance
of the plaintive tone of the voice, which seems to implore
pity. “ There is yet a silent agony, in which the mind
appears to disdain all external help, and broods over its dis-
tresses with gloomy reserve. This is the most dangerous
state of mind : accidents or friendship may lessen the louder
kinds of grief ; but all remedies for this, must be had from
within ; and there despair too often finds the most deadly
enemy.”

Laughter is a sound of the voice, interrupted and pursued
for some continuance. The muscles of the belly, and the
diaphragm, are employed in the slightest exertions ; but
those of the ribs are strongly agitated in the louder ; and the
head sometimes is thrown backward, in order to raise them
with greater ease. The smile is often an indication of kind-
ness and good* will : it is also often found used as a mark of
contempt and ridicule.

Blushing proceeds from different passions ; being pro-
duced by shame, anger, pride, and joy. Paleness is often

* Since the publication of this work, the editor has been credibly
informed, that the professor had not the defect here mentioned

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281

also the effect of anger ; and almost ever attendant on fright
and fear. These alterations in the colour of the countenance
are entirely involuntary : all the other expressions of the
passions are, in some small degree, under control ; but
blushing and paleness betray our secret purposes ; and we
might as well attempt to stop them, as the circulation of the
blood, by which they are caused.

The whole head, as well as the features of the face,
takes peculiar attitudes from its passions : it bends for-
ward, to express humility, shame, or sorrow ; it is turned
to one side, in languor or in pity ; it is thrown with the
chin forward, in arrogance and pride ; erect, in self-con-
ceit and obstinacy; it is thrown backwards in astonish-
ment ; and combines its motions to the one side and the
other, to express contempt, ridicule, anger, and resent-
ment. “ Painters, whose study leads to the contem-
plation of external forms, are much more adequate judges
of these than any naturalist can be ; and it is with these
a general remark, that no one passion is regularly ex-
pressed on different countenances in the same manner ;
but that grief often sits upon the face like joy, and pride
assumes the air of passion. It would be vain, therefore,
in words, to express their general effect, since they are
often as various as the countenances they sit upon ; and
in making this distinction nicely, lies all the skill of the
physiognomist. In being able to distinguish what part
of the face is marked by nature, and what by the mind ;
what part has been originally formed, and what is made
by habit ; constitutes this science, upon which the an-
cients so much valued themselves, and which we at present
so little regard. Some, however, of the most acute men
among us, have paid great attention to this art ; and, by
long practice, have been able to give some character of
every person whose face they examine. Montaigne is
well known to have disliked those men who shut one eye
in looking upon any object ; and Fielding asserts, that he
never knew a person with a steady glavering smile, but he
found him a rogue. However, most of these observations,
tending to a discovery of the mind by the face, are merely
capricious ; and Nature has kindly hid our hearts from
each other, to keep us in good humour with our fellow-
creatures.”

vol. i. — 13-14. 2 N

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The parts of the head which give the least expression
to the face are the ears ; and they are generally found
hidden under the hair. These, which are immoveable,
and make so small an appearance in man, are very dis-
tinguishing features in quadrupeds. They serve in them
as the principal marks of the passions ; the ears discover
their joys or their terrors, with tolerable precision ; and
denote all their internal agitations. The smallest ears,
in men, are said to be the most beautiful ; but the largest
are found to be the best for hearing. There are some
savage nations who bore their ears, and so draw that part
down, that the tips of the ears are seen to rest upon their
shoulders.

The strange variety in the different customs of men ap-
pears still more extravagant in their manner of wearing
their beards. Some, and among others the Turks, cut
the hair off their heads, and let their beards grow. The
Europeans, on the contrary, shave their beards, and wear
their hair. The Negroes shave their heads in figures at
one time, in stars at another, in the manner of friars ; and
still more commonly in alternate stripes ; and their little
boys are shaved in the same manner. The Talapoins, of
Siam, shave the heads and the eye-brows of such children
as are committed to their care. Every nation seems to
have entertained different prejudices, at different times, in
favour of one part or another of the beard. Some have
admired the hair upon the cheeks on each side, as we see
with some low-bred men among ourselves, wrho want to
be fine. Some like the hair lower down ; some choose it
curled ; and others like it straight. “ Some have it cut
into a peak ; and others shave all but the whisker. This
particular part of the beard wras highly prized among the
Spaniards ; till of late, a man without whiskers was con-
sidered as unfit for company ; and where Nature had
denied them. Art took care to supply the deficiency. We
are told of a Spanish general who, when he borrowed a
large sum of money from the Venetians, pawmed his
whisker, which he afterwards took proper care to release.
Kingson assures us, that a considerable part of the re-
ligion of the Tartars consists in the management of their
whiskers : and that they waged a long and bloody war
with the Persians, declaring them infidels, merely because

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they would not give their whiskers the orthodox cut. —
The kings of Persia carried the care of their beards to a
ridiculous excess, when they chose to wear them matted
with gold-thread : and even the kings of France, of the
first races, had them knotted and buttoned with gold. But
of all nations, the Americans take the greatest pains in
cutting their hair, and plucking their beards. The under
part of the beard, and all but the whisker, they take care
to pluck up by the roots, so that many have supposed
them to have no hair naturally growing on that part ; and
even Linnaeus has fallen into that mistake. Their hair
is also cut into bands ; and no small care employed in
adjusting the whisker. In fact, we have a very wrong
idea of savage finery; and are apt to suppose that, like
the beasts of the forest, they rise, and are dressed with a
shake : but the reverse is true ; for no birth-night beauty
takes more time or pains in the adorning her person than
they. I remember, when the Cherokee kings were over
here, that I have waited for three hours during the time
they were dressing. They never would venture to make
their appearance till they had gone through the tedious
ceremonies of the toilet : they had their boxes of oil and
ochre, their fat and their perfumes, like the most effeminate
beau, and generally took up four hours in dressing before
they considered themselves as fit to be seen. We must
not, therefore, consider a delicacy in point of dress, as a
mark of refinement, since savages are much more difficult
in this particular than the most fashionable or tawdry
European. The more barbarous the people, the fonder of
finery. In Europe, the lustre of jewels, and the splendour
of the most brilliant colours, are generally given up to
women, or to the weakest part of the other sex, who are
willing to be contemptibly fine : but in Asia, these trifling
fineries are eagerly sought after by every condition of
men ; and, as the proverb has it, we find the richest jewels
in an Ethiop’s ear. The passion for glittering ornaments
is still stronger among the absolute barbarians, who often
exchange their whole stock of provisions, and whatever else
they happen to be possessed of, with our seamen, for a glass -
bead, or a looking-glass.”

Although fashions have arisen in different countries from
fancy and caprice, these, when they become general, deserve

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examination. Mankind have always considered it as a
matter of moment, and they will ever continue desirous of
drawing the attention of each other, by such ornaments as
mark the riches, the power, or the courage, of the wearer.
The value of those shining stones which have at all times
been considered as precious ornaments, is entirely founded
upon their scarceness or their brilliancy. It is the same
likewise with respect to those shining metals, the weight of
which is so little regarded, when spread over our clothes.
These ornaments are rather designed to draw the attention
of others, than to add to any enjoyments of our own ; and
few there are that these ornaments will not serve to dazzle,
and who can coolly distinguish between the metal and the
man.

All things rare and brilliant will, therefore, ever continue
to be fashionable, while men derive greater advantage from
opulence than virtue ; while the means of appearing con-
siderable, are more easily acquired, than the title to be
considered. The first impression we generally make, arises
from our dress ; and this varies, in conformity to our incli-
nations, and the manner in which we desire to be considered.
The modest man, or he who would wish to be thought
so, desires to show the simplicity of his mind by the
plainness of his dress ; the vain man, on the contrary, takes
a pleasure in displaying his superiority, “ and is willing
to incur the spectator’s dislike, so he does but excite his
attention.”

Another point of view which men have in dressing, is to
increase the size of their figure ; and to take up more room
in the world than Nature seems to have allotted them. We
desire to swell out our clothes by the stiffness of art, and
raise our heels, while we add to the largeness of our heads.
How bulky soever our dress may be, our vanities are still
more bulky. The largeness of the doctor’s wig arises from
the same pride with the smallness of the beau’s queue.
Both want to have the size of their understanding measured
by the size of their heads.

There are some modes that, seem to have a more reason-
able origin, which is to hide or to lessen the defects of
nature. To take men all together, there are many more
deformed and plain, than beautiful and shapely. The
former, as being the most numerous, give law to fashion ;

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285

and their laws are generally such as are made in their own
favour. The women begin to colour their cheeks with
red, when the natural roses are faded ; and the younger
are obliged to submit, though not compelled by the same
necessity. . In all parts of the world, this custom pre-
vails more or less ; and powdering and frizzing the hair,
though not so general, seems to have arisen from a similar
control.

But leaving the draperies of the human picture, let us
return to the figure, unadorned by art. Man’s head, whether
considered externally or internally, is differently formed
from that of all other animals, the monkey-kind only
excepted, in which there is a striking similitude. — There
are some differences, however, which we shall take notice
of in another place. The bodies of all quadruped animals
are covered with hair ; but the head of man seems the part
most adorned, and that more abundantly than in any other
animal.

There is a very great variety in the teeth of all animals ;
some have them above and below ; others have them in
the under jaw only; in some they stand separate from
each other ; while in some they are continued and united.
The palate of some fishes is nothing else but a bony plate
studded with points, which perform* the offices of teeth.
All these substances, in every animal, derive their origin
from the nerves ; the substance of the nerves hardens by
being exposed to the air; and the nerves that terminate
in the mouth, being thus exposed, acquire a bony so-
lidity. In this manner the teeth and nails are formed in
man; and in this manner also, the beak, the hoofs, the
horns, and the talons, of other animals, are found to be
produced.

The neck supports the head, and unites it to the body.
This part is much more considerable in the generality of
quadrupeds, than in man. But fishes, and other animals
that want lungs similar to ours, have no neck whatsoever.
Birds, in general, have the neck longer than any other
kind of animals : those of them which have short claws,
have also short necks ; those, on the contrary, that have
them long, are found to have the neck in proportion. —
“ In men, there is a lump upon the wind-pipe, formed by
the thyroid cartilage, which is not to be seen in women ;

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an Arabian fable says, that this is a part of the original apple,
that has stuck in the man’s throat by the way, but that the
woman swallowed her part of it down.”

The human breast is outwardly formed in a very dif-
ferent manner from that of other animals. It is larger in
proportion to the size of the body ; and none but man,
. and such animals as make use of their fore-feet as hands,
such as monke/s, bats, and squirrels, and such qua-
drupeds as climb trees, are found to have those bones
called the clavicles, or, as we usually term them, the
collar bones.* The breasts in women are larger than in
men ; however, they seem formed in the same manner ;
and, sometimes, milk is found in the breasts of .men,
as well as in those of women. Among animals, there
is a great variety in this part of the body. The teats of
some, as in the ape and the elephant, are like those
of men, being but two, and placed on each side of the
breast. The teats of the bear amount to four. The sheep
has but two, placed between the hinder legs. Other
animals, such as the bitch and the sow, have them
all along the belly ; and, as they produce many young,
they have a great many teats for their support. The
form also of the teats varies in different animals ; and, in
the same animal. at different ages. The bosom, in females,
seems to unite ' all our ideas of beauty, where the outline
is continually changing, and the gradations are soft an$
regular.

“ The graceful fall of the shoulders, both in man and
woman, constitute no small part of beauty. In apes,
though otherwise made like us, the shoulders are high,
and drawn up on each side towards the ears. In man
they fall by a gentle declivity ; and the more so, in pro-
portion to the beauty of his form. In fact, being high-
shouldered, is not without reason considered as a defor-
mity, for we find very sickly persons are always so ; and
people when dying are ever seen with their shoulders
drawn up in a surprising manner. The muscles that serve
to raise the ribs, mostly rise near the shoulders ; and the
higher we raise the shoulders, we the more easily raise
the ribs likewise. It happens, therefore, in the sickly

* Mr. Buffon says, that none but monkeys have them j but this is
an over-sight.

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287

and the dying, who do not breathe without labour, that to
raise the ribs, they are obliged to call in the assistance of
the > shoulders ; and thus their bodies assume, from habit,
that form which they are so frequently obliged to assume.
Women with child also, are usually seen to be high-shoul-
dered ; for the weight of the inferior parts drawing down
the ribs, they are obliged to use every effort to elevate
them, and thus they raise the shoulders of course. Dur-
ing pregnancy, also, the shape, not only of the shoulders,
but also of the breast, and even the features of the face,
are greatly altered ; for the whole upper fore-part of the
body is covered with a broad thin skin, caKed the myoides ;
which being, at that time, drawn down, it also draws
down with it the skin, and, consequently, the features
of the face. By these means, the visage takes a parti-
cular form ; the lower eye-lids and the corners of the
mouth, are drawn downwards ; so that the eyes are en-
larged, and the mouth lengthened : and women, in these
circumstances, are said by the midwives, to be all mouth
and eyes.”

The arms of men but very little resemble the fore-feet of
quadrupeds, and much less the wings of birds. The ape
is the only animal that is possessed of hands and arms ;
but these are much more rudelv fashioned, and with less
exact proportion, than in men ; “ the thumb not being so
well opposed to the rest of the fingers, in their hands, as in
ours.”

The form of the back is not much different in man from
that of other quadruped animals, only that the reins are
more muscular in him, and stronger. The buttock, how-
ever, in man, is different from that of all other animals what-
soever. What goes by that name in other creatures, is
only the upper part .of the thigh ; man being the only animal
that supports himself perfectly erect, the largeness of this
part is owing to the peculiarity of his position.

Man’s feet, also, are different from those of all other
animals, those even of apes not excepted. The foot of the
ape is rather a kind of awkward hand ; its toes, or rather
fingers, are long, and that of the middle longest of all. This
foot also wants the heel, as in man ; the sole is narrower,
and less adapted to maintain the equilibrium of the body,
in walking, dancing, or running.

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288

The nails are less in man than in any other animal. If
they were much longer than the extremities of the fingers,
they would rather be prejudicial than serviceable, and ob-
struct the management of the hand. Such savages as let
them grow long make use of them in flaying animals, in
tearing their flesh, and such like purposes ; however,
though their nails are considerably larger than ours, they
are by no means to be compared to the hoofs or the claws
of other animals. “ They may sometimes be seen longer,
indeed, than the claws of any animal whatsoever ; as we
learn that the nails of some of the learned men in China
are longer than their fingers. But these want that solidity
which might give force to their exertions, and could never,
in a state of nature, have served them for annoyance or
defence.”

There is little known exactly with regard to the pro-
portion of the human figure ; and the beauty of the best
statues is better conceived by observing than by measuring
them. The statues of antiquity, which were at first copied
after the human form, are now become the models of it ;
nor is there one man found whose person approaches to
those inimitable performances that have thus, in one figure,
united the perfections of many. It is sufficient to say,
that from being at first models, they are now become
originals ; and are used to correct the deviations in that
form from whence they were taken. I will not, however,
pretend to give the proportions of the human body as
taken from these, there being nothing more arbitrary, and
which good painters themselves so much contemn. Some,
for instance, who have studied after these, divide the body
into ten times the length of the face ; and others into
eight. Some pretend to tell us, that there is a similitude
of proportion in different parts of the body. Thus, that
the hand is the length of the face ; the thumb the length
of the nose ; the space between the eyes is the breadth of
an eye ; that the breadth of the thigh, at thickest, is dou-
ble that of the thickest part of the leg, and treble the
smallest ; that the arms extended are as long as the figure
is high ; that the legs and thighs are half the length of
the figure. All this, however, is extremely arbitrary ; and
the excellence of a shape, or the beauty of a statue, results
from the attitude and position of the whole, rather than

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289

any established measurements, begun without experience,
and adopted by caprice. In general, it may be remarked,
that the proportions alter in every age, and are obviously
different in the two sexes. In women, the shoulders are
narrower, and the neck proportionably longer, than in men.
The hips also are considerably larger, and the thighs much
shorter than in men. These proportions, however, vary
greatly at different ages. In infancy, the upper parts of the
body are much larger than the lower ; the legs and thighs
do not constitute any thing like half the height of the whole
figure ; in proportion as the child increases in age, the infe-
rior parts are found to lengthen ; so that the body is not
equally divided until it has acquired its full growth.

.The size of men varies considerably. Men are said to be
tall who are from five feet eight inches to six feet high. The
middle stature is from five feet five to five feet eight: and
those are said to be of small stature who fall under these
measures. “ However, it ought to be remarked, that the
same person is always taller when he rises in the morning,
than upon going to bed at night ; and sometimes there is
an inch difference ; and I have seen more. Few persons are
sensible of this remarkable variation ; and I am told, it was
first perceived in England by a recruiting officer. He often
found that those men whom he had enlisted for soldiers, and
answered to the appointed standard at one time, fell short of
it when they came to be measured before the colonel at the
head-quarters. This diminution in their size proceeded from
the different times of the day, and the different states of the
body, when they happened to be measured. If, as was said,
they were measured in the morning, after the night’s refresh-
ment, they were found to be commonly half an inch, and
very often a whole inch, taller than if measured after the
fatigues of the day ; if they were measured when fresh in the
country, and before a long fatiguing march to the regiment,
they were found to be an inch taller than when they arrived
at their journey’s end. All this is now well known among
those who recruit for the army, and the reason of this differ-
ence of stature is obvious. Between all the joints of the
back-bone, which is composed of several pieces, there is a
glutinous liquor deposited, which serves, like oil in a ma-
chine, to give the parts an easy play upon each other. This
lubricating liquor, or synovia, as the anatomists call it, is
vol. i — 13-14. 2 O

290

A HISTORY OF

poured in during the season of repose, and is consumed by
exercise and employment; so that in a body, after hard
labour, there is scarce any of it remaining ; but all the joints
grow stiff, and their motion becomes hard and painful. It
is from hence, therefore, that the body diminishes in stature.
For this moisture being drained away from between the
numerous joints of the back-bone, they lie closer upon
each other; and their whole length is thus very sensibly
diminished ; but sleep, by restoring the fluid again, swells
the spaces between the joints, and the whole is extended to
its former dimensions.

“ As the human body is thus often found to differ from
itself in size, so it is found to differ in its weight also ; and
the same person, without any apparent cause, is found to be
heavier at one time than another. If, after having eaten a
hearty dinner, or having drank hard, the person should find
himself thus heavier, it would appear no way extraordinary ;
but the fact is, the body is very often found heavier some
hours after eating a hearty meal than immediately succeed-
ing it. If, for instance, a person, fatigued by a day’s hard
labour, should eat a plentiful supper, and then get himself
weighed upon going to bed ; after sleeping soundly, if he is
again weighed, he will find himself considerably heavier than
before ; and this difference is often found to amount to a
pound, or sometimes to a pound and a half. From whence
this adventitious weight is derived is not easy to conceive ;
the body, during the whole night, appears rather plentifully
perspiring than imbibing any fluid, rather losing than gain-
ing moisture : however, we have no reason to doubt, but that
either by the lungs, or perhaps by a peculiar set of pores, it
is all this time inhaling a quantity of fluid, which thus in-
creases the weight of the whole body, upon being weighed
the next morning.”*

Although the human body is externally more delicate than
any of the quadruped kind, it is notwithstanding, extremely
muscular ; and, perhaps, for its size, stronger than that of
any other animal. If we should offer to compare the strength
of the lion with that of man, we should consider that the

* From this experiment also, the learned may gather upon what a
weak foundation the whole doctrine of Sanctorian perspiration is built :
but this disquisition more properly belongs to medicine than natural
history.

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291

claws of this animal, give us a false idea of its power ; we
ascribe to its force what is only the effects of its arms.
Those which man has received from Nature are not offensive ;
happy had Art never furnished him with any more terrible
than those which arm the paws of the lion.

But there is another manner * of comparing the strength
of man with that of other animals ; namely, by the weights
which either can carry. We are assured that the porters of
Constantinople carry burdens of nine hundred pounds weight.
Mr. Desaguliers tells us of a man, who by distributing
weights in such a manner as that every part of his body bore
its share, he was thus able to raise a weight of two thousand
pounds. A horse, which is about seven times our bulk,
would be thus able to raise a weight of fourteen thousand
pounds, if its strength were in the same proportion.^ “ But
the truth is, a horse will not carry upon its back above a
weight of two or three hundred pounds ; while a man of con-
fessedly inferior strength is thus able to support two thou-
sand. Whence comes this seeming superiority ? The an-
swer is obvious. Because the load upon the man’s shoulders
is placed to the greatest advantage ; while, upon the horse’s
back, it is placed at the greatest disadvantage. Let us
suppose for a moment the man standing as upright as pos-
sible, under the great load above mentioned. It is obvious
that all the bones of his body may be compared to a pillar
supporting a building, and that his muscles have scarce any
share in this dangerous duty. However, they are not entirely
inactive ; as man, let him stand never so upright, will have
some bending in different parts of his body. The muscles,
therefore, give the bones some assistance, and that with the
greatest possible advantage. In this manner, a man has
been found to support two thousand weight ; but may be
capable of supporting a still greater. The manner in which
this is done, is by strapping the load round the shoulders of
the person who is to bear it, by a machine, something like
that by which milk-vessels or water-buckets are carried.
The load being thus placed on a scaffold, on each side, con-
trived for that purpose, and the man standing erect in the
midst, all parts of the scaffold, except that where the man

* Mr. Buffon calls it a better manner; but this is not the case.

t Mr. Buffon carries this subject no farther ; and thus far, without
explanation, it is erroneous.

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292

stands, are made to sink ; and thus the man maintaining his
position, the load whatever it is, becomes suspended, and
the column of his bones may be fairly said to support it.
If, however, he should but ever so little give way, he must
inevitably drop ; and no power of his can raise the weights
again. But the case is very different with regard to a load
laid upon a horse. The column of the bones there lies a
different way ; and a weight of five hundred pounds, as I am
told, would break the back of the strongest horse that could
be found. The great force of a horse, and other quadru-
peds, is exerted when the load is in such a position as that
the column of the bones can be properly applied, which is
lengthwise. When, therefore, we are to estimate the com-
parative strength of a horse, we are not to try what he can
carry, but what he can draw ; and in this case, his amazing
superiority over man is easily discerned ; for one horse can
draw a load that ten men cannot move. And in some cases
it happens that a draught-horse draws the better for being
somewhat loaded ; for, as the peasants say, the load upon the
hack keeps him the better to the ground.”

There is still another way of estimating human strength,
by the perseverance and agility of our motions. Men, who
are exercised in running, outstrip horses ; or, at least, hold
their speed for a longer continuance. In a journey, also, a
man will walk down a horse ; and, after they have both con-
tinued to proceed for several days, the horse will be quite
tired, and the man will be fresher than in the beginning.
The king’s messengers of Ispahan, who are runners by pro-
fession, go thirty-six leagues in fourteen hours. Travellers
assure us, that the Hottentots outstrip lions in the chase ;
and that the savages, who hunt the elk, pursue with such
speed, that they at last tire down and take it. We are told
many very surprising things of the great swiftness of the
savages, and of the long journies they undertake, on foot,
through the most craggy mountains, where there are no
paths to direct, nor houses to entertain them. They are
said to perform a journey of twelve hundred leagues in less
than six weeks. “ But notwithstanding what travellers re-
port of this matter, I have been assured, from many of our
officers and soldiers, who compared their own swiftness with
that of the native Americans, during the last war, that al-
though the savages held out, and, as the phrase is, had bet-

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293

ter bottoms, yet, for a spurt, the Englishmen were more
nimble and speedy.”

Nevertheless, in general, civilized man is ignorant of his
own powers : he is ignorant how much he loses by effemi-
nacy ; and what might be acquired by habit and exercise.
Here and there, indeed, men are found among us of extra-
ordinary strength ; but that strength, for want of opportu-
nity, is seldom called into exertion. “ Among the ancients
it was a quality of much greater use than at present ; as in
war the same man that had strength sufficient to carry the
heaviest armour, had strength sufficient also to strike the
most fatal blow. In this case, his strength was at once his
protection and his power. We ought not to be surprised,
therefore, when we hear of one man terrible to an army, and
irresistible in his career, as we find some generals represented
in ancient history. But we may be very certain that this
prowess was exaggerated by flattery, and exalted by terror.
An age of ignorance is ever an age of wonder. At such
times, mankind, having no just ideas of the human powers,
are willing rather to represent what they wish, than what
they know ; and exalt human strength, to fill up the whole
sphere of their limited conceptions. Great strength is an
accidental thing ; two or three in a country may possess it ;
and these may have a claim to heroism. But what may lead
us to doubt of the veracity of these accounts is, that the heroes
of antiquity are represented as the sons of heroes ; their
amazing strength is delivered down from father to son ; and
this we know to be contrary to the course of nature. Strength
is not hereditary, although titles are : and I am very much
induced to believe, that this great tribe of heroes, who are
all represented as the descendants of heroes, are more obliged
to their titles than to their strength, for their characters.
With regard to the shining characters in Homer, they are
all represented as princes, and as the sons of princes ; while
we are told of scarce any share of prowess in the meaner
men of the army ; who are only brought into the field for
these to protect, or to slaughter. But nothing can be more
unlikely than that those men, who were bred in the luxury
of courts, should be strong ; while the whole body of the
people, who received a plainer and simpler education, should
be comparatively weak. Nothing can be more contrary to
the general laws of nature, than that all the sons of heroes

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294

should thus inherit not only the kingdoms, but the strength
of their forefathers ; and we may conclude, that they owe
the greatest share of their imputed strength rather to the
dignity of their stations than the force of their arms ; and,
like all fortunate princes, their flatterers happened to be
believed. In later ages, indeed, we have some accounts of
amazing strength, which we can have no reason to doubt of.
But in these, nature is found to pursue her ordinary course ;
and we find their strength accidental. We find these strong
men among the lowest of the people, and gradually rising
into notice, as this superiority had more opportunity of being
seen. Of this number was the Roman tribune, who went
by the name of the second Achilles ; who, with his own hand,
is said to have killed, at different times, three hundred of the
enemy ; and when treacherously set upon, by twenty-five of
his own countrymen, although then past his sixtieth year,
killed fourteen of them before he was slain. Of this num-
ber was Milo, who, when he stood upright, could not be
forced out of his place. Pliny also tells us of one Athana-
tus, who walked across the stage at Rome, loaded with a
breastplace weighing five hundred pounds, and buskins of
the same weight. But of all the prodigies of strength, of
whom we have any accounts in Roman history, Maximin,
the emperor, is to be reckoned the foremost. Whatever we
are told relative to him is well attested ; his character was
too exalted not to be thoroughly known ; and that very
strength, for which he was celebrated, at last procured him
no less a reward than the empire of the world. Maximin
was above nine feet in height, and the best proportioned
man in the whole empire. He was by birth a Thracian ;
and, from being a simple herdsman, rose through the gra-
dations of office, until he came to be emperor of Rome.
The first opportunity he had of exerting his strength, was
in the presence of all the citizens, in the theatre, where he
overthrew twelve of the strongest men in wrestling, and out-
stript two of the fleetest horses in running, all in one day.
He could draw a chariot loaden, that two strong horses could
not move ; he could break a horse’s jaw with a blow of his
fist, and its thigh with a kick. In war he was always fore-
most and invincible : happy had it been for him and his
subjects if, from being formidable to his enemies, he had
not become still more so to his subjects ; he reigned, for

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some time, with all the world his enemy ; all mankind wish-
ing him dead, yet none daring to strike the blow. As if
fortune had resolved that through life he should continue
unconquerable, he was killed at last by his own soldiers
while he was sleeping. We have many other instances, in
later ages, of very great strength, and not fewer of amazing
swiftness ; but these, merely corporeal perfections, are now
considered as of small advantage, either in war or in peace.
The invention of gunpowder has, in some measure, levelled
all force to one standard ; and has wrought a total change
in martial education through all parts of the world. In
peace also the invention of new machines every day, and the
application of the strength of the lower animals to the pur-
poses of life, have rendered human strength less valuable.
The boast of corporeal force is, therefore, consigned to
savage nations, where those arts not being introduced, it
may still be needful ; but, in more polite countries, few will
be proud of that strength which other animals can be taught
to exert to as useful purposes as they.

“ If we compare the largeness and thickness of our mus-
cles with those of any other animal, we shall find that, in
this respect, we have the advantage; and if strength, or
swiftness, depended upon the quantity of muscular flesh
alone, I believe that, in this respect, we should be more
active and powerful than any other. But this is not the
case ; a great deal more than the size of the muscles goes to
constitute activity or force ; and it is not he who has the
thickest legs that can make the best use of them. Those,
therefore, who have written elaborate treatises on muscular
force, and have estimated the strength of animals by the
thickness of their muscles, have been employed to very little
purpose. It is in general observed, that thin and raw-boned
men are always stronger and more powerful, than such as
are seemingly more muscular ; as in the former all the parts
have better room for their exertions.”

Women want much of the strength of men ; and, in some
countries, the stronger sex have availed themselves of this
superiority, in cruelly and tyrannically enslaving those who
were made with equal pretensions to a share in all the ad-
vantages life can bestow. Savage nations oblige their women
to a life of continual labour ; upon them rest all the drud-

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geries of domestic duty; while the husband, indolently re-
clined in his hammock, is first served from the fruits of her
industry. From this negligent situation he is seldom roused,
except by the calls of appetite, when it is necessary, either
by fishing or hunting, to make a variety in his entertain-
ments. A savage has no idea of taking pleasure in exercise ;
he is suprised to see an European walk forward for his
amusement, and then return back again. As for his part,
he could be contented to remain for ever in the same situa-
tion, perfectly satisfied with sensual pleasures and undis-
turbed repose. The women of these countries are the
greatest slaves upon earth : sensible of their weakness ; and
unable to resist, they are obliged to suffer those hardships
which are naturally inflicted by such as have been taught
that nothing but corporeal force ought to give pre-emi-
nence. It is not, therefore, till after some degree of refine-
ment, that women are treated with lenity ; and not till the
highest degree of politeness, that they are permitted to share
in all the privileges of man. The first impulse of savage
nature is to confirm their slavery ; the next of half barbarous
nations, is to appropriate their beauty; and that of the per-
fectly polite, to engage their affections. In civilized coun-
tries, therefore, women have united the force of modesty to
the power of their natural charms ; and thus obtain that
superiority over the mind, which they are unable to extort
by their strength.

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CHAP. VI.

OF SLEEP AND HUNGER.

As man, in all the privileges he enjoys, and the powers
he is invested with, has a superiority over all other animals,
so, in his necessities, he seems inferior to the meanest of
them all. Nature has brought him into life with a greater
variety of wants and infirmities than the rest of her crea-
tures, unarmed in the midst of enemies. The lion has na-
tural arms ; the bear natural clothing ; but man is destitute
of all such advantages ; and, from the superiority of his
mind alone, he is to supply the deficiency. The number
of his wants, however, were merely given, in order to
multiply the number of his enjoyments ; since the pos-
sibility of being deprived of any good, teaches him the
value of its possession. Were man born with those advan-
tages which he learns to possess by industry, he would
very probably enjoy them with a blunter relish ; it is by
being naked, that he knows the value of a covering ; it is
by being exposed to the weather, that he learns the comforts
of an habitation. Every want thus becomes a means of
pleasure, in the redressing ; and the animal that has most
desires, may be said to be capable of the greatest variety
of happiness.

Beside the thousand imaginary wants peculiar to man,
there are two, which he has in common with all other
animals; and which he feels in a more necessary manner
than they. These are the wants of sleep and hunger. Every
animal that we are acquainted with, seems to endure the
want of these with much less injury to health than man ;
and some are most surprisingly patient in sustaining both.
The little domestic animals that we keep about us, may
often set a lesson of calm resignation, in supporting want
and watchfulness, to the boasted philosopher. They re-
ceive their pittance at uncertain intervals, and wait its
coming with cheerful expectation. We have instances of
the dog and the cat living in this manner, without food,
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for several days; and yet still preserving their attachment
to the tyrant that oppresses them ; still ready to exert
their little services for his amusement or defence. But the
patience of these is nothing, to what the animals of the
forest endure. As these mostly live upon accidental
carnage, so they are often known to remain without food
for several weeks together. Nature, kindly solicitous for
their support, has also contracted their stomachs, to suit
them for their precarious way of living : and kindly, while
it abridges the banquet, lessons the necessity of providing
for it. But the meaner tribes of animals are made still
more capable of sustaining life without food, many of
them remaining in a state of torpid indifference, till their
prey approaches, when they jump upon and seize it. In
this manner the snake, or the spider, continue, for several
months together, to subsist upon a single meal ; and some
of the butterfly kinds live upon little or nothing. But it
is very different with man : his wants daily make their im-
portunate demands ; and it is known, that he cannot
continue to live many days without eating, drinking, and
sleeping.

Hunger is a much more powerful enemy to man than
watchfulness, and kills him much sooner. It may be con-
sidered as a disorder that food removes ; and that would
quickly be fatal, without its proper antidote. In fact, it
is so terrible to man, that to avoid it he even encounters
certain death ; and, rather than endure its tortures, ex-
changes them for immediate destruction. However, by
what I have been told, it is much more dreadful in its
approaches, than in its continuance ; and the pains of a
famishing wretch decrease, as his strength diminishes. In
the beginning, the desire of food is dreadful indeed, as we
know by experience, for there are few who have not
in some degree, felt its approaches. But, after the first
or second day, its tortures become less terrible, and a total
insensibility at length comes kindly in to the poor wretch’s
assistance. I have talked with the captain of a ship, who
was one of six that endured it in its extremities ; and who
was the only person that had not lost his senses, when they
received accidental relief. He assured me, his pains, at
first were so great, as to be often tempted to eat a part
of one of the men who died ; and which the rest of his

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crew actually for some time lived upon : he said, that
during the continuance of this paroxysm, he found his
pains insupportable ; and was desirous, at one time, of
anticipating that death which he thought inevitable : but
his pains, he said, gradually decreased, after the sixth day,
(for they had water in the ship, which kept them alive so
long,) and then he was in a state rather of languor than
desire ; nor did he much wish for food, except when he
saw others eating; and that for a while revived his appe-
tite, though with diminished importunity. The latter part
of the time, when his health was almost destroyed, a thou-
sand strange images rose upon his mind ; and every one
of his senses began to bring him wrong information. The
most fragrant perfumes appeared to him to have a foetid
smell ; and every thing he looked at took a greenish hue,
and sometimes a yellow. When he was presented 'with
food by the ship’s company that took him and his men up,
four of whom died shortly after, he could not help looking
upon it with loathing, instead of desire ; and it was not
till after four days, that his stomach was brought to its
natural tone, when the violence of his appetite returned, with
a sort of canine eagerness.

Thus dreadful are the effects of hunger ; and yet when we
come to assign the cause that produces them, we find the
subject involved in doubt and intricacy. This longing eager-
ness is, no doubt, given for a very obvious purpose ; that of
replenishing the body, wasted by fatigue and perspiration.
Were not men stimulated by such a pressing monitor, they
might be apt to pursue other amusements, with a per-
severance beyond their power ; and forget the useful
hours of refreshment, in those more tempting ones of
pleasure. But hunger makes a demand that will not be re-
fused ; and, indeed, the generality of mankind seldom await
the call.

Hunger has been supposed by some to arise from the
rubbing of the coats of the stomach against each other,
without having any intervening substance to prevent their
painful attrition. Others have imagined, that its juices,
wanting their necessary supply, turn acrid, or, as some
say, pungent ; and thus fret its internal coats, so as to
produce a train of the most uneasy sensations. Boerhaave,
who established his reputation in physic, by uniting the

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conjectures of all those that preceded him, ascribes hunger
to the united effect of both these causes ; and asserts, that the
pungency of the gastric juices, and the attrition of its coats
against each other, cause those pains, which nothing but
food can remove. These juices continuing still to be sepa-
rated in the stomach, and every moment becoming more
acrid, mix with the blood, and infect the circulation : the
circulation being thus contaminated, becomes weaker, and
more contracted ; and the whole nervous frame sympa-
thizing, an hectic fever, and sometimes madness, is produced ;
in which state the faint wretch expires. In this manner, the
man who dies of hunger, may be said to be poisoned by the
juices of his own body ; and is destroyed less by the want of
nourishment, than by the vitiated qualities of that which he
had already taken.

However this may be, we have but few instances of
men dying, except at sea, of absolute hunger. The de-
cline of those unhappy creatures who are destitute of
food, at land, being more slow and unperceived. These,
from often being in need, and as often receiving an acciden-
tal supply, pass their lives between surfeiting and repin-
ing; and their constitution is impaired by insensible de-
grees. Man is unfit for a state of precarious expectation.
That share of provident precaution which incites him to
lay up stores for a distant day, becomes his torment, when
totally unprovided against an immediate call. The lower
race of animals, when satisfied, for the instant moment,
are perfectly happy : but it is otherwise with man ; his mind
anticipates distress, and feels the pangs of want even before
it arrests him. Thus the mind, being continually
harassed by the situation, it at length influences the con-
stitution, and unfits it for all its functions. Some cruel
disorder, but no way like hunger, seizes the unhappy suf-
ferer ; so that almost all those men who have thus long
lived by chance, and whose every day may be considered
as an happy escape from famine, are known at last to
die in reality of a disorder caused by hunger; but
which, in the common language, is often called a broken
heart . Some of these I have known myself, when very
little able to relieve them : and I have been told, by a
very active and worthy magistrate, that the number of
such as die in London for want, is much greater than one

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would imagine— -I think he talked of two thousand in a
year !

But how numerous soever those who die of hunger may
be, many times greater, on the other hand, are the num-
ber of those who die by repletion. It is not the province
of the present page to speculate, with the physician, upon
the danger of surfeits ; or, with the moralist, upon the
nauseousness of gluttony : it will only be proper to observe,
that as nothing is so prejudicial to health as hunger by con-
straint, so nothing is more beneficial to the constitution than
voluntary abstinence. It was not without reason that reli-
gion enjoined this duty; since it answered the double pur-
pose of restoring the health oppressed by luxury, and di-
minished the consumption of provisions, so that a part
might come to the poor. It should be the business of the
legislature, therefore, to enforce this divine precept; and
thus, by restraining one part of mankind in the use of their
superfluities, to consult for the benefit of those who want
the necessaries of life. The injunctions for abstinence
are strict over the whole Continent ; and where rigorously
observed even among ourselves, for a long time after the
Reformation. Queen Elizabeth, by giving her commands
upon this head the air of a political injunction, lessened, in
a great measure, and in my opinion very unwisely, the reli-
gious force of the obligation. She enjoined that her sub-
jects should fast from flesh on Fridays and Saturdays ; but
at the same time declared, that this was not commanded
from motives of religion, as if there were any differences
in meats, but merely to favour the consumption of fish,
and thus to multiply the number of mariners ; and also to
spare the stock of sheep, which might be more beneficial in
another way. In this manner the injunction defeated its
own force ; and this most salutary law became no longer
binding, when it was supposed to come purely from man.
How far it may be enjoined in the Scriptures, I will not
take upon me to say ; but this may be asserted, that if the
utmost benefit to the individual, and the most extensive
advantage to society, serve to mark any institution as of
Heaven, this of abstinence may be reckoned among the
formost.

Were we to give an history of the various benefits that
have arisen from this command, and how conducive it has

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been to long life, the instances would fatigue with their
multiplicity. It is surprising to what a great age the
primitive Christians of the East, who retired from per-
secution in the deserts of Arabia, continued to live, in
all the bloom of health, and yet all the rigours of abstemi-
ous discipline. Their common allowance, as we are told,
for four and twenty hours, was twelve ounces of bread,
and nothing but water. On this simple beverage, St. An-
thony is said to have lived a hundred and five years ; James,
the hermit, an hundred and four; Arsenius, tutor to the em-
peror Arcadius, an hundred and twenty ; St. Epipha-
nius, an hundred and fifteen ; Simeon, an hundred and
twelve ; and Rombald, an hundred and twenty. In this
manner did these holy temperate men live to an extreme old
age, kept cheerful by strong hopes, and healthful by
moderate labour.

Abstinence, which is thus voluntary, may be much more
easily supported than constrained hunger. Man is said to
live without food for seven days ; which is the usual limit
assigned him ; and, perhaps, in a state of constraint, this is
the longest time he can survive the want of it. But in
cases of voluntary abstinence, of sickness, or sleeping, he
has been known to live much longer.

In the records of the Tower, there is an account of a
Scotchman, imprisoned for felony, who for the space of six
weeks took not the least sustenance, being exactly watched
during the whole time ; and for this he received the king’s
pardon.

When the American Indians undertake long journies,
and when, consequently, a stock of provisions sufficient
to support them the whole way, would be more than they
could carry ; in order to obviate this inconvenience, in-
stead of carrying the necessary quantity, they contrive a
method of palliating their hunger, by swallowing pills,
made of calcined shells and tobacco. These pills take
away all appetite, by producing a temporary disorder in
the stomach ; and, no doubt, the frequent repetition of
this wretched expedient must at last be fatal. By these
means, however, they continue several days without
eating, cheerfully bearing such extremes of fatigue and
watching, as would quickly destroy men bred up in a
greater state of delicacy. For those arts by,, which we

ANIMALS. 303

learn to obviate our necessities, do not fail to unfit us for
their accidental encounter.

Upon the whole therefore, man is less able to support
hunger than any other animal ; and he is not better quali-
fied to support a state of watchfulness. Indeed, sleep seems
much more necessary to him, than to any other creature : as,
when awake, he may be said to exhaust a greater proportion
of the nervous fluid ; and, consequently to stand in need of
an adequate supply. Other animals, when most awake, are
but little removed from a state of slumber ; their feeble facul-
ties, imprisoned in matter, and rather exerted by impulse
than deliberation, require sleep, rather as a cessation from
motion, than from thinking. But it is otherwise with man ;
his ideas, fatigued with their various excursions, demand a
cessation, not less than the body, from toil : and he is the
only creature that seems to require sleep from double motives ;
not less for the refreshment of the mental, than of the bodily
frame.

There are some lower animals, indeed, that seem to
spend the greatest part of their lives in sleep ; but, properly
speaking, the sleep of such may be considered as a kind
of death ; and their waking, a resurrection. Flies, and
insects, are said to be asleep, at a time that all the vi-
tal motions have ceased, without respiration, without any
circulation of their juices ; if cut in pieces, they do not
awake, nor does any fluid ooze out at the wound. These
may be considered rather as congealed than as sleeping
animals ; and their rest, during winter, rather as a cessa-
tion from life, than a necessary refreshment ; but in the
higher races of animals, whose blood is not thus congealed,
and thawed by heat, these all bear the want of sleep much
better than man ; and some of them continue a long time
without seeming to take any refreshment from it what-
soever.

But man is more feeble ; he requires its due return ;
and if it fails to pay the accustomed visit, his whole frame
is in a short time thrown into disorder : his appetite
ceases ; his spirits are dejected ; his pulse becomes quicker
and harder ; and his mind, abridged of its slumbering
visions, begins to adopt waking dreams. A thousand
strange phantoms arise, which come and go without his
will .* these, which are transient in the beginning, at last

304

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take firm possession of the mind, which yields to their do-
minion, and after a long struggle, runs into confirmed mad-
ness. In that horrid state, the mind may be considered as
a city without walls, open to every insult, and paying homage
to every invader ; every idea that then starts with any
force, becomes a reality ; and the reason, over fatigued
with its former importunities, makes no head against
the tyrannical invasion, but submits to it from mere'1
imbecility.

But it is happy for mankind, that this state of inquie-
tude is seldom driven to an extreme ; and that there are
medicines which seldom fail to give relief. However, man
finds it more difficult than any other animal to procure sleep:
and some are obliged to court its approaches for several
hours together, before they incline to rest. It is in vain
that all light is excluded ; tha"t all sounds are removed ; that
warmth and softness conspire to invite it ; the restless and
busy mind still retains its former activity ; and Reason, that
wishes to lay down the reins, in spite of herself is obliged
to maintain them. In this disagreeable state, the mind
passes from thought to thought, willing to lose the distinct-
ness of perception, by increasing the multitude of the
images. At last, when the approaches of sleep are near,
every object of the imagination begins to mix with that next
it ; their outlines become, in a manner, rounder ; a part
of their distinctions fade away; and sleep, that ensues;
fashions out a dream from the remainder.

If then it should be asked from what cause this state
of repose proceeds, or in what manner sleep thus binds
us for several hours together ? I must fairly confess my
ignorance ; although it is easy to tell what philosophers
say upon the subject. Sleep, says one of them,* consists
in a scarcity of spirits, by which the orifices or pores of
the nerves in the brain, through which the spirits used to
flow into the nerves, being no longer kept open by the fre-
quency of the spirits, shut of themselves ; thus the nerves,
wanting a new supply of spirits, become lax, and unfit to
convey any impression to the brain. All this, however,
is explaining a very great obscurity by somewhat more
obscure; leaving, therefore, those spirits to open and

* Hohault.

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shut the entrances to the brain, let us be contented with
simply enumerating the effects of sleep upon the human
constitution.

In sleep, the whole nervous frame is relaxed, while the
heart and the lungs seem more forcibly exerted. This
fuller circulation produces also a swelling of the muscles, as
they always find who sleep with ligatures on any part of their
body. This increased circulation also, may be considered
as a kind of exercise, which is continued through the frame ;
and by this, the perspiration becomes more copious, although
the appetite for food is entirely taken away. Too much
sleep dulls the apprehension, weakens the memory, and
unfits the body for labour. On the contrary, sleep too much
abridged, emaciates the frame, produces melancholy, and
consumes the constitution. It requires some care, there-
fore, to regulate the quantity of sleep, and just to take as
much as will completely restore nature, without oppressing
it. The poor, as Otway says, sleep little ; forced by their
situation, to lengthen out their labour to their necessities,
they have but a short interval for this pleasing refreshment ;
and I have ever been of opinion, that bodily labour demands
a less quantity of sleep than mental. Labourers and
artizans are generally satisfied with about seven hours ;
but I have known some scholars who usually slept nine,
and perceived their faculties no way impaired by over-
sleeping.

The famous Philip Barrettiere, who was considered as a
prodigy of learning at the age of fourteen, was known to sleep
regularly twelve hours in the twenty-four; the extreme
activity of his mind, when awake, in some measure called
for an adequate alternation of repose : and, I am apt to think,
that when students stint themselves in this particular, they
lessen the waking powers of the imagination, and weaken its
most strenuous exertions. Animals that seldom think, as
was said, can very easily dispense with sleep ; and of men,
such as think least, will, very probably, be satisfied with the
smallest share. A life of study, it is well known, unfits the
body for receiving this gentle refreshment ; the approaches
of sleep are driven off by thinking: when, therefore, it
comes at last, we should not be too ready to interrupt its
continuance.

Sleep, is indeed, to some, a very agreeable period of their
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existence : and it has been a question in the schools, Which
was most happy, the man who was a beggar by night, and a
king by day ; or he who was a beggar by day, and a king
by night ? It is given in favour of the nightly monarch, by
him who first started the question : “ For the dream,”
says he, “ gives the full enjoyment of the dignity, without
its attendant inconveniences ; while, on the other hand,
the king, who supposes himself degraded, feels all the
misery of his fallen fortune, without trying to find the com-
forts of his humble situation. Thus, by day, both states
have their peculiar distresses : but, by night, the exalted
beggar is perfectly blessed, and the king completely misera-
ble.” All this, however, is rather fanciful than just ; the
pleasure dreams can give us, seldom reaches to our waking
pitch of happiness : the mind often in the midst of its
highest visionary satisfactions, demands of itself, whether it
does not owe them to a dream ; and frequently awakes with
the reply.

But it is seldom, except in cases of the highest delight,
or the most extreme uneasiness, that the mind has power
thus to disengage itself from the dominion of fancy. In the
ordinary course of its operations, it submits to those num-
berless fantastic images that succeed each other, and which,
like many of our waking thoughts, are generally forgotten.
Of these, however, if any, by their oddity, or their continu-
ance, affect us strongly, they are then remembered ; and
there have been some who felt their impressions so strongly,
as to mistake them for realities, and to rank them among
the past actions of their lives.

There are others upon whom dreams seem to have a
very different effect ; and who, without seeming to remem-
ber their impressions the next morning, have yet shewn,
by their actions during sleep, that they were very power-
fully impelled by their dominion. We have numberless
instances of such persons who, while asleep, have per-
formed many of the ordinary duties to which they had
neen accustomed when waking ; and, with a ridiculous
industry, have completed by night, what they failed doing
by day. We are told, in the German Ephemerides, of a
young student, who being enjoined a severe exercise by his
tutor, went to bed, despairing of accomplishing it. The
next morning awaking, to his great surprise, he found the

ANIMALS. 307

task fairly written out, and finished in his own hand-
writing.

He was at first, as the account has it, induced to ascribe
this strange production to the operations of an infernal
agent ; but his tutor, willing to examine the affair to the
bottom, set him another exercise, still more severe than
the former, and took precautions to observe his conduct
the whole night. The young gentleman, upon being so
severely tasked, felt the same inquietude that he had done
on the former occasion ; went to bed gloomy and pensive,
pondering on the next day’s duty, and, after some time,
fell asleep. But shortly after, his tutor, who continued to
observe him from a place that was concealed, was sur-
prised to see him get up, and very deliberately go to the
table ; where he took out pen, ink, and paper, drew him-
self a chair, and sat very methodically to thinking : it
seems, that his being asleep, only served to strengthen the
powers of his imagination ; for he very quickly and easily
went through the task assigned him ; put his chair aside,
and then returned to bed to take out the rest of his nap.
What credit we are to give to this account, I will not pre-
tend to determine ; but this may be said, that the book
from whence it was taken, has some good marks of vera-
city ; for it is very learned, and very dull ; and is written
in a country noted, if not for truth, at least for want of
invention.

The ridiculous story of Arlotto is well known, who has
had a volume written, containing a narrative of the actions
of his life, not one of which was performed while he was
awake. He was an Italian Franciscan friar, extremely rigid
in his manners, and remarkably devout and learned in liis
daily conversation. By night, however, and during his sleep,
he played a very different character from what he did by day,
and was often detected in very atrocious crimes. He was
at one time detected in actually attempting a rape, and did
not awake till the next morning, when he was surprised to
find himself in the hands of justice. His brothers of the
convent often watched him while he went very deliberately
into the chapel, and there attempted to commit sacrilege.
They sometimes permitted him to carry the chalice and
the vestments away into his own chamber, and the next
morning amused themselves at the poor man’s consternation

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for what he had done. But of' all his sleeping trans-
gressions, that was the most ridiculous, in which he was
called to pray for the soul of a person departed. Arlotto,
after having devoutly performed his duty, retired to a
chamber which was shewn him, to rest ; but there he had
no sooner fallen asleep, than he began to reflect that the
dead body had got a ring upon one of the fingers, which
might be useful to him : accordingly, with a pious resolution
of stealing it, he went down, undressed as he was, into a
room full of women, and, with great composure, endea-
voured to seize the ring. The consequence was, that he
was taken before the inquisition for witchcraft ; and the
poor creature had like to have been condemned, till his
peculiar character accidentally came to be known : how-
ever, he was ordered to remain for the rest of life in his
own convent, and upon no account whatsoever to stir
abroad.

What are we to say to such actions as these ? or how
account for this operation of the mind in dreaming P It
should seem, that the imagination, by day, as well as by
night, is always employed ; and that often, against our
wills, it intrudes, where it is least commanded or desired.
While awake, and in health, this busy principle cannot
much delude us : it may build castles in the air, and raise
a thousand phantoms before us ; but we have every one of
the senses alive to bear testimony to its falsehood. Our
eyes shew us that the prospect is not present ; our hear-
ing and our touch depose against its reality ; and our taste
and smelling are equally vigilant in detecting the impos-
ture. Reason, therefore, at once gives judgment upon
the cause, and the vagrant intruder, Imagination, is im-
prisoned, or banished from the mind. But in sleep it is
otherwise ; having, as much as possible, put our senses
from their duty, having closed the eyes from seeing, and
the ears, taste, and smelling, from their peculiar functions,
and having diminished even the touch itself, by all the
arts of softness, the imagination is then left to riot at large,
and to lead the understanding without an opposer. Every
incursive idea then becomes a reality ; and the mind, not
having one power that can prove the illusion, takes them for
truths. As in madness, the senses, from struggling with
the imagination, are at length forced to submit ; so, in

ANIMALS.

309

sleep, they seem for a, while soothed into the like sub-
mission : the smallest violence exerted upon any one of
them, however, rouses all the rest in their mutual defence ;
and the imagination, that had for a while told its thousand
falsehoods, is totally driven away, or only permitted to pass
under the custody of such as are every moment ready to
detect its imposition.

CHAP. VII.

OF SEEING.*

%

“ Having mentioned the senses as correcting the
errors of the imagination, and, as forcing it, in some mea-
sure, to bring us just information, it will naturally follow,
that we should examine the nature of those senses them-
selves : we shall thus be enabled to see how far they also
impose on us, and how far they contribute to correct each
other. Let it be observed, however, that in this we are
neither giving a treatise of optics or phonics, but a history
of our own perceptions : and to those wre chiefly confine
ourselves.”

The eyes very soon begin to be formed in the human
embryo, and in the chicken also. Of all the parts which
the animal has double, the eyes are produced the soonest,
and appear the most prominent. It is true, indeed, that
in viviparous animals, and particularly in man, they are
not so large in proportion, at first, as in the oviparous kinds ;
nevertheless, they are more speedily developed, when they
begin to appear, than any other parts of the body. It is
the same with the organ of hearing ; the little bones that
compose the internal parts of the ear are entirely formed
before the other bones, though much larger, have acquired
any part of their growth or solidity. Hence it appears,
that those parts of the body which are furnished with the
greatest quantity of nerves, are the first in forming. Thus

* This chapter is taken from Mr. Buffon. I believe the reader will
readily excuse any apology ; and, perhaps, may wish that I had taken
this liberty much more frequently. What I add is marked, as in a for-
mer instance, with inverted commas.

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310

the brain and the spinal-marrow, are the first seen begun
in the embryo ; and, in general, it may be said, that
wherever the nerves go, or send their branches in great
numbers, there the parts are soonest begun, and the most
completely finished.

If we examine the eyes of a child some hours, or even
some days, after its birth, it will be easily discerned that it
as yet makes no use of them. The humours of the organ
not having acquired a sufficient consistence, the rays of light
strike but confusedly upon the retina, or expansion of nerves
at the back of the eye. It is not till about a month after
they are born, that children fix them upon objects ; for,
before that time, they turn them indiscriminately every
where, without appearing to be affected by any. At six or
seven weeks old, they plainly discover a choice in the
objects of their attention ; they fix their eyes upon the most
brilliant colours, and seem peculiarly desirous of turning
them towards the light. Hitherto, however, they only
seem to fortify the organ for seeing distinctly ; but they have
still many illusions to correct.

The first great error in vision is, that the eye inverts
every object : and it in reality appears to the child, until
the touch has served to undeceive it, turned upside down.
A second error in vision is, that every object appears
double. The same object forms itself distinctly upon each
eye ; and is consequently seen twice. This error, also, can
only be corrected by the touch ; and although, in reality,
every object we see appears inverted and double, yet the
judgment and habit have so often corrected the sense, that
we no longer submit to its imposition, but see every object
in its just position, the very instant it appears. Were we,
therefore, deprived of feeling, our eyes would not only mis-
represent the situation, but also the number of all things
around us.

To convince us that we see objects inverted, we have
only to observe the manner in which images are repre-
sented, coming through a small hole, in a darkened room.
If such a small hole be made in a dark room, so that no
light can come in, but through it, all the objects without
will be painted on the wall behind, but in an inverted
position, their heads downwards. For as all the rays
which pass from the different parts of the object without,

ANIMALS,

311

cannot enter the hole in the same extent which they had
in leaving the object ; since, if so, they would require the
aperture to be as large as the object; and, as each part,
and every point of the object, sends forth the image of
itself on every side, and the ra^s, which form these images,
pass from all points of the object as from so many centres,
so such only can pass through the small aperture as come
in opposite directions. Thus the little aperture becomes
a centre for the entire object; through which the rays
from the upper parts, as well as from the lower parts of
it, pass in converging directions ; and, consequently,
they must cross each other, in the central point, and thus
paint the objects behind, upon the wall, in an inverted
position.

It is, in like manner, easy to conceive, that we see all
objects double, whatever our present sensations may seem
to tell us to the contrary. For to convince us of this, we
have only to compare the situation of any one object on
shutting one eye, and then compare the same situation by
shutting the other. If, for instance, we hold up a finger,
and shut the right eye, we shall find it hide a certain part of
the room ; if again reshutting the other eye, we shall find
that part of the room visible, and the finger seeming to cover
a part of the room that had been visible before. If we open
both eyes, however, the part covered will appear to lie be-
tween the two extremes. But the truth is, we see the object
our finger had covered, one image of it to the right, and the
other to the left ; but, from habit, suppose that we see but
one image placed between both ; our sense of feeling having
corrected the errors of sight. And thus, also, if instead of
two eyes we had two hundred, we should, at first, fancy the
objects increased in proportion, until one sense had cor-
rected the errors of another.

“ The having two eyes might thus be said to be rather
an inconvenience than a benefit ; since one eye would
answer the purposes of sight as well, and be less liable to
illusion. But it is otherwise ; two eyes greatly contribute,
if not to distinct, at least to extensive vision.* When an
object is placed at a moderate distance, by the means of
both eyes we see a larger share of it than we possibly could

* Leonardo da Vinci.

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312

with one ; the right eye seeing a greater portion of its right
side, and the left eye of its corresponding side. Thus both
eyes, in some measure, see round the object ; and it is this
that gives it, in nature, that bold relievo, or swelling, with
which they appear ; and which no painting, how exquisite
soever, can attain to. The painter must be contented with
shading on a flat surface ; but the eyes, in observing nature,
do not behold the shading only, hut a part of the figure also,
that lies behind those very shadings, which gives it that
swelling, which painters so ardently desire, but can never
fully imitate.

“ There is another defect, which either of the eyes, taken
singly, would have, but which is corrected, by having the
organ double. In either eye there is a point, which has no
vision whatsoever ; so that if one of them only is employed
in seeing, there is a part of the object to which it is always
totally blind. This is that part of the optic nerve where its
vein and artery run ; which being insensible, that point of
the object that is painted there must continue unseen.
To be convinced of this we have only to try a very easy ex-
periment. If we take three black patches, and stick them
upon a white wall, about a foot distant from each other, each
about as high as the eye that is to observe them ; then
retiring six or seven feet back, and shutting one eye, by
trying for some time, we shall find, that while we distinctly
behold the black spots that are to the right and left, that
which is in the middle remains totally unseen. Or, in
other words, when we bring that part of the eye, where
the optic artery runs, to fall upon the object, it will then
become invisible. This defect, however, in either eye, is
always corrected by both, since the part of the object that
is unseen by one, will be very distinctly perceived by the
other.”

Beside the former defects, we can have no idea of dis-
tances from the sight, without the help of touch. Natu-
rally every object we see appears to be within our eyes ;
and a child, who has as yet made but little use of the sense
of feeling, must suppose that every thing it sees makes a
part of itself. Such objects are only seen more or less
bulky as they approach, or recede from its eyes ; so that
a fly that is near will appear larger than an ox at a dis-
tance. It is experience alone that can rectify this mistake ;

ANIMALS.

313

and a long acquaintance with the real size of every object,
quickly assures us of the distance at which it is seen. The
last man in a file of soldiers appears in reality much less,
perhaps ten times more diminutive, than the man next to
us ; however, we do not perceive this difference, but con-
tinue to think him of equal stature ; for the numbers we
have seen thus lessened by distance, and have found, by re-
peated experience, to be of the natural size when we come
closer, instantly correct the sense, and every object is per-
ceived with nearly its natural proportion. But it is otherwise,
if we observe objects in such situations as we have not had
sufficient experience to correct the errors of the eye ; if, for
instance, we look at men from the top of a high steeple,
they, in that case, appear very much diminished, as we
have not had a habit of correcting the sense in that
position.

Although a small degree of reflection will serve to con-
vince us of the truth of these positions, it may not be amiss
to strengthen them by an authority which cannot be disputed.
Mr. Cheselden having couched a boy of thirteen for a
cataract, who had hitherto been blind, and thus at once
having restored him to sight, curiously marked the progress
of his mind upon that occasion. This youth, though he
had been till then incapable of seeing, yet was not totally
blind, but could tell day from night, as persons in his
situation always may. He could also, with a strong light,
distinguish black from white, and either from the vivid
colour of scarlet : however, he saw nothing of the form of
bodies ; and, without a bright light, not even colours them-
selves. He was, at first, couched only in one of his eyes ;
and when he saw for the first time, he was so far from judg-
ing of distances, that he supposed his eye touched every
object that he saw, in the same manner as his hands might
be said to feel them. The objects that were most agreeable
to him were such as were of plain surfaces and regular
figures : though he could as yet make no judgment whatever
of their different forms, nor give a reason why one pleased
him more than another. Although he could form some idea
of colours during his state of blindness, yet that was not
sufficient to direct him at present ; and he could scarcely be
persuaded that the colours he now saw were the same with
those he had formerly conceived such erroneous ideas of.
vol. i. — 13-14. 2 R

A HISTORY OF

314

He delighted most in green ; but black objects, as if giving
him an idea of his former blindness, he regarded with hor-
ror. He had, as was said, no idea of forms ; and was un-
able to distinguish one object from another, though never
so different. When those things were shewn him, which
he had been formerly familiarized to by his feeling, he be-
held them with earnestness, in order to remember them a
second time : but as he had too many to recollect at once,
he forgot the greatest number ; and for one he could tell,
after seeing, there was a thousand he was totally unac-
quainted with. He was very much surprised to find, that
those things and persons he loved best, were not the most
beautiful to be seen ; and even testified displeasure in not
finding his parents so handsome as he conceived them to
be. It was near two months before he could find that a
picture resembled a solid body. Till then he only con-
sidered it as a flat surface, variously shadowed ; but when
he began to perceive that these kind of shadings actually re-
presented human beings, he then began to examine, by his
touch, whether they had not the usual qualities of such
bodies, and was greatly surprised to find, what he expected
a very unequal surface, to be smooth and even. He was
then shewn a miniature-picture of his father, which was
contained in his mother’s watch-case, and he readily per-
ceived the resemblance ; but asked, with great astonishment,
how so large a face could be contained in so small a com-
pass ? It seemed as strange to him as if a bushel was
contained in a pint vessel. At first he could bear but a
very small quantity of light, and he saw every object much
greater than the life ; but, in proportion as he saw objects
that were really large, he seemed to think the former were
diminished ; and although he knew the chamber where he
was contained in the house, yet, until he saw the latter, he
could not be brought to conceive how a house could be
larger than a chamber. Before the operation, he had no
great expectations from the pleasure he should receive from
a new sense ; he was only excited by the hopes of being
able to read and write ; he said, for instance, that he could
have no greater pleasure in walking in the garden with his
sight, than he had without it, for he walked there at his
ease, and was acquainted with all the walks. He remarked
also, with great justice, that his former blindness gave him

ANIMALS. 315

one advantage over the rest of mankind, which was that of
being able to walk in the night with confidence and secu-
rity. But when he began to make use of his new sense,
he seemed transported beyond measure. He said, that
every new object was a new source of delight, and that his
pleasure was so great as to be past expression. About a
year after, he was brought to Epsom, where there is a very
fine prospect, with which he seemed greatly charmed ; and
he called the landscape before him a new method of seeing.
He was couched in the other eye, a year after the former,
and the operation succeeded equally well : when he saw with
both eyes, he said that objects appeared to him twice as
large as when he saw but with one ; however, he did not see
them doubled, or, at least, he shewed no marks as if he
saw them so. Mr. Cheselden mentions instances of many
more that were restored to sight in this manner; they
all seemed to concur in their perceptions with this youth ;
and they all seemed particularly embarrassed in learning
how to direct their eyes to the objects they wished to
observe.

In this manner it is that our feeling corrects the sense of
seeing, and that objects which appear of veiy different sizes *
at different distances, are all reduced, by experience, to their
natural standard. “ But not the feeling only, but also the
colour and brightness of the object, contributes, in some
measure, to assist us in forming an idea of the distance at
which it appears.* Those which we see most strongly
marked with light and shade, we readily know to be nearer
than those on which the colours are more faintly spread,
and that, in some measure, take a part of their hue from the
air between us and them. — Bright objects also are seen at a
greater distance than such as are obscure, and, most pro-
bably, for this reason, that being less similar in colour, to
the air which interposes, their impressions are less effaced
by it, and they continue more distinctly visible. Thus a
black and distant object is not seen so far off as a bright and
glitttering one, and a fire by night is seen much farther off
than by day.”

The power of seing objects at a distance is very rarely

* Mr. Buffon gives a different theory, for which I must refer the
reader to the original. That I have given, I take to be easv and satis-
factory enough.

316 A HISTORY OF

equal in both eyes. When this inequality is in any great
degree, the person so circumstanced then makes use only
of one eye, shutting that which sees the least, and em-
ploying the other with all its power. And hence pro-
ceeds that awkward look which is known by the name of
strcibism.

There are many reasons to induce us to think that such
as are near-sighted see objects larger than other persons ;
and yet the contrary is most certainly true, for they see
them less. Mr. Buffon informs us that he himself is short-
sighted, and that his left eye is stronger than his right.
He has very frequently experienced, upon looking at any
object, such as the letters of a book, that they appear less
to the weakest eye ; and that when he places the book,
so as that the letters appear double, the images of the left
eye, which is strongest, are greater than those of the right,
which is the most feeble. He has examined several others,
who were in similar circumstances, and has always found
that the best eye saw every object the largest. This he
ascribes to habit ; for near-sighted people being accustomed
to come close to the object, and view but a small part of it
at a time, the habit ensues, when the whole of an object is
seen, and it appears less to them than to others.

Infants having their eyes less than those of adults, must
see objects also smaller in proportion. For the image formed
on the back of the eye will be large, as the eye is capacious ;
and infants, having it not so great, cannot have so large a
picture of the object. This may be a reason also why they
are unable to see so distinctly, or at such distances, as per-
sons arrived at maturity.

Old men, on the contrary, see bodies close to them very
indistinctly, but bodies at a great distance from them with
more precision ; and this may happen from an alteration in
the coats, or, perhaps, humours of the eye ; and not, as is
supposed, from their diminution. The cornea, for instance,
may become too rigid to adapt itself, and take a proper con-
vexity for seeing minute objects ; and its very flatness will be
sufficient to fit it for distant vision.

When we cast our eyes upon an object extremely brilliant,
or when we fix and detain them too long upon the same
object, the organ is hurt and fatigued, its vision becomes
indistinct, and the image of the body which has thus too

ANIMALS.

317

violently, or too perseveringly employed us, is painted upon
every thing we look at, and mixes with every object that
occurs. “ And this is an obvious consequence of the eye
taking in too much light, either immediately, or by reflec-
tion. Every body exposed to the light, for a time, drinks
in a quantity of its rays, which being brought into darkness,
it cannot instantly discharge. Thus the hand, if it be ex-
posed to broad day-light for some time, and then immediately
snatched into a dark room, will appear still luminous : and
it will be some time before it is totally darkened. It is thus
with the eye ; which, either by an instant gaze at the sun,
or a steady continuance upon some less brilliant object, has
taken in too much light ; its humours are, for a while, unfit
for vision, until that be discharged, and room made for rays
of a milder nature.” How dangerous the looking upon
bright and luminous objects is to the sight, may be easily
seen, from such as live in countries covered for most part
of the year with snow, who become generally blind before
their time. Travellers who cross these countries are obliged
to wear a crape before their faces, to save their eyes, which
would otherwise be rendered totally unserviceable ; and it is
equally dangerous in the sandy plains of Africa. The re-
flection of the light is there so strong, that it is impossible
to sustain the effect without incurring the danger of losing
one’s sight entirely. Such persons, therefore, as read or
write for any continuance, should choose a moderate light,
in order to save their eyes ; and although it may seem in-
sufficient at first, the eye will accustom itself to the shade,
by degrees, and be less hurt by the want of light than the
excess.

“ It is, indeed, surprising how far the eye can accommo-
date itself to darkness, and make the best of a gloomy situ-
ation. When first taken from the light, and brought into a
dark room, all things disappear ; or, if any thing is seen, it
is only the remaining radiations that still continue in the
eye. But, after a very little time, when these are spent,
the eye takes the advantage of the smallest ray that happens
to enter ; and this alone would, in time, serve for many
of the purposes of life. There was a gentleman of great
fcourage and understanding, who was a major under King
Charles I. ; this unfortunate man, sharing in his master’s
misfortunes, and being forced abroad, ventured at Madrid

A HISTORY Of

318

to do his king a signal service ; but unluckily failed in the
attempt. In consequence of this, he was instantly ordered
to a dark and dismal dungeon, into which the light never
entered, and into which there was no opening but by a hole
at the top, down which the keeper put his provisions, and
presently closed it again on the other side. In this manner
the unfortunate loyalist continued for some weeks, distressed
and disconsolate ; but at last he began to think he saw some
little glimmering of light. This internal dawn seemed to
increase from time to time, so that he could not only dis-
cover the parts of his bed, and such other large objects,
but, at length, he even began to perceive the mice that fre-
quented his cell ; and saw them as they ran about the flooi ,
eating the crumbs of bread that happened to fall. After
some .months’ confinement he was at last set free ; but such
was the effect of the darkness upon him, that he could
not, for some days, venture to leave his dungeon, but was
obliged to accustom himself by degrees to the light of
the day.

CHAP. VIII.

OF HEARING.*

As the sense of hearing, as well as of sight, gives us notice
of remote objects, so, like that, it is subject to similar errors,
being capable of imposing on us upon all occasions, where
we cannot rectify it by the sense of feeling. We can have
from it no distinct intelligence of the distance from whence
a sounding body is heard ; a great noise far off, and a small
one every near, produce the same sensation ; and unless we
receive information from some other sense, we can never
distinctly tell whether the sound be a great or a small one.

* This chapter is taken from Mr. Buffon, except where marked by
inverted commas.

ANIMALS.

319

It is not till we have learned, by experience, that the parti-
cular sound which is heard, is of a peculiar kind ; then we
can judge of the distance from whence we hear it. When
we know the tone of the bell, we can then judge how far it
is from us.

Every body that strikes against another produces a sound,
which is simple, and but one in bodies which are not elas-
tic, but which is often repeated in such as are. If we strike
a bell, or a stretched string, for instance, which are both
elastic, a single blow produces a sound, which is repeated
by the undulations of the sonorous body, and which is
multiplied as often as it happens to undulate or vibrate.
These undulations each strike their own peculiar blow ; but
they succeed so fast, one behind the other, that the ear
supposes them one continued sound ; whereas, in reality,
they make many. A person who should, for the first time,
hear the toll of the bell, would very probably be able to
distinguish these breaks of sound ; and, in fact, we can
readily ourselves perceive an intention and premission in the
sound.

In this manner, sounding bodies are of two kinds ; those
unelastic ones, which, being struck, return but a single
sound ; and those more elastic, returning a succession of
sounds ; which uniting together, form a tone. This tone
mav be considered as a great number of sounds, all pro-
duced one after the other, by the same body, as we find
in a bell, or the string of a harpsichord, which continues
to sound for some time after it is struck. A continuing
tone may also be produced from a non -elastic body, by
repeating the blow quick and often, as when we beat a
drum, or when we draw a bow along the string of a
fiddle.

Considering the subject in this light, if we should mul-
tiply the number of blows, or repeat them at quicker in-
tervals upon the sounding body, as upon the drum, for
instance, it is evident that this will have no effect in al-
tering the tone ; it will only make it either more even, or
more distinct. But it is otherwise, if we increase the force
of the blow : if we strike the body with double weight, this
will produce a tone twice as loud as the former. If, for
instance, I strike a table with a switch, this will be very

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320

different from the sound produced by striking it with a
cudgel. Hence, therefore, we may infer, that all bodies
give a louder and graver tone, not in proportion to the
number of times they are struck, but in proportion to the
force that strikes them. And, if this be so, those philo-
sophers who make the tone of a sonorous body,- of a bell,
or the string of a harpsichord, for instance, to depend upon
the number only of its vibrations, and not the force, have
mistaken what is only an effect for a cause. A bell, or
an elastic string, can only be considered as a drum beaten ;
and the frequency of the blows can make no alteration
whatever in the tone. The largest bells, and the longest
and thickest strings, have the most forceful vibrations ;
and, therefore, their tones are the most loud and the most
grave.

To know the manner in which sounds thus produced
become pleasing, it must be observed, no one continuing
tone, how loud and swelling soever, can give us satisfaction ;
we must have a succession of them, and those in the most
pleasing proportion. The nature of this proportion may
be thus conceived. If we strike a body incapable of vi-
bration with a double force, or, what amounts to the same
thing, with a double mass of matter, it will produce a sound
that will be doubly grave. Music has been said, by the
ancients to have been first invented from the blows of dif-
ferent hammers on an anvil. Suppose then we strike an
anvil with a hammer of one pound weight, and again with
a hammer of two pounds, it is plain that the two -pound
hammer will produce a sound twice as grave as the former.
But if we strike with a two-pound hammer, and then with
a three-pound, it is evident that the latter will produce a
sound one-third more grave than the former. If we strike
the anvil with a three-pound hammer, and then with a
four-pound, it will likewise follow that the latter will be
a quarter part more grave than the former. Now, in the
comparing between all those sounds, it is obvious that the
difference between one and two is more easily perceived,
than between two and three, three and four, or any num-
bers succeeding in the same proportion. The succession
of sounds will be, therefore, pleasing in proportion to the
ease with which they may be distinguished. That sound

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321

which is double the former, or, in other words, the octave to
the preceding tone, will, of all others, be the most pleasing
harmony. The next to that, which is as two to three, or,
in other words, the third, will be most agreeable. And thus,
universally, those sounds whose difference may be most
easily compared, are the most agreeable.

** Musicians, therefore, have contented themselves with
seven different proportions of sound, which are called notes,
and which sufficiently answer all the purposes of pleasure.
Not but that they might adopt a greater diversity of pro-
portions ; and some have actually done so ; but, in these,
the differences of the proportion are so imperceptible, that
the ear is rather fatigued than pleased in making the dis-
tinction. In order, however, to give variety, they have
admitted half tones ; but in all the countries where music is
yet in its infancy, they have rejected such ; and they can find
music in none but the obvious ones. The Chinese, for
instance, have neither flats nor sharps in their music ; but the
intervals between their other notes, are in the same proportion
with ours.

“ Many more barbarous nations have their peculiar in-
struments of music ; and, what is remarkable, the propor-
tion between their notes is in all the same as in ours. This
is not the place for entering into the nature of these sounds,
their effects upon the air, or their consonances with each
other. We are not now giving a history of sound, but of
human perception.

“ All countries are pleased with music ; and if they have
not skill enough to produce harmony, at least they seem
willing to substitute noise. Without all question, noise
alone is sufficient to operate powerfully on the spirits ; and,
if the mind be already predisposed to joy, I have seldom
found noise fail of increasing it into rapture. The mind
feels a kind of distracted pleasure in such powerful sounds,
braces up every nerve, and riots in the excess. But, as in
the eye, an immediate gaze upon the sun will disturb the
organs, so, in the ear, a loud unexpected noise disorders
the whole frame, and sometimes disturbs the sense ever
after. The mind must have time to prepare for the ex-
pected shock, and to give its organs the proper tension for
its arrival.

“ Musical sounds, however, seem of a different kind*
vol. i. — 15-16. 2 S

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Those are generally most pleasing which are most unex-
pected. It is not from bracing up the nerves, but from the
grateful succession of the sounds, that these become so
charming. There are few, how indifferent soever, but have
at times felt their pleasing impression ; and, perhaps, even
those who have stood out against the powerful persuasion of
sounds, only wanted the proper tune, or the proper instru-
ment, to allure them.

“ The ancients give us a thousand strange instances of
the effects of music, upon men and animals. The story
of Arion’s harp, that gathered the dolphins to the ship side,
is well known ; and what is remarkable, Schotteus assures
us,* that he saw a similar instance of fishes being allured
by music. They tell us of diseases that have been cured,
unchastity corrected, seditions quelled, passions removed,
and sometimes excited even to madness. Dr. Wallis has
endeavoured to account for these surprising effects, by
ascribing them to the novelty of the art. For my own
part, I can scarcely hesitate to impute them to the exag-
geration of the writers. They are as hyperbolical in the
effects of their oratory; and yet, we well know, there is
nothing in the orations which they have left us, capable of
exciting madness, or of raising the mind to that ungo-
vernable degree of fury which they describe. As they
have exaggerated, therefore, in one instance, we may na-
turally suppose that they have done the same in the other ;
and, indeed, from the few remains we have of their music,
collected by Meibomius, one might be apt to suppose
there was nothing very powerful in what is lost. Nor
does any one of the ancient instruments, such as we see
them represented in statues, appear comparable to our
fiddle.

“'However this be, we have many odd accounts, not
only among them, but the moderns, of the power of music ;
and it must not be denied, but that, on some particular
occasions, musical sounds may have a very powerful effect.
I have seen all the horses and cows in a field, where there
were above a hundred, gathered round a person that was
blowing a French horn, and seeming to testify an awkward
kind of satisfaction. Dogs are well known to be very sensible

* Quod oculis meis spectavi. Schotti Magic, universalis, pars. ii.
lib. 1. p. 26.

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of different tones in music ; and I have sometimes heard
them sustain a very ridiculous part in a concert, where their
assistance was neither expected nor desired.

“ We are told of Henry IV. of Denmark,* that being
one day desirous of trying in person whether a musician,
who boasted that he could excite men to madness, was not
an impostor, he submitted to the operation of his skill : but
the consequence was much more terrible than he expected ;
for, becoming actually mad, he killed four of his attendants
in the midst of his transports. A contrary effect of music
we have,^ in the cure of a madman of Alais, in France, by
music. This man, who was a dancing-master, after a fever
of five days, grew furious, and so ungovernable that his
hands were obliged to be tied to his sides : what at first was
rage, in a short time was converted into silent melancholy,
which no arts could exhilarate, nor no medicines remove.
In this sullen and dejected state, an old acquaintance acci-
dentally came to inquire after his health ; he found him
sitting up in bed, tied, and totally regardless of every exter-
nal object round him. Happening, however, to take up a
fiddle that lay in the room, and touching a favourite air, the
poor madman instantly seemed to brighten up at the sound ;
from a recumbent posture, he began to sit up ; and, as the
musician continued playing, the patient seemed desirous of
dancing to the sound : but he was tied, and incapable of
leaving his bed, so that he could only humour the tune with
his head, and those parts of his arms which were at liberty.
Thus the other continued playing, and the dancing-master
practised his own art, as far as he was able, for., about a
quarter of an hour, when suddenly falling into a deep sleep,
in which his disorder came to a crisis, he awaked perfectly
recovered.

" A thousand other instances might be added, equally
true : let it suffice to add one more, which is not true ; I
mean that of the tarantula. Every person who has been in
Italy now well knows, that the bite of this animal, and its
being cured by music, is all a deception. When strangers
come into that part of the country, the country people are
ready enough to take money for dancing to the tarantula.
A friend of mine had a servant who suffered himself to be

* Olai Magni, I. 15. hist. c. 28. f Hist, de l’Acad. 1708, p.

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bit ; the wound, which was little larger than the puncture of
a pin, was uneasy for a few hours, and then became well
without any farther assistance. Some of the country people,
however, still make a tolerable livelihood of the credulity of
strangers, as the musician finds his account in it not less
than the dancer.”

Sounds, like light, are not only extensively diffused, but
are frequently reflected. The laws of this reflection, it is
true, are not as well understood as those of light ; all we
know is, that sound is principally reflected by hard bodies ;
and their being hollow, also, sometimes increases the re-
verberation. “No art, however, can make an echo; and
some who have bestowed great labour and expence upon such
a project, have only erected shapeless buildings, whose silence
was a mortifying lecture upon their presumption.”

The internal cavity of the ear seems to be fitted up for the
purpose of echoing sound with the greatest precision. This
part is fashioned out in the temporal bone, like a cavern cut
into a rock. “ In this the sound is repeated and articulated ;
and, as some anatomists tell us, (for we have as yet but very
little knowledge on this subject,) is beaten against the tym-
panum, or drum of the ear, which moves four little bones
joined thereto ; and these move and agitate the internal air
which lies on the other side ; and lastly, this air strikes and
affects the auditory nerves, which carry the sound to the
brain.”

One of the most common disorders in old age is deafness ;
which probably proceeds from the rigidity of the nerves in
the labyrinth of the ear. This disorder, also, sometimes
proceeds from a stoppage of the wax, which art may easily
remedy. In order to know whether the defect be an internal
or an external one, let the deaf person put a repeating watch
into his mouth, and if he hears it strike, he may be assured
that his disorder proceeds from an external cause, and is,
in some measure, curable : “for there is a passage from
the ears into the mouth, by what anatomists call the
eustachian tube ; and, by this passage, people often hear
sounds, when they are utterly without hearing through the
larger channel : and this also is the reason that we often
see persons who listen with great attention, hearken with
their mouths open, in order to catch all the sound at every
aperture.”

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It often happens, that persons hear differently with one ear
from the other ; and it is generally found that these have
what is called, by musicians, a bad ear . Mr. Buffon, who
has made many trials upon persons of this kind, always
found that their defect in judging properly of sounds pro-
ceeded from the inequality of their ears ; and receiving by
both, at the same time, unequal sensations, they form an
unjust idea. In this manner, as those people hear false, they
also, without knowing it, sing false. Those persons also
frequently deceive themselves with regard to the side from
whence the sound comes, generally supposing the noise to
come on the part of the best ear.

Such as are hard of hearing, find the same advantage in
the trumpet made for this purpose, that short-sighted per-
sons do from glasses. These trumpets might be easily im-
proved so as to increase sounds, in the same manner that the
telescope does objects ; however, they could be used to
advantage only in a place of solitude and stillness, as the
neighbouring sounds would mix with the more distant, and
the whole would produce in the ear nothing but tumult and
confusion .

Hearing is a much more necessary sense to man than to
animals. With these it is only a warning against danger,
or an encouragement to mutual assistance. In man, it is
the source of most of his pleasure ; and without whicj^ the
rest of his senses would be of little benefit. A man born
deaf, must necessarily be dumb ; and his whole sphere of
knowledge must be bounded only by sensual objects. We
have an instance of a young man, who, being born deaf, was
restored at the age of twenty-four to perfect hearing : the
account is given in the Memoirs of the Academy of Sciences,
1703, page 18.

A young man, of the town of Chartres, between the
age of twenty-three and twenty-four, the son of a trades-
man, and deaf and dumb from his birth, began to speak
all of a sudden, to the great astonishment of the whole
town. He gave them to understand, that about three or
four months before, he had heard the sound of the bells
for the first time, and was greatly surprised at this new
and unknown sensation. After some time, a kind of water
issued from his left ear, and he then heard perfectly
well with both. During these three months, he was sedu-

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lously employed in listening without saying a word, and
accustoming himself to speak softly (so as not to be
heard) the words pronounced by others. He laboured
hard also in perfecting himself in the pronunciation, and
in the ideas attached to every sound. At length, having
supposed himself qualified to break silence, he declared,
that he could now speak, although as yet but imperfectly.
Soon after, some able divines questioned him concerning
his ideas of his past state ; and principally with respect
to God, his soul, the morality or turpitude of actions.
The young man, however, had not driven his solitary spe-
culations into that channel. He had gone to mass indeed
with his parents, and learned to sign himself with the
cross, to kneel down and assume all the grimaces of a man
that was praying ; but he did all this without any manner
of knowledge of the intention or the cause ; he saw others
do the like, and that was enough for him ; he knew
nothing even of death, and it never entered into his head ;
he led a life of pure animal instinct ; entirely taken up
with sensible objects, and such as were present, he did
not seem even to make as many reflections upon these, as
might reasonably be expected from his improving situation :
and yet the young man was not in want of understand-
ing ; but the understanding of a man deprived of all com-
merce with others, is so very confined, that the mind is in
some measure totally under the control of its immediate
sensations.

Notwithstanding, it is very possible to communicate
ideas to deaf men, which they previously wanted, and even
give them very precise notions of some abstract subjects,
by means of signs and of letters. A person born deaf,
may, by time, and sufficient pains, be taught to write and
read, to speak, and by the motions of the lips, to under-
stand what is said to him ; however, it is probable that,
as most of the motions of speech are made within the
mouth by the tongue, the knowledge from the motion of
the lips is but very confined : “ nevertheless, I have con-
versed with a gentleman thus taught, and in all the com-
monly occurring questions, and the usual salutations, he
was ready enough, merely by attending to the motion of
the lips alone. When I ventured to speak for a short
continuance, he was totally at a loss, although he under-

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stood the subject, when written, extremely well.” Persons
taught in this manner, were at first considered as prodigies ;
but there have been so many instances of success of late,
and so many are skilful in the art of instructing in this way,
that though still a matter of some curiosity, it ceases to be
an object of wonder.

CHAP. IX.

OF SMELLING, FEELING, AND TASTING.

An animal may be said to fill up that sphere which he
can reach by his senses ; and is actually large in propor-
tion to the sphere to which its organ extends. By sight,
man’s enjoyments are diffused into a wide circle ; that of
hearing, though less widely diffused, nevertheless extends
his powers ; the sense of smelling is more contracted still ;
and the taste and touch are the most confined of all. Thus
man enjoys very distant objects but with one sense only ;
more nearly he brings two senses at once to bear upon them ;
his sense of smelling assists the other two, at its own dis-
tance ; and of such objects, as a man, he may be said to be
in perfect possession.

Each sense, however, the more it acts at a distance, the
more capable it is of making combinations ; and is, conse-
quently, the more improveable. Refined imaginations, and
men of strong minds, take more pleasure, therefore, in im-
proving the delights of the distant senses, than in enjoying
such as are scarce capable of improvement.

By combining the objects of the extensive senses, all the
arts of poetry, painting, and harmony, have been discovered ;
but the closer senses, if I may so call them, such as smell-
ing, tasting, and touching, are, in some measure, as simple
as they are limited, and admit of little variety. The
man of imagination makes a great and an artificial happiness
by the pleasure of altering and combining ; the sensualist
just stops where he began, and cultivates only those
pleasures which he eannot improve. The sensualist is

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contented with those enjoyments that are already made to
his hand ; but the man of pleasure is best pleased with grow-
ing happiness.

Of all the senses, perhaps, there is not one in which man
is more inferior to other animals than in that of smelling.
With man, it is a sense that acts in a narrow sphere, and
disgusts almost as frequently as it gives him pleasure. With
many other animals it is diffused to a very great extent ;
and never seems to offend them. Dogs not only trace the
steps of other animals, but also discover them by the
scent at a very great distance ; and while they are thus
exquisitely sensible of all smells, they seem no way disgusted
by any.

But, although this sense is, in general, so very inferior in
man, it is much stronger in those nations that abstain from
animal food, than among Europeans. The Bramins of India
have a power of smelling, as I am informed, equal to what it
is in most other creatures. They can smell the water which
they drink, that to us seems quite inodorous ; and have a
word, in their language, which denotes a country of fine
water. We are told also, that the negroes of the Antilles,
by the smell alone, can distinguish between the footsteps of
a Frenchman and a negro. It is possible, therefore, that
we may dull this organ by our luxurious way of living ; and
sacrifice to the pleasures of taste, those which might be
received from perfume.

However, it is a sense that we can, in some measure,
dispense with ; and I have known many that wanted it
entirely, with but very little inconvenience from its loss.
In a state of nature it is said to be useful in guiding us to
proper nourishment, and deterring us from that which is
unwholesome ; but, in our present situation, such informa-
tion is but little wanted ; and, indeed, but little attended
to. In fact, the sense of smelling gives us very often false
intelligence. Many things that have a disagreeable odour,
are, nevertheless, wholesome and pleasant to the taste ;
and such as make eating an art, seldom think a meal fit
to please the appetite, till it begins to offend the nose. On
the other hand, there are many things that smell most
gratefully, and yet are noxious, or fatal to the constitution.
Some physicians think that perfumes in general are un-
wholesome ; that they relax the nerves, produce head-

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aches, and even retard digestion. The manehineel apple,
which is known to be deadly poison, is possessed of the
most grateful odour. Some of those mineral vapours that
are often found fatal in the stomach, smell like the sweetest
flowers, and continue thus to flatter till they destroy. This
sense, therefore, as it should seem, was never meant to direct
us in the choice of food, but appears rather as an attendant
than a necessary pleasure.

Indeed, if we examine the natives of different countries,
or even different natives of the same, we shall find no plea-
sure in which they differ so widely as that of smelling.
Some persons are pleased with the smell of a rose : while I
have known others that could not abide to have it approach
them. The savage nations are highly delighted with the
smell of assafcetida, which is to us the most nauseous stink
in nature. It would in a manner seem that our delight
in perfumes was made by habit ; and that a very little
industry could bring us totally to invert the perception
of odours.

Thus much is certain, that many bodies which at one
distance are an agreeable perfume, when nearer are a most
ungrateful odour. Musk and ambergrise, in small quan-
tities, are considered by most persons as highly fragrant ;
and yet, when in larger masses, their scent is insufferable.
From a mixture of two bodies, each whereof is, of itself,
void of all smell, a very powerful smell may be drawn.
Thus, by grinding quick-lime with sal-ammoniac, may be
produced a very foetid mixture. On the contrary, from
a mixture of two bodies, that are separately disagreeable,
a very pleasant aromatic odour may be gained. A mixture
of aqua-fortis with spirit of wine produces this effect. But
not only the alterations of bodies by each other, but the.
smallest change in us, makes a very great alteration in
this sense, and frequently deprives us of it totally. A slight
cold often hinders us from smelling ; and as often changes
the nature of odours. Some persons, from disorder, retain
an incurable aversion to those smells which most pleased
them before : and many have been known to have an anti-
pathy to some animals, whose presence they instantly per-
ceived by the smell. From all this, therefore, the sense of
smelling appears to be an uncertain monitor, easily disordered,
and not much missed when totally wanting.
vol. i. — 15-16. 2T

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330

The sense most nearly allied to smelling is that of tasting.
This, some have been willing to consider merely as a nicer
kind of touch, and have undertaken to account, in a very
mechanical manner, for the difference of savours. “ Such
bQdies,” said they, “ as are pointed, happening to be applied
to the papillae of the tongue, excite a very powerful sensation,
and give us the idea of saltness. Such, on the contrary, as
are of a rounder figure, slide smoothly along the papillae,
and are perceived to be sweet.” In this manner they have
with minute labour, gone through the variety of imagined
forms in bodies, and have given them as imaginary effects.
All we can precisely determine upon the nature of tastes
is, that the bodies to be tasted must be either some-
what moistened, or, in some measure, dissolved by the
saliva, before they can produce a proper sensation :
when both the tongue itself and the body to be tasted
are extremely dry, no taste whatever ensues. The sen-
sation is then changed ; and the tongue instead of tasting,
can only be said, like any other part of the body, to feel
the object.

It is for this reason that children have a stronger relish
of tastes than those who are more advanced in life.
This organ with them, from the greater moisture of
their bodies, is kept in greater perfection ; and is, conse-
quently, better adapted to perform its functions. Every
person remembers how great a pleasure he found in
sweets, while a child ; but his taste growing more obtuse
with age, he is obliged to use artificial means to excite it.
It is then that he is found to call in the assistance of
poignant sauces, and strong relishes of salts and aroma-
tics ; all which the delicacy of his tender organ in child-
hood was unable to endure. His taste grows callous to
the natural relishes, and is artificially formed to others
more unnatural ; so that the highest epicure may be said
to have the most depraved taste; as it is owing to
the bluntness of his organ, that he is obliged to have
recourse to such a variety of expedients to gratify his
appetite.

As smells are often rendered agreeable by habit, so also
tastes may be. Tobacco and coffee, so pleasing to many,
are yet, at first, very disagreeable to all. It is not with-
out perseverance that we begin to have a relish for them ;

1

ANIMALS. 331

we force nature so long, that what was constraint in the be-
ginning, at last becomes inclination.

The grossest, and yet the most useful of all the senses, is
that of feeling. We are often seen to survive under the loss
of the rest ; but of this we can never be totally deprived,
but with life. Although this sense is diffused over all parts
of the body, yet it most frequently happens that those parts
which are most exercised in touching, acquire the greatest
degree of accuracy. Thus the fingers, by long habit, become
greater masters in the art than any other, even where the
sensation is more delicate and fine.* It is from this habit,
therefore, and their peculiar formation, and not as is sup-
posed, from their being furnished with a greater quantity of
nerves, that the fingers are thus perfectly qualified to judge
of forms. Blind men, who are obliged to use them much
oftener, have this sense much finer ; so that the delicacy of
the touch arises rather from the habit of constantly employ-
ing the fingers, than from any fancied nervousness in their
conformation.

All animals that are furnished with hands^ seem to have
more understanding than others. Monkeys have so many
actions like those of men, that they appear to have similar
ideas of the form of bodies. All other creatures, deprived
of hands, can have no distinct ideas of the shape of the
objects by which they are surrounded, as they want this
organ, which serves to examine and measure their forms,
their risings, and depressions. A quadruped, probably, con-
ceives as erroneous an idea of any thing near him, as a child
would of a rock or a mountain that it beheld at a distance.

It may be for this reason, that we often see them frighted
at things with which they ought to be better acquainted.
Fishes, whose bodies are covered with scales, and who have
no organs for feeling, must be the most stupid of all animals.
Serpents, that are likewise destitute, are yet, by winding
round several bodies, better capable of judging of their
form. All these, however, can have but very imperfect
ideas from feeling ; and we have already seen, when deprived
of this sense, how little the rest of the senses are to be
relied on.

The feeling, therefore, is the guardian, the judge, and

* Buffon, vol. vi. p. 80.

f Ibid. vol. vi. p. 82.

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332

the examiner of all the rest of the senses. It establishes
their information, and detects their errors. All the other
senses are altered by time, and contradict their former
evidence ; but the touch still continues the same ; and,
though extremely confined in its operations, yet it is never
found to deceive. The universe, to a man who had only
used the rest of his senses, would be but a scene of illusion ;
every object misrepresented, and all its properties unknown.
Mr. Buffon has imagined a man just newly brought into
existence, describing the illusion of his first sensations,
and pointing out the steps by which he arrived at reality.
He considers him as just created, and awaking amidst the
productions of nature ; and, to animate the narrative still
more strongly, has made his philosophical man a speaker.
The reader will no doubt recollect Adam’s speech in Milton
as being similar. All that I can say to obviate the im-
putation of plagiarism is, that the one treats the subject
more as a poet, the other more as a philosopher. The phi-
losopher’s man describes his first sensations in the following
manner.*

I well remember that joyful anxious moment when I first
became acquainted with my own existence. I was quite ig-
norant of what I was, how I was produced, or from whence
I came. I opened my eyes ; what an addition to my sur-
prise ! the light of the day, the azure vault of heaven, the ver-
dure of the earth, the crystal of the waters, all employed me
at once, and animated and filled me with inexpressible de-
light. I at first imagined that all those objects were within
hie, and made a part of myself.

Impressed with this idea, I turned my eyes to the sun ;
its splendour dazzled and overpowered me ; I shut them
once more ; and, to my great concern, I supposed that
during this short interval of darkness, I was again return-
ing to nothing.

Afflicted, seized with astonishment, I pondered a moment
on this great change, when I heard a variety of unexpected
sounds. The whistling of the wind, and the melody of the
groves, formed a concert, the soft cadence of which sunk
upon my soul. I listened for some time, and was persuaded
that all this music was within me.

* Buffon, vol. vi. p, 88.

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333

Quite occupied with this new kind of existence, I had
already forgotten the light, which was my first inlet into
life ; when I once more opened my eyes, and found myself
again in possession of my former happiness. The gratifica-
tion of the two senses at once, was a pleasure too great for
utterance.

I turned my eyes upon a thousand various objects ; I soon
found that I could lose them, and restore them at will ; and
amused myself more at leisure with a repetition of this new-
made power.

I now began to gaze without emotion, and to hearken
with tranquillity, when a light breeze, the freshness of which
charmed me, wafted its perfumes to my sense of smelling,
and gave me such satisfaction as even increased my self-
love.

Agitated, roused by the various pleasures of my new ex-
istence, I instantly arose, and perceived myself moved along,
as if by some unknown and secret power.

I had scarcely proceeded forward, when the novelty of
my situation once more rendered me immoveable. My
surprise returned ; I supposed that every object around me
had been in motion : I gave to them that agitation which I
produced by changing place ; and the whole creation seemed
once more in disorder.

I lifted my hand to my head ; I touched my forehead ; I
felt my whole frame : I then supposed that my hand was the
principal organ of my existence ; all its informations were
distinct and perfect, and so superior to the senses I had yet
experienced, that I employed myself for some time in re-
peating its enjoyments ; every part of my person I touched,
seemed to touch my hand in turn ; and gave back sensation
for sensation.

I soon found that this faculty was expanded over the whole
surface of my body ; and I now first began to perceive the
limits of my existence, which I had in the beginning sup-
posed spread over all the objects I saw.

Upon casting my eyes upon my body, and surveying my
own form, I thought it greater than all the objects that sur-
rounded me. I gazed upon my person with pleasure ; I
examined the formation of my hand, and all its motions ;
it seemed to me large or little in proportion as I approach-
ed it to my eyes ; I brought it very near, and it then hid

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almost every other object from my sight. I began soon,
however, to find that my sight gave me uncertain in-
formation, and resolved to depend upon my feeling for
redress.

This precaution was of the utmost service ; I renewed
my motions, and walked forward with my face turned to-
wards the heavens. I happened to strike lightly against a
palm-tree, and this renewed my surprise : I laid my hand on
this strange body ; it seemed replete with new wonders, for
it did not return me sensation for sensation, as my former
feelings had done. I perceived that there was something
external, and which did not make a part of my own
existence.

I now, therefore, resolved to touch whatever I saw, and
vainly attempted to touch the sun ; I stretched forth my
arm, and felt only yielding air : at every effort, I fell from
one surprise into another, for every object appeared equally
near me ; and it was not till after an infinity of trials, that I
found some objects farther removed than the rest.

Amazed with the illusions, and the uncertainty of my state,
I sat down beneath a tree ; the most beautiful fruits hung
upon it, within my reach ; I stretched forth my hand, and
they instantly separated from the branch. I was proud of
being able to grasp a substance without me ; I held them up,
and their weight appeared to me like an animated power
that endeavoured to draw them to the earth. I found a
pleasure in conquering their resistance.

I held them near my eye ; I considered their form and
beauty ; their fragrance still more allured me to bring them
nearer ; I approached them to my lips, and drank in their
odours ; the perfume invited my sense of tasting, and I
soon tried a new sense — How new ! how exquisite ! Hitherto
I had tasted only of pleasure ; but now it was luxury.
The power of tasting gave me the idea of possession.

Flattered with this new acquisition, I continued its ex-
ercise, till an agreeable languor stealing upon my mind, I
felt all my limbs become heavy, and all my desires sus-
pended. My sensations were now no longer vivid and
distinct ; but seemed to lose every object, and presented
only feeble images, confusedly marked. At that instant
I sunk upon the flowery bank, and slumber seized me.
All now seemed once more lost to me. It was then as if 1

ANIMALS.

335

was returning to my former nothing. How long my sleep
continued, I cannot tell ; as I yet had no perception of time.
My awaking appeared like a second birth ; and I then per-
ceived that I had ceased for a time to exist. This produced
a new sensation of fear ; and from this interruption in life,
I began to conclude that I was not formed to exist for
ever.

In this state of doubt and perplexity, I began to harbour
new suspicions ; and to fear that sleep had robbed me of some
of my late powers ; when turning on one side, to resolve my
doubts, what was my amazement, to behold another being
like myself, stretched by my side ! New ideas now began to
arise ; new passions, as yet unperceived, with fears and plea-
sures, all took possession of my mind, and prompted my cu-
riosity : love served to complete that happiness which was
begun in the individual ; and every sense was gratified in all
its varieties.

CHAP. X.

OF OLD AGE AND DEATH.*

Every thing in nature has its improvement and decay.
The human form is no sooner arrived at its state of perfec-
tion, than it begins to decline. The alteration is at first in-
sensible ; and often several years are elapsed before we find
ourselves grown old. The news of this disagreeable change
too generally comes from without ; and we learn from others
that we grow old, before we are willing to believe the
report.

When the body has come to its full height, and is ex-
tended into its just dimensions ; it then also begins to re-
ceive an additional bulk, which rather loads than assists
it. This is formed from fat ; which generally at the age of
thirty-five, or forty, covers all the muscles, and inter-
rupts their activity. Every action is then performed with

* This chapter is taken from Mr. Buffon, except where it is marked by
inverted commas.

336

A HISTORY OF

greater labour, and the increase of size only serves as a
forerunner of decay.

The bones, also, become every day more solid. In the
embryo they are as soft almost as the muscles of the flesh ;
but by degrees they harden, and acquire their natural
vigour; but still, however, the circulation is carried on
through them, and, how hard soever the bones may seem,
yet the blood holds its current through them, as through
all other parts of the body. Of this we may be con-
vinced, by an experiment, which was first accidentally
discovered by our ingenious countryman Mr. Belcher.
Perceiving at a friend’s house, that the bones of hogs,
which were fed upon madder, were red, he tried it upon
various animals by mixing this root with their usual
food ; and he found that it tinctured the bones in all ; an
evident demonstration that the juices of the body had a
circulation through the bones. He fed some animals alter-
nately upon madder and their common food, for some
time, and he found their bones tinctured with alternate
layers, in conformity to their manner of living. From
all this he naturally concluded, that the blood circulated
through the bones, as it does through every other part of
the body ; and that, how solid soever they seemed, yet,
like the softest parts, they were furnished through all
their substance, with their proper canals. Nevertheless,
these canals are of very different capacities, during the
different stages of life. In infancy they are capacious ;
and the blood flows almost as freely through the bones
as through any other part of the body : in manhood
their size is greatly diminished ; the vessels are almost
imperceptible ; and the circulation through them is pro-
portionably slow. But, in the decline of life, the blood
which flows through the bones, no longer contributing
to their growth, must necessarily serve to increase their
hardness. The channels that every where run through the
human frame, may be compared to those pipes that we
every where see crusted on the inside, by the water, for
a long continuance, running through them. Both every
day grow less and less, by the small rigid particles which
are deposited within them. Thus as the vessels are by
degrees diminished, the juices also, which were necessary
for the circulation through them, are diminished in pro-

ANIMALS. ' 337

portion ; till at length, in old age, those props of the human
frame are not only more solid, but more brittle.

The cartilages, or gristles, which may be considered as
bones beginning to be formed, grow also more rigid. The
juices circulating through them, for there is a circulation
through all parts of the body, every day contribute to render
them harder ; so that these substances, which, in youth, are
elastic and pliant, in age become hard and bony. As these
cartilages are generally placed near the joints, the motion of
the joints also must, of consequence, become more difficult.
Thus, in old age, every action of the body is performed with
labour ; and the cartilages, formerly so supple, will now
sooner break than bend.

“ As the cartilages acquire hardness, and unfit the joints
for motion, so also that mucous liquor, which is always
separated between the joints, and which serves, like oil to a
hinge, to give them an easy and ready play, is now grown
more scanty. It becomes thicker, and more clammy, more
unfit for answering the purposes of motion ; and from thence,
in old age, every joint is not only stiff, but awkward. At
every motion this clammy liquor is heard to crack ; and it is
not without the greatest effort of the muscles that its resist-
ance is overcome. I have seen an old person, who never
moved a single joint, that did not thus give notice of the
violence done to it.”

The membranes that cover the bones, the joints, and the
rest of the body, become, as we grow old, more dense and
more dry. Those which surround the bones, soon cease to
be ductile. The fibres, of which the muscles or flesh is com-
posed, become every day more rigid ; and while to the touch
the body seems, as we advance in years, to grow softer, it is,
in reality, increasing in hardness. It is the skin, and not
the flesh, that we feel upon such occasions. The fat, and the
flabbiness of that, seems to give an appearance of softness,
which the flesh itself is very far from having. There are few
can doubt this, after trying the difference between the flesh
of young and old animals. The first is soft and tender, the
last is hard and dry.

The skin is the only part of the body that age does not
contribute to harden. That stretches to every degree of ten-
sion ; and we have horrid instances of its pliancy, in many
disorders incident to humanity. In youth, therefore, \vhile
vol. i. — 15-16. 2 U

A HISTORY OF

338

the body is vigorous and increasing, it still gives way to its
growth. But, although it thus adapts itself to our increase,
it does not in the same manner conform to our decay. The
skin, which, in youth was filled and glossy, when the body
begins to decline has not elasticity enough to shrink entirely
with its diminution. It hangs, therefore, in wrinkles, which
no art can remove. The wrinkles of the body, in general,
proceed from this cause. But those of the face seem to
proceed from another ; namely, from the many varieties of
positions into which it is put by the speech, the food, or the
passions. Every grimace, and every passion, wrinkles up the
visage into different forms. These are visible enough in
young persons : but what at first was accidental or transitory,
becomes unalterably fixed in the visage as it grows older.
“ From hence we may conclude, that a freedom from pas-
sions not only adds to the happiness of the mind, but pre-
serves the beauty of the face ; and the person that has not
felt their influence, is less strongly marked by the decays of
nature.”

Hence, therefore, as we advance in age, the bones, the
cartilages, the membranes, the flesh, the skin, and every fibre
of the body, become more solid, more brittle, and more dry.
Every part shrinks, eveiy motion becomes more slow : the
circulation of the fluids is performed with less freedom ; per-
spiration diminishes ; the secretions alter ; the digestion be-
comes slow and laborious ; and the juices no longer serving
to convey their accustomed nourishment, those parts may be
said to live no longer when the circulation ceases. Thus the
body dies by little and little ; all its functions are diminished
by degrees ; life is driven from otf&l part of the frame to an-
other ; universal rigidity prevails ; and death at last seizes
upon the little that is left.

As the bones, the cartilages, the muscles, and all other
parts of the body, are softer in women than in men, these
parts must, of consequence, require a longer time to come
to that hardness which hastens death. Women, therefore,
ought to be a longer time in growing old than men ; and
this is actually the case. If we consult the tables which have
been drawn up respecting human life, we shall find that, after
a certain age, they are more long-lived than men, all other
circumstances the same. A woman of sixty has a better
chance than a man of the same age to live till eighty. Upon

ANIMALS.

339

the whole, we may infer, that such persons as have been slow
in coming up to maturity, will also be slow in growing
old ; and this holds as well with regard to other animals as
to man.

The whole duration of the life of either vegetables or ani-
mals, may be, in some measure, determined from their man-
ner of coming to maturity. The tree, or the animal, which
takes but a short time to increase to its utmost pitch, perishes
much sooner than such as are less premature. In both the
increase upwards is first accomplished ; and not till they have
acquired their greatest degree of height do they begin to
spread in bulk. Man grows in stature till about the age of
seventeen ; but his body is not completely developed till
about thirty. Dogs, on the other hand, are at their utmost
size in a year, and become as bulky as they usually are in
another. However, man, who is so long in growing, con-
tinues to live fourscore, or a hundred years ; but the dog
seldom above twelve or thirteen. In general, also, it may be
said, that large animals live longer than little ones, as they
usually take a longer time to grow. But in all animals, one
thing is equally certain, that they carry the cause of their
own decay about them ; and that their deaths are necessary
and inevitable. The prospects which some visionaries have
formed of perpetuating life by remedies, have been often
enough proved false by their own example. Such unac-
countable schemes would, therefore, have died with them,
had not the love of life always augmented our credulity.

When the body is naturally well formed, it is possible to
lengthen out the period of life for some years by manage-
ment. Temperance in is often found conducive to this
end. The famous Cornaro, who lived to above a hundred
years, although his constitution was naturally feeble, is a
strong instance of the benefit of an abstemious life. Mode-
ration in the passions also may contribute to extend the term
of our existence. “ Fontenelle, the celebrated writer, was
naturally of a very weak and delicate habit of body. He was
affected by the smallest irregularities ; and had frequently
suffered severe fits of illness from the slightest causes. But
the remarkable equality of his temper, and his seeming want
of passion, lengthened out his life to above an hundred. It
was remarkable of him, that nothing could vex or make him
uneasy ; every occurrence seemed equally pleasing ; and no

A HISTORY OF

340

event, however unfortunate, seemed to come unexpected.”
However, the term of life can be prolonged but for a very
little time by any art we can use. We are told of men who
have lived beyond the ordinary duration of human existence ;
such as Parr, who lived to a hundred and forty-four ; and
Jenkins, to a hundred and sixty-five ; yet these men used no
peculiar arts to prolong life ; on the contrary, it appears
that these, as well as others, remarkable for their longevity,
were peasants accustomed to the greatest fatigues, who had
no settled rules of diet, but who often indulged in accidental
excesses. Indeed, if we consider that the European, the
Negro, the Chinese, and the American, the civilized man and
the savage, the rich and the poor, the inhabitant of the city
and of the country, though all so different in other respects,
are yet entirely similar in the period allotted them for living :
if we consider that neither the difference of race, of climate,
of nourishment, of convenience, or of soil, makes any differ-
ence in the term of life ; if we consider that those men who
live upon raw flesh, or dried fishes, upon sago, or rice, upon
cassava, or upon roots, nevertheless live as long as those who
are fed upon bread and meat ; we shall readily be brought to
acknowledge, that the duration of life depends neither upon
habit, customs or the quantity of food ; we shall confess,
that nothing can change the laws of that mechanism which
regulates the number of our years, and which can chiefly be
affected only by long fasting, or great excess.

If there be any difference in the different periods of man’s
existence, it ought principally to be ascribed to the quality
of the air. It has been observed, that in elevated situations
there have been found more ol<j|leople than in those that
were low. The mountains of Scotland, Wales, Auvergne,
and Switzerland, have furnished more instances of extreme
old age, than the plains of Holland, Flanders, Germany, or
Poland. But, in general, the duration of life is nearly the
same in most countries. Man, if not cut off by accidental
diseases, is often found to live to ninety or a hundred years.
Our ancestors did not live beyond that date : and, since the
times of David, this term has undergone little alteration.

If we be asked, how in the beginning men lived so much
longer than at present, and by what means their lives were
extended to nine hundred and thirty, or even nine hundred
and sixtv vears ; it may be answered, that the productions of

ANIMALS.

341

the earth, upon which they fed, might be of a different nature
at that time from what they are at present. “ It may be
answered, that the term was abridged by Divine command,
in order to keep the earth from being overstocked with hu-
man inhabitants ; since, if every person were now to live and
generate for nine hundred years, mankind would be increased
to such a degree, that there would be no room for subsist-
ence: so that the plan of Providence would be altered;
which is seen not to produce life without providing a proper
supply.”

But to whatever extent life may be prolonged, or however
some may have delayed the effects of age, death is the cer-
tain goal to which all are hastening. All the causes of decay
which have been mentioned contribute to bring on this
dreaded dissolution. However, nature approaches to this
awful period by slow and imperceptible degrees ; life is con-
“ sumed day after day ; and some one of our faculties, or vital
principles, is every hour dying before the rest ; so that death
is only the last shade in the picture ; and it is probable that
man suffers a greater change in going from youth to age,
than from age into the grave. When we first begin to live,
our lives may scarcely be said to be our own ; as the child
grows, life increases in the same proportion ; and is at its
height in the prime of manhood. But as soon as the body
begins to decrease, life decreases also; for as the human
frame diminishes, and its juices circulate in smaller quantity,
life diminishes and circulates with less vigour ; so that as
we begin to live by degrees, we begin to die in the same
manner.

Why then should we^fear death, if our lives have been
such as not to make eternity dreadful ? Why should we fear
that moment, which is prepared by a thousand other mo-
ments of the same kind ? the first pangs of sickness being
probably greater than the last struggles of departure. Death,
in most persons, is as calmly endured as the disorder that
brings it on. If we inquire from those whose business it is
to attend the sick and the dying, we shall find that, except
in a very few acute cases, where the patient dies in agonies,
the greatest number die quietly, and seemingly without pain :
and even the agonies of the former rather terrify the spec-
tators than torment the patient ; for how many have we not
seen who have been accidentally relieved from this extremity,

342

A HISTORY OF

and yet had no memory of what they then endured ? In fact,
they had ceased to live during that time when they ceased to
have sensation ; and their pains were only those of which they
had an idea.

The greatest number of mankind die, therefore, without
sensation ; and of those few that still preserve their faculties
entire to the last moment, there is scarcely one of them that
does not also preserve the hopes of still outliving his disor-
der. Nature, for the happiness of man, has rendered this
sentiment stronger than his reason. A person dying of an
incurable' disorder, which he must know to be so, by frequent
examples of his case ; which he perceives to be so by the
inquietude of all around him, by the tears of his friends, and
the departure or the face of the physician, is, nevertheless,
still in hopes of getting over it. His interest is so great,
that he only attends to his own representations ; the judg-
ment of others is considered as a hasty conclusion ; and
while death every moment makes new inroads upon his con-
stitution, and destroys life in some part, hope still seems
to escape the universal ruin, and is the last that submits to
the blow.

Cast your eyes upon a sick man, who has a hundred times
told you that he felt himself dying, that he was convinced
he could not recover, and that he was ready to expire ; exa-
mine what passes on his visage, when, through zeal or in-
discretion, any one comes to tell him that his end is at
hand. You will see him change, like one who is told an
unexpected piece of news. He now appears not to have
thoroughly believed what he had been telling you himself :
he doubted much ; and his fears were greater than his
hopes ; but he still had some feeble expectations of living,
and would not have seen the approaches of death, unless
he had been alarmed by the mistaken assiduity of his
attendants.

Death, therefore, is not that terrible thing which we sup-
pose it to be. It is a spectre which frights us at a distance,
but which disappears when we come to approach it more
closely. Our ideas of its terrors are conceived in prejudice,
and dressed up by fancy : we regard it not only as the great-
est misfortune, but as also an evil accompanied with the
most excruciating tortures ; we have even increased our ap-
prehensions, by reasoning on the extent of our sufferings.

ANIMALS. 343

“ It must be dreadful,” say some, “ since it is sufficient to
separate the soul from the body : it must be long, since our
sufferings are proportioned to the succession of our ideas ;
and these being painful, must succeed each other with
extreme rapidity.” In this manner has false philosophy
laboured to augment the miseries of our nature ; and to
aggravate that period which Nature has kindly covered with
insensibility. Neither the mind nor the body can suffer
these calamities : the mind is, at that time, mostly without
ideas ; and the body too much enfeebled to be capable of
perceiving its pain. A very acute pain produces either death
or fainting, which is a state similar to death : the body can
suffer but to a certain degree ; if the torture become exces-
sive, it destroys itself ; and the mind ceases to perceive, when
the body can no longer endure.

In this manner, excessive pain admits of no reflection :
and wherever there are any signs of it, we may be sure that
the sufferings of the patient are no greater than what we our-
selves may have remembered to endure.

But, in the article of death, we have many instances in
which the dying person has shewn that very reflection which
presupposes an absence of the greatest pain ; and, conse-
quently, that pang which ends life cannot even be so great
as those which have preceded. Thus, when Charles XII.
was shot at the siege of Frederickshall, he was seen to clap
his hand on the hilt of his sword ; and although the blow
was great enough to terminate one of the boldest and bravest
lives in the world, yet it was not painful enough to destroy
reflection. He perceived himself attacked ; he reflected that
he ought to defend himself ; and his body obeyed the im-
pulse of his mind, even in the last extremity. Thus it is the
prejudice of persons in health, and not the body in pain, that
makes us suffer from the approach of death ; we have all our
lives contracted a habit of making out excessive pleasures and
pains ; and nothing but repeated experience shews us how
seldom the one can be suffered, or the other enjoyed to the
utmost.

If there be any thing necessary to confirm what we have
said concerning the gradual cessation of life, or the insensi-
ble approaches of our end, nothing can more effectually prove
it than the uncertainty of the signs of death. If we consult

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344

what Winslow or Bruhier have said upon this subject, we
shall be convinced, that between life and death the shade is
so very undistinguishable, that even all the powers of art can
scarcely determine where the one ends, and the other begins.
The colour of the visage, the warmth of the body, the sup-
pleness of the joints, are but uncertain signs of life still sub-
sisting; while, on the contrary, the paleness of the com-
plexion, the coldness of the body, the stiffness of the extre-
mities, the cessation of all motion, and the total insensibility
of the parts, are but uncertain marks of death begun. In
the same manner, also, with regard to the pulse and the
breathing, these motions are often so kept under, that it is
impossible to perceive them. By approaching a looking-
glass to the mouth of the person supposed to be dead, people
often expect to find whether he breathes or not. But this
is a very uncertain experiment : the glass is frequently sul-
lied by the vapour of the dead man’s body ; and often the
person is still alive, although the glass is no way tarnished.
In the same manner, neither burning nor scarifying, neither
noises in the ears nor pungent spirits applied to the nostrils,
give certain signs of the discontinuance of life ; and there are
many instances of persons who have endured them all, and
afterwards recovered without any external assistance, to the
astonishment of the spectators. How careful, therefore,
should we be, before we commit those who are dearest to
us to the grave, to be well assured of their departure : expe-
rience, justice, humanity, all persuade us not to hasten the
funerals of our friends, but to keep their bodies unburied, until
we have certain signs of their real decease.

ANIMALS.

345

CHAP. XI.

OF THE VARIETIES IN THE HUMAN RACE.

Hitherto we have compared man with other animals;
we now come to compare men with each other. We have
hitherto considered him as an individual, endowed with ex-
cellencies above the rest of the creation ; we now come to
consider the advantages which men have over men, and the
various kinds with which our earth is inhabited.

If we compare the minute differences of mankind, there
is scarce one nation upon the earth that entirely resembles
another ; and there may be said to be as many different
kinds of men as there are countries inhabited. One
polished nation does not differ more from another, than
the merest savages do from those savages that lie even
contiguous to them ; and it frequently happens that a ri-
ver, or a mountain, divides two barbarous tribes that are
unlike each other in manners, customs, features, and com-
plexion. But these differences, however perceivable, do
not form such distinctions as come within a general pic-
ture of the varieties of mankind. Custom, accident, or
fashion, may produce considerable alterations in neigh-
bouring nations ; their being derived from ancestors of a
different climate, or complexion, may contribute to make
accidental distinctions, which every day grow less ; and
it may be said, that two neighbouring nations, how unlike
soever at first, will assimilate by degrees ; and by long
continuance, the difference between them will at last be-
come almost imperceptible. It is not, therefore, between
contiguous nations we are to look for any strong marked
varieties in the human species : it is by comparing the in-
habitants of opposite climates and distant countries ;
those who live within the polar circles, with those be-
neath the equator ; those that live on one side of the globe,
with those that occupy the other.

Of all animals, the differences between mankind are the
smallest. Of the lower races of creatures, the changes are
so great as often entirely to disguise the natural animal,
and to distort, or to disfigure, its shape. But the chief
vol. i. — 15-16. 2X

A HISTORY OF

346

differences in man are rather taken from the tincture of his
skin than the variety of his figure : as in all climates he
preserves his erect deportment, and the marked superiority
of his form. If we look round the world, there seem to be
not above six# distinct varieties in the human species, each
of which is strongly marked, and speaks the kind seldom to
have mixed with any other. But there is nothing in the
shape, nothing in the faculties, that shews their coming
from different originals ; and the varieties of climate, of
nourishment, and custom, are sufficient to produce every
change.

The first distinct race of men is found round the polar
regions. The Laplanders, the Esquimaux Indians, the Sa-
moeid Tartars, the inhabitants of Nova Zembla, the Boran-
dians, the Greenlanders, and the natives of Kamtschatka,
may be considered as one peculiar race of people, all
greatly resembling each other in their stature, their com-
plexion, their customs, and their ignorance. These na-
tions being under a rigorous climate, where the produc-
tions of nature are but few, and the provisions coarse
and unwholesome, their bodies have shrunk to the nature of
their food ; and their complexions have suffered, from
cold, almost a similar change to what heat is known to pro-
duce ; their colour being a deep brown, in some places in-
clining to actual blackness. These, therefore, in general,
are found to be a race of short stature and odd shape,
with countenances as savage as their manners are barbar-
ous. The visage in these countries, is large and broad, the
nose flat and short, the eyes of a yellowish brown, in-
clining to blackness, the eve-lids drawn towards the
temples, the cheek-bones extremely high, the mouth very
large, the lips thick and turned outwards, the voice thin
and squeaking, the head large, the hair black and straight,
the colour of the skin of a dark grayish. They are
short in stature, the generality not being above four feet
high, and the tallest not above five. Among all these na-
tions the women are as deformed as the men, and resemble
them so nearly, that one cannot at first distinguish the sexes
among them.

* I have taken four of these varieties from Linnaeus •, those of the
Laplanders and Tartars from Mr. Buffon.

f Krantz. ,

ANIMALS.

347

These nations not only resemble each other in their de-
formity, their dwarfishnes, the colour of their hair and
eyes, but they have, in a great measure, the same inclina-
tions, and the same manners, being all equally rude, super-
stitious, and stupid. The Danish Laplanders have a large
black cat, to which they communicate their secrets, and
consult in all their affairs. Among the Swedish Laplanders
there is in every family a drum for consulting the devil ;
and although these nations are robust and nimble, yet they
are so cowardly that they never can be brought into
the field. Gustavus Adolphus attempted to form a re-
giment of Laplanders, but he found it impossible to accom-
plish his design ; for it should seem that they can live only
in their own country, and in their own manner. They
make use of skates, which are made of fir, of near three
feet long, and half a foot broad ; these are pointed, and
raised before, and tied to the foot by straps of leather.
With these they skate on the icy snow, and with such velo-
city, that they very easily overtake the swiftest animals.
They make use also of a pole, pointed with iron at one
end, and rounded at the other. This pole serves to push
them along, to direct their course, to support them from
falling, to stop the impetuosity of their motion, and to kill
that game which they have overtaken. Upon these skates
they descend the steepest mountains, and scale the most
craggy precipices ; and, in these exercises, the women are
not less skilful than the men. They have all the use of the
the bow and arrow, which seems to be a contrivance com-
mon to all barbarous nations ; and which, however, at first,
required no small skill to invent. They launch a javelin,
also, with great force, and some say, that they can hit a
mark, no larger than a crown, at thirty yards distance,
and with such force as would pierce a man through.
They are all hunters ; and particularly pursue the ermine,
the fox, the ounce, and the martin, for the sake of their
skins. These they barter, with their southern neighbours,
for brandy and tobacco ; both which they are fond of to
excess. Their food is principally dried fish, the flesh of
rein-deer and bears. Their bread is composed of the bones
of fishes, pounded and mixed with the inside tender bark
of the pine-tree. Their drink is train oil or brandy ; and,
when deprived of these, water, in which juniper berries

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348

have been infused. With regard to their morals, they have
all the virtues of simplicity, and all the vices of ignorance.
They offer their wives and daughters to strangers ; and
seem to think it a particular honour if their offer be ac-
cepted. They have no idea of religion, or a Supreme Be-
ing ; the greatest number of them are idolaters ; and their
superstition is as profound as their worship is contemptible.
Wretched and ignorant as they are, yet they do not want
pride ; they set themselves far above the rest of mankind ;
and Krantz assures us, that when the Greenlanders are
got together, nothing is so customary among them as to
turn the Europeans into ridicule. They are obliged,
indeed, to yield them the pre-eminence in understanding
and mechanic arts ; but they do not know how to set
any value upon these. They therefore count themselves the
only civilized and well-bred people in the world ; and it is
common with them, when they see a quiet or a modest
stranger, to say that he is almost as well bred as a Green-
lander.

From this description, therefore, this whole race of peo-
ple may be considered as distinct from any other. — Their
long continuance in a climate the most inhospitable, their
being obliged to subsist on food the most coarse and ill
prepared, the savageness of their manners, and their labori-
ous lives, all have contributed to shorten their stature, and
to deform their bodies. # In proportion as we approach
towards the north pole, the size of the natives appears to
diminish, growing less and less as we advance higher, till we
come to those latitudes that are destitute of all inhabitants
whatsoever.

The wretched natives of these climates seem fitted by
nature to endure the rigours of their situation. As their
food is but scanty and precarious, their patience in hunger
is amazing. ■f* A man, who has eaten nothing for four
days, can manage his little canoe in the most furious
waves, and calmly subsist in the midst of a tempest, that
would quickly dash an European boat to pieces. Their
strength is not less amazing than their patience ; a woman
among them will carry a piece of timber, or a stone, near
double the weight of what an European can lift. Their

* Ellis’s Voyage, p. 256.

f Krantz. p. 134. vol. i.

ANIMALS.

349

bodies are of a dark grey all over ; and their faces brown,
or olive. The tincture of their skins partly seems to arise
from their dirty manner of living, being generally daubed
with train-oil ; and partly from the rigours of climate, as
the sudden alterations of cold and raw air in winter, and
of burning heats in summer, shade their complexions by
degrees, till, in a succession of generations, they at last be-
come almost black. As the countries in which these reside
are the most barren, so the natives seem the most bar-
barous of any part of the earth. Their more southern
neighbours of America, treat them with the same scorn
that a polished nation would treat a savage one ; and we
may readily judge of the rudeness of those manners, which
even a native of Canada can think more barbarous than his
own.

But the gradations of nature are imperceptible ; and,
while the north is peopled with such miserable inhabitants,
there are here and there to be found, upon the edges of these
regions, people of a larger stature, and completer figure.
A whole race of the dwarfish breed is often found to come
down from the north, and settle more to the southward;
and, on the contrary, it sometimes happens that southern
nations are seen higher up, in the midst of these diminutive
tribes, where they have continued for time immemorial.
Thus the Ostiac Tartars seem to be a race that have tra-
velled down from the north, and to be originally sprung
from the minute savages we have been describing.
There are also Norwegians and Finlanders, of proper
stature who are seen to inhabit in latitudes higher even
than Lapland. These, however, are but accidental migra-
tions, and serve as shades to unite the distinct varieties of
mankind.

The second great variety in the human species, seems
to be that of the Tartar race ; from whence, probably,
the little men we have been describing originally pro-
ceeded. The Tartar country, taken in general, compre-
hends the greatest part of Asia ; and is, consequently, a
general name given to a number of nations, of various
forms and complexions. But, however they seem to differ
from each other, they all agree in being very unlike the
people of any other country. All these nations have the
upper part of the visage very broad, and wrinkled even

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350

while yet in their youth. Their noses are short and flat,
their eyes little, and sunk in their heads ; and, in some of
them, they are seei^fiveor sixjnches asunder.^ Their cheek-
bones are high, the lower part or meir visage narrow, the
chin long and advanced forward, their teeth of an enormous
size, and growing separate from each other ; their eyebrows
thick, large, and covering their eyes ; their eyelids thick, the
face broad and flat, the complexion olive coloured, and the
hair black. They are of a middle size, extremely strong,
and very robust. They have but little beard, which grows
straggling on the chin. They have large thighs, and short
legs. The ugliest of all are the Calmucks, in whose appear-
ance there seems to be something frightful. They all lead
an erratic life, remaining under tents of hair, or skins.
They live upon horse flesh, and that of camels, either raw or
a little sodden between the horse and the saddle. They
eat also fish dried in the sun. Their most usual drink is
mares’ milk, fermented with millet ground into meal. They
all have the head shaven, except a lock of hair on the top,
which they let grow sufficiently long to form into tresses, on
each side of the face. The women, who are as ugly as the
men, wear their hair, which they bind up with bits of cop-
per, and other ornaments of a like nature. The majority
of these nations have no religion, no settled notions of mo-
rality, no decency of behaviour. They are chiefly robbers ;
and the natives of Dagestan, who live near their more
polished neighbours, make a traffic of Tartar slaves who
have been stolen, and sell them to the Turks and the Per-
sians. Their chief riches consist in horses, of which per-
haps there are more in Tartary than in any other part of the
world. The natives are taught by custom to live in the
same place with their horses, they are continually employed
in managing them, and at last bring them to such great
obedience, that the horse seems actually to understand the
rider’s intention.

To this race of men, also, we must refer the Chinese and
the Japanese, however different they seem in their manners
and ceremonies. It is the form of the body that we
are now principally considering ; and there is, between
these countries, a surprising resemblance. It is in gene-
ral allowed, that the Chinese have broad faces, small
eyes, flat noses, and scarce any beard ; that they are broad

ANIMALS.

351

and square shouldered, and rather less in stature than Eu-
ropeans. These are marks common to them and the Tar-
tars, and they may, therefore, be considered as being de-
rived from the same original. “ I have observed,” says
Chardin, “ that in all the people from the east and the
north of the Caspian sea, to the peninsula of Malacca, that
the lines of the face, and the formation of the visage, is the
same. This has induced me to believe, that all these
nations are derived from the same original, however different
either their complexions or their manners may appear : for
as to the complexion, that proceeds entirely from the climate
and the food ; and as to the manners, these are generally
the result of their different degrees of wealth or power.”
That they come from one stock, is evident also from this,
that the Tartars who settle in China, quickly resemble the
Chinese; and, on the contrary, the Chinese who settle
in Tartary soon assume the figure and the manners of the
Tartars.

The Japanese so much resemble the Chinese, that one
cannot hesitate to rank them in the same class They only
differ in being rather browner, as they inhabit a more south-
ern climate. They are, in general, described as of a brown
complexion, a short stature, a broad flat face, a very
little beard, and black hair. Their customs and ceremo-
nies are nearly the same ; their ideas of beauty similar ;
and their artificial deformities of blackening the teeth,
and bandaging the feet, entirely alike in both countries.
They both, therefore, proceed from the same stock; and
although they differ very much from their brutal progeni-
tors, yet they owe their civilization wholly to the mild-
ness of the climate in which they reside, and to the pe-
culiar fertility of the soil. To this tribe, also, we may re-
fer the Cochin Chinese, the Siamese, the Tonquinese,
and the inhabitants of Arracan, Laos, and Pegu, who,
though all differing from the Chinese and each other, never-
theless have too strong a resemblance not to betray their
common original.

Another, which makes the third variety in the human
species, is, that of the southern Asiatics ; the form of whose
features and persons may be easily distinguished from those
of the Tartar races. The nations that inhabit the peninsula
of India, seem to be the principal stock from whence the

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352

inhabitants of the islands that lie scattered in the Indian
ocean have been peopled. They are, in general, of a slen-
der shape, with long straight black hair, and often with Ro-
man noses. Thus they resemble the Europeans in stature
and features ; but greatly differ in colour and habit of body.
The Indians are of an olive colour, and, in the more south-
ern parts, quite black; although the word Mogul, in
their language, signifies a white man. The women are ex-
tremely delicate, and bathe very often ; they are of an
olive colour, as well as the men : their legs and thighs
are long, and their bodies short, which is the opposite to
what is seen among the women of Europe. They are, as
I am assured, by no means so fruitful as the European wo-
men ; but they feel the pains of child-birth with much less
sensibility, and are generally up and well the* day follow-
ing. In fact, these pains seem greatest in all countries
where the women are most delicate, or the constitution
enfeebled by luxury or indolence. The women of savage
nations seem, in a great measure, exempt from painful
labours ; and even the hard-working wives of the peasants
among ourselves, have this advantage from a life of in-
dustry, that their child-bearing is less painful. Over all In-
dia, the children arrive sooner at maturity, than with us
of Europe. They often marry and consummate, the hus-
band at ten years old, and the wife at eight ; and they fre-
quently have children at that age. However, the women
who are mothers so soon, cease bearing before they are ar-
rived at thirty; and at that time they appear wrinkled, and
seem marked with all the deformities of age. The Indians
have long been remarkable for their cowardice and effe-
minacy ; every conqueror, that has attempted the inva-
sion of their country, having succeeded. The warmth of
the climate entirely influences their manners ; they are
slothful, submissive, and luxurious ,* satisfied with sensual
happiness alone, they find no pleasure in thinking ; and
contented with slavery, they are ready to obey any mas-
ter. Many tribes among them eat nothing that has life ;
they are fearful of killing the meanest insect ; and have even
erected hospitals for the maintenance of all kinds of ver-
min. The Asiatic dress is a loose flowing garment, ra-
ther fitted for the purposes of peace and indolence, than
of industry or war. The vigour of the Asiatics is in ge-

ANIMALS,

3' H o

oo

neral, conformable to their dress and nourishment ; fed upon
rice, and clothed in effeminate silk vestments, their soldiers
are unable to oppose the onset of an European army ; and
from the times of Alexander to the present day, we have
scarcely any instances of their success in arms. Upon the
whole, therefore, they may be considered as a feeble race of
sensualists, too dull to find rapture in any pleasures, and too
indolent to turn their gravity into wisdom. To this class we
may refer the Persians, and Arabians, and, in general, the
inhabitants of the islands that lie scattered in the Indian
ocean.

The fourth striking variety in the human species, is to
be found among the negroes of Africa. This gloomy race
of mankind is found to blacken all the southern parts of
Africa, from eighteen degrees north of the line, to its ex-
treme termination at the Cape of Good Hope. I know it
is said, that the Caffres, who inhabit the southern extre-
mity of that large continent, are not to be ranked among
the negro race : however, the difference between them, in
point of colour and features, is so small, that they may
very easily be grouped in this general picture ; and in the
one or two that I have seen, I could not perceive the
smallest difference. Each of the negro nations, it must
be owned, differ from each other ; they have their peculiar
countries for beauty, like us ; and different nations, as in
Europe, pride themselves upon the regularity of their fea-
tures. Those of Guinea, for instance, are extremely ugly,
and have an insupportable scent ; those of Mosambique
are reckoned beautiful, and have no ill smell whatsoever.
The negroes, in general, are of a black colour, with a
smooth soft skin. This smothness proceeds from the
downy softness of the hair which grows upon it ; the
strength of which give a roughness to the feel, in those of
a white complexion. Their skins, therefore, have a velvet
smoothness, and seem less braced upon the muscles than
ours. The hair of their heads differs entirely from what
we are accustomed to, being soft, woolly, and short. The
beard also partakes of the same qualities ; but in this it
differs, that, it soon turns gray, which the hair is seldom
found to do ; so that several are seen with white beards,
and black hair, at the same time. Their eyes are gene-
rally of a deep hazel ; their noses flat and short ; their lips
vol. i.— 15-16. 2 Y

A HISTORY OF

354

thick and tumid ; and their teeth of an ivory whiteness .
This their only beauty, however, is set off by the colour
of their skin ; the contrast between the black and white
being the more observable. It is false to say that their
features are deformed by art ; since, in the negro children
born in European countries, the same deformities are seen
to prevail ; the same flatness in the nose ; and the same
prominence in the lips. They are, in general, said to be
well shaped ; but of such as I have seen, I never found one
that might be justly called so ; their legs being mostly ill
formed, and commonly bending outward on the shin-bone.
But it is not only in those parts of their bodies that are
obvious, that they are disproportioned ; those parts which
among us are usually concealed by dress, with them are
large and languid.* The women’s breasts, after bearing
one child, hang down below the navel ; and it is customary
with them to suckle the child at their backs, by throwing
the breasts over the shoulder. As their persons are thus
naturally deformed, at least to our imaginations, their
minds are equally incapable of strong exertions. The
climate seems to relax their mental powers still more than
those of the body ; they are, therefore, in general, found
to be stupid, indolent, and mischievous. The Arabians
themselves, many colonies of whom have migrated south-
ward into the most inland parts of Africa, seem to have
degenerated from their ancestors ; forgetting their an-
cient learning, and losing their beauty, they have become
a race scarcely any way distinguishable from the original
natives. Nor does it seem to have fared otherwise with
the Portuguese, who, about two centuries ago, settled
along this coast. They also are become almost as black
as the negroes, and are said by some to be even more
barbarous.

The inhabitants of America make a fifth race, as different
'from all the rest in colour, as they are distinct in habitation.
The natives of America (except in the northern extremity,
where they resemble the Laplanders) are of a red or copper

* Linnaeus, in prima linea sua, faeminas Africanas depingit sieut
aliquid deforme in parte genitali gestantes, quod sinum pudoris nuncupat.
Attamen nihil differunt a nostratibus in hac parte nisi quod labia pu-
dendae sint aliquantulum tumidiora. In hominibus etiam penis est
longior et multo laxior.

ANIMALS.

355

colour ; and although, in the old world, different climates
produce a variety of complexions and customs, the natives
of the new continent seem to resemble each other in almost
every respect. They are all nearly of one colour ; all have
black thick straight hair, and thin black beards ; which,
however, they take care to pluck out by the roots. They
have, in general, flat noses, with high cheek-bones, and
small eyes ; and these deformities of nature they endeavour
to increase by art : they flatten the nose, and often the
whole head of their children, while the bones are yet sus-
ceptible of every impression. They paint the body and face
of various colours, and consider the hair upon any part of it,
except the head, as a deformity which they are careful to
eradicate. Their limbs are generally slighter made than
those of the Europeans ; and, I am assured, they are far from
being so strong. All these savages seem to be cowardly ;
they seldom are known to face their enemies in the field, but
fall upon them at an advantage ; and the greatness of their
fears serves to increase the rigours of their cruelty. The
wants which they often sustain, make them surprisingly
patient in adversity : distress, by being grown familiar, be-
comes less terrible ; so that their patience is less the result
of fortitude than of custom. They have all a serious air,
although they seldom think ; and, however cruel to their
enemies, are kind and just to each other. In short, the
customs of savage nations in every country are almost the
same ; a wild, independent, and precarious life, produces a
peculiar train of virtues and vices : and patience and hos-
pitality, indolence and rapacity, content and sincerity, are
found not less among the natives of America, than all the
barbarous nations of the globe;

The sixth and last variety of the human species, is that
of the Europeans, and the nations bordering on them. In
this class we may reckon the Georgians, Circassians, and
Mingrelians, the inhabitants of Asia Minor, and the northern
parts of Africa, together with a part of those countries which
lie north-west of the Caspian sea. The inhabitants of these
countries differ a good deal from each other ; but they
generally agree in the colour of their bodies, the beauty of
their complexions, the largeness of their limbs, and the vigour
of their understandings. Those arts which mighf have had
their invention among the other races of mankind, have

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356

come to perfection there. In barbarous countries the inha-
bitants go either naked, or are awkwardly clothed in furs or
feathers ; in countries semi-barbarous, the robes are loose
and flowing ; but here the clothing is less made for show
than expedition, and un.ites, as much as possible, the ex-
tremes of ornament and dispatch.

To one or other of these classes we may refer the people of
every country : and as each nation has been less visited by
strangers, or has had less commerce with the rest of man-
kind, we find their persons and their manners more strongly
impressed with one or other of the characters mentioned
above. On the contrary, in those places where trade has
long flourished, or where enemies have made many incur-
sions, the races are usually found blended, and properly fall
beneath no one character. Thus, in the islands of the
Indian ocean, where a trade has been carried on for time
immemorial, the inhabitants appear to be a mixture of all
the nations upon the earth ; white, olive, brown, and black
men, are all seen living together in the same city, and pro-
pagate a mixed breed, that can be referred to none of the
classes into which naturalists have thought proper to divide
mankind.

Of all the colours by which mankind is diversified, it is
easy to perceive, that ours is not only the most beautiful to
the eye, but the most advantageous. The fair complexion
seems, if I may so express it, as a transparent covering to
the soul ; all the variations of the passions, every expression
of joy or sorrow, flows to the cheek, and, without language,
marks the mind. In the slightest change of health also the
colour of the European face is the most exact index, and
often teaches us to prevent those disorders that we do not
as yet perceive : not but that the African black, and the
Asiatic olive complexions, admit of their alterations also ;
but these are neither so distinct, nor so visible, as with
us ; and in some countries the colour of the visage is
never found to change ; but the face continues in the
same settled shade in shame and in sickness, in anger and
despair.

The colour, therefore, most natural to man, ought to be
that which is most becoming ; and it is found, that, in all
regions, the children are born fair, or at least red, and that
they grow more black, or tawny, as they advance in age.

ANIMALS.

357

It should seem, consequently, that man is naturally white ;
since the same causes that darken the complexion in infants,
may have originally operated, in slower degrees, in blacken-
ing whole nations. We could, therefore, readily account
for the blackness of different nations, did we not see the
Americans, who live under the line, as well as the natives of
Negroland, of a red colour, and but a very small shade
darker than the natives of the northern latitudes, in the same
continent. For this reason, some have sought for other
causes of blackness than the climate ; and have endeavoured
to prove that the blacks are a race of people bred from one
man, who was marked with accidental blackness. This,
however, is but mere ungrounded conjecture : and, although
the Americans are not so dark as the negroes, yet we must
still continue in the ancient opinion, that the deepness of
the colour proceeds from the excessive heat of the climate.
For, if we compare the heats of Africa with those of America,
we shall find they bear no proportion to each other. In
America, all that part of the continent, which lies under the
line, is cool and pleasant, either shaded by mountains, or
refreshed by breezes from the sea. But in Africa, the wide
tract of country that lies under the line is very extensive,
and the soil sandy ; the reflection of the sun, therefore,
from so large a surface of earth, is almost intolerable ; and
it is not to be wondered at, that the inhabitants should bear,
in their looks, the marks of the inhospitable climate. In
America, the country is but thinly inhabited ; and the more
torrid tracts are generally left desert by the inhabitants ; for
which reason they are not so deeply tinged by the beams
of the sun. But in Africa the whole face of the country
is fully peopled ; and the natives are obliged to endure
their situation, without a power of migration. It is there,
consequently, that they are in a manner tied down to
feel all the severity of the heat ; and their complexions
take the darkest hue they are capable of receiving. We
need not, therefore, have recourse to any imaginary pro-
pagation, from persons accidentally black, since the
climate is a cause obvious and sufficient to produce the
effect.

In fact, if we examine the complexion of different coun-
tries, we shall find them darken in proportion to the heat
of their climate ; and the shades gradually to deepen as

358

A HISTORY OF

they approach the line. Some nations, indeed, may be
found not so much tinged by the sun as others, although
they lie nearer the line. But this ever proceeds from some
accidental causes ; either from the country lying higher,
and consequently being colder ; or from the natives bath-
ing oftener, and leading a more civilized life. In general,
it may be asserted, that as we approach the line, we find
the inhabitants of each country grow browner, until the
colour deepens into perfect blackness. Thus, taking our
standard from the whitest race of people, and beginning
with our own country, which, I believe, bids fairest for
the pre-eminence, we shall find the French, who are more
southern, a slight shade deeper than we ; going farther
down, the Spaniards are browner than the French ; the
inhabitants of Fez darker than they ; and the natives of
Negroland the darkest of all. In what manner the sun
produces this effect, and how the same luminary which
whitens wax and linen, should darken the human com-
plexion, is not easy to conceive. Sir Thomas Brown first
supposed, that a mucous substance, which had something
of a vitriolic quality, settled under the reticular membrane,
and grew darker with heat. Others have supposed that
the blackness lay in the epidermis, or scarf-skin, which
was burnt up like leather. But nothing has been satis-
factorily discovered upon the subject ; it is sufficient that
we are assured of the fact ; and that we have no doubt
of the sun’s tinging the complexion in proportion to its
vicinity.

But we are not to suppose that the sun is the only cause of
darkening the skin ; the wind, extreme cold, hard labour, or
coarse and sparing nourishment, are all found to contribute
to this effect. We find the peasants of every country, who
are most' exposed to the weather, a shade darker than the
higher ranks of people. The savage inhabitants of all places
are exposed still more, and therefore contract a still deeper
hue ; and this will account for the tawny colour of the North
American Indians. Although they live in a climate the
same, or even more northerly than ours, yet they are found
to be of complexions very different from those of Europe.
But it must be considered, that they live continually exposed
to the sun ; that they use many methods to darken their
skins by art, painting them with red ochre, and anointing

ANIMALS.

359

them with the fat of bears. Had they taken, for a succession
of several generations, the same precautions to brighten their
colour that an European does, it is very probable that they
would in time come to have similar complexions, and, per-
haps, dispute the prize of beauty.

The extremity of cold is not less productive of a tawny
complexion than that of heat. The natives of the arctic
circle, as was observed, are all brown ; and those that lie
most to the north are almost entirely black. In this manner
both extremes are. unfavourable to the human form and
colour, and the same effects are produced under the poles
that are found at the line.

With regard to the stature of different countries, that
seems chiefly to result from the nature of the food, and the
quantity of the supply. Not but that the severity of heat or
cold, may, in some measure, diminish the growth, and
produce a dwarfishness of make. But, in general, the food
is the great agent in producing this effect ; where that is
supplied in large quantities, and where its quality is whole-
some and nutrimental, the inhabitants are generally seen
above the ordinary stature. On the contrary, where it is
afforded in a sparing quantity, or very coarse, and void of
nourishment in its kind, the inhabitants degenerate, and sink
below the ordinary size of mankind. In this respect they
resemble other animals, whose bodies, by proper feeding,
may be greatly augmented. An ox, on the fertile plains of
India, grows to a size four times as large as the diminutive
animal of the same kind bred in the Alps. The horses
bred in the plains are larger than those of the mountain.
So it is with man ; the inhabitants of the valley are usually
found taller than those of the hill : the natives of the
Highlands of Scotland, for instance, are short, broad, and
hardy ; those of the Lowlands are tall and shapely. The
inhabitants of Greenland, who live upon dried fish and
seals, are less than those of Gambia, or Senegal, where
Nature supplies them with vegetable and animal abun-
dance.

The form of the face seems rather to be the result of
custom. Nations who have long considered some artificial
deformity as beautiful, who have industriously lessened
the feet, or flattened the nose, by degrees begin to receive
the impression they are taught to assume ; and Nature,

A HISTORY OF

360

in a course of ages, shapes itself to the constraint, and as-
sumes hereditary deformity. We find nothing more com-
mon ill births, than for children to inherit sometimes even
the accidental deformities of their parents. We have many
instances of squinting in the father, which he received from
fright or habit, communicated to the offspring ; and I
myself have seen a child distinctly marked with a scar,
similar to one the father had received in battle. In this
manner, accidental deformities may become natural ones ;
and by assiduity may be continued, and even increased,
through successive generations. From this, therefore, may
have arisen the small eyes and long ears of the Tartar and
Chinese nations. From hence originally may have come the
flat noses of the blacks, and the flat heads of the American
Indians.

In this slight survey, therefore, I think we may see that
all the variations in the human figure, as far as they differ
from our own, are produced either by the rigour of the
climate, the bad quality or the scantiness of the provi-
sions, or by the savage customs of the country. They
are actual marks of the degeneracy in the human form ;
and we may consider the European figure and colour as
standards to which to refer all other varieties, and with
which to compare them. In proportion as the Tartar or
American approaches nearer to European beauty, we consider
the race as less degenerated ; in proportion as he differs
more widely, he has made greater deviations from his
original form.

That we have all sprung from one common parent we
are taught, both by reason and religion, to believe ; and
we have good reason also to think that the Europeans
resemble him more than any of the rest of his children.
However, it must not be concealed that the olive-coloured
Asiatic, and even the jet-black negro, claim this honour of
hereditary resemblance ; and assert, that white men are
mere deviations from original perfection. Odd as this opi-
nion may seem, they have Linnaeus, the celebrated naturalist,
on their side ; who supposes man a native of the tropical
climates, and only a sojourner more to the north. But, not
to enter into a controversy upon a matter of a very remote
speculation, I think one argument alone will suffice to prove
the contrary, and shew that the white man is the original

' ANIMALS. 361

source from whence the other varieties have sprung. We
have frequently seen white children produced from black
parents, but have never seen a black offspring the production
of two whites. From hence we may conclude, that white-
ness is the colour to which mankind naturally tends : for, as
in the tulip, the parent stock is known by all the artificial
varieties breaking into it ; so in man, that colour must be
original which never alters, and to which all the rest are
accidentally seen to change. I have seen in London, at dif-
ferent times, two white negroes, the issue of black parents,
that served to convince me of the truth of this theory. I
had before been taught to believe that the whiteness of the
negro’s skin was a disease, a kind of milky whiteness, that
might be called rather a leprous crust than a natural com-
plexion. I was taught to suppose, that the numberless white
negroes found in various parts of Africa, the white men that
go by the name of Chacrelas, in the East Indies, and the
white Americans, near the Isthmus of Darien, in the W est
Indies, were all as so many diseased persons, and even more
deformed than the blackest of the natives. But, upon exa-
mining that negro which was last shewn in London, I found
the colour to be exactly like that of an European ; the
visage white and ruddy, and the lips of the proper redness.
However, there were sufficient marks to convince me of its
descent. The hair was white and woolly, and very unlike
any thing I had seen before. The iris of the eye was yellow,
inclining to red ; the nose was flat, exactly resembling that
of a negro ; and the lips thick and prominent. No doubt,
therefore, remained of the child’s having been born of negro
parents : and the person who shewed it had attestations to
convince the most incredulous. From this, then, we see
that the variations of the negro colour is into whiteness,
whereas the white are never found to have a race of negro
children. Upon the whole, therefore, all those changes
which the African, the Asiatic, or the American, undergo,
are but accidental deformities, which a kinder climate, better
nourishment, or more civilized manners, would, in a course
of centuries, very probably remove.

2 Z

vol, i. — 17-18.

362

A HISTORY OF

CHAP. XII.

OF M^uN"ST'EdKrS .

\

Hitherto I have only spoken of those varieties in the
human species, that are common to whole nations ; but
there are varieties of another kind, which are only found in
the individual ; and being more rarely seen, are therefore
called monstrous . If we examine into the varieties of dis-
torted nature, there is scarcely a limb of the body, or a fea-
ture in the face, that has not suffered some reprobation,
either from art or nature ; being enlarged or diminished,
lengthened or wrested, from its due proportion. Linnaeus,
after having given a catalogue of monsters, particularly adds,
the flat heads of Canada, the long heads of the Chinese, and
the slender waists of the women of Europe, who, by strait
lacing, take such pains to destroy their health, through a
mistaken desire to improve their beauty.* It belongs more
to the physician than the naturalist to attend to these minute
deformities ; and indeed it is a melancholy contemplation to
speculate upon a catalogue of calamities, inflicted by unpity-
ing Nature, or brought upon us by our own caprice. Some,
however, are fond of such accounts ; and there have been
books filled with nothing else. To these, therefore, I refer
the reader ; who may be better pleased with accounts of men
with two heads, or without any head, of children joined in
the middle, of bones turned into flesh, or flesh converted
into bones, than I am.f It is sufficient here to observe,
that every day’s experience must have shewn us miserable
instances of this kind produced by nature or affectation ;
calamities that no pity can soften, or assiduity relieve.

* Linnsei Syst. vol. i. p. 29. Monorchides lit minus fertiles.
t Vide Phil. Trans, passim. Miscellan. Curioss. Johan. Baptist. Wenck.
Dissertatio Physica an ex virilis humani seminis cum brutali per nefa-
rium coitum commixtione, aut vicissim ex bruti maris cum muliebri
humano seminis commixtione possit verus homo generari. Vide etiam.

ANIMALS.

363

Passing over, therefore, every other account, I shall
only mention the famous instance quoted by Father Mal-
branche, upon which he founds his beautiful theory of
monstrous productions. A woman of Paris, the wife of
a tradesman, went to see a criminal broke alive upon
the wheel, at the place of public execution. She was at
that time two months advanced in her pregnancy, and
no way subject to any disorders to affect the child in her
womb. She was, however, of a tender habit of body ;
and, though led by curiosity to this horrid spectacle,
very easily moved to pity and compassion. She felt,
therefore, all those strong emotions which so terrible a
sight must naturally inspire ; shuddered at every blow
the criminal received, and almost swooned at his cries.
Upon returning from this scene of blood, she continued
for some days pensive, and her imagination still wrought
upon the spectacle she had lately seen. After some
time, however, she seemed perfectly recovered from
her fright, and had almost forgotten her former unea-
siness. When the time of her delivery approached, she
seemed no ways mindful of her former terrors, nor were
her pains in labour more than usual in such circum-
stances. But what was the amazement of her friends
and assistants when the child came into the world ! It
was found that every limb in its body was broken like
those of the malefactor, and just in the same place. This
poor infant, that had suffered the pains of life even before
its coming into the world, did not die, but lived in an hos-
pital in Paris, for twenty years after, a wretched instance
of the supposed powers of imagination in the mother, of
altering and distorting the infant in the womb. The man-
ner in which Malbranche reasons upon this fact, is as
follows : the Creator has established such a sympathy be-
tween the several parts of nature, that we are led not

Johnstoni Thaumatographia Naturalis. Vide Adalberti Disquisitio Phy-
sica ostenti duorum puerorum unus quorum dente aureo, alter cum ca-
pite giganteo Biluae spectabantur. A man without lungs and stomach.
Journal de Scavans, 1683, p. 301 ; another without any brain, Andreas
Caroli Memorabilia, p. 167, an. 1676 ; another without any head, Gior-
nale di Roma, anno 1675, p. 26 ; another without any arms. New Me-
moirs of Literature, vol. iv. p. 446. In short, the variety of these ac-
counts is almost infinite ; and, perhaps, their use is as much circum-
scribed as their variety is extensive.

A HISTORY OF

364

only to imitate each other, but also to partake in the
same affections and desires. The animal spirits are thus
carried to the respective parts of the body, to perform the
same actions which we see others perform, to receive in
some measure their wounds, and take part in their suffer-
ings. Experience tells us, that if we look attentively on
any person severely beaten, or sorely wounded, the spi-
rits immediately flow into those parts of the body which
correspond to those we see in pain. The more delicate
the constitution, the more it is thus affected ; the spirits
making a stronger impression on the fibres of a weakly
habit than of a robust one. Strong vigorous men see an
execution without much concern, while women of nicer
texture are struck with horror and concern. This sensi-
bility in them must, of consequence, be communicated to
all parts of their body; and as the fibres of the child in the
womb are incomparably finer than those of the mother, the
course of the animal spirits must consequently produce
greater alterations. Hence, every stroke given to the cri-
minal forcibly struck the imagination of the woman ; and,
by a kind of counter-stroke, the delicate tender frame of the
child.

Such is the reasoning of an ingenious man upon a fact,
the veracity of which many have since called in question.*
They have allowed, indeed, that such a child might have
been produced, but have denied the cause of its deformity.
“ How could the imagination of the mother,” say they,
“ produce such dreadful effects upon her child ? She has
no communication with the infant ; she scarcely touches it
in any part ; quite unaffected with her concerns, it sleeps
in security, in a manner secluded by a fluid in which it
swims, from her that bears it. With what a variety of
deformities,” say they, “ would all mankind be- marked, if
all the vain and capricious desires of the mother were
thus readily written upon the body of the child !” Yet,
notwithstanding this plausible way of reasoning, I cannot
avoid giving some credit to the variety of instances I have
either read or seen upon this subject. If it be a prejudice,
it is as old as the days of Aristotle, and to this aav as
strongly believed by the generality of mankind as ever.

* Buffon, vol. iv. p. 0,

ANIMALS.

365

It does not admit of a reason ; and, indeed, I can give
none, even why the child should, in any respect, resem-
ble the father or the mother. The fact we generally find
to be so. But why it should take the particular' print
of the father’s features in the womb is as hard to con-
ceive, as why it should be effected by the mother’s ima-
gination. We all know what a strong effect the imagi-
nation has on those parts in particular, without being
able to assign a cause how this effect is produced ; and
why the imagination may not produce the same effect in
marking the child that it does in forming it, I see no
reason. Those persons whose employment it is to rear
up pigeons of different colours can breed them, as their
expression is, to a feather. In fact, by properly pairing
them, they can give what colour they will to any feather,
in any part of the body. — Were we to reason upon this
fact, what could we say ? Might it not be asserted, that
the egg, being distinct from the body of the female, can-
not be influenced by it? Might it not be plausibly said,
that there is no similitude between any part of the egg
and any particular feather which we expect to propagate;
and yet, for all this, the fact is known to be true, and
what no speculation can invalidate. In the same man-
ner, a thousand various instances assure us, that the child
in the womb is sometimes marked by the strong affec-
tions of the mother : how this is performed we know not ;
we only see the effect, without, any connection between it
and the cause. The best physicians have allowed it ; and
have been satisfied to submit to the experience of a number
of ages ; but many disbelieve it, because they expect a
reason for every effect. This, however, is very hard to be
given, while it is very easy to appear wise by pretending
incredulity.

Among the number of monsters, dwarfs, and giants, are
usually reckoned ; though not, perhaps, with the strictest
propriety, since they are no way different from the rest of
mankind, except in stature. It is a dispute, however, about
words ; and therefore scarcely worth contending about. But
tnere is a dispute, of a more curious nature, on this subject ;
namely, whether there are races of people thus very diminu-
tive, or vastly large ; or whether they be merely accidental
varieties, that now and then are seen in a country, in a few

A HISTORY OF

366

persons, whose bodies some external cause has contributed
to lessen or enlarge.

With regard to men of diminutive stature, all antiquity
has been unanimous in asserting their national existence.
Homer was the first who has given us an account of the
pigmy nation contending with the cranes ; and what poetical
licence might be supposed to exaggerate, Athenseus has
attempted seriously to confirm by historical assertion.* If
we attend to these, we must believe that, in the internal
parts of Africa, there are whole nations of pigmy beings, not
more than a foot in stature, who continually wage an un-
equal war with the birds and beasts that inhabit the plains
in which they reside. Some of the ancients, however, and
Strabo in particular, have supposed all these accounts to be
fabulous ; and have been more inclined to think this sup-
posed nation of pigmies nothing more than a species of apes,
well known to be numerous in that part of the world. With
this opinion the moderns have all concurred ; and that dimi-
nutive race, which was described as human, has been long
degraded into a class of animals that resemble us but very
imperfectly.

The existence, therefore, of a pigmy race of mankind
being founded in error, or in fable, we can expect to find
men of diminutive stature only by accident, among men of
the ordinary size. Of these accidental dwarfs, every coun-
try, and almost every village, can produce numerous in-
stances. There was a time when these unfavoured children
of Nature were the peculiar favourites of the great ; and no
prince or noblemen thought himself completely attended
unless he had a dwarf among the number of his domestics.
These poor little men were kept to be laughed at ; or to
raise the barbarous pleasure of their masters, by their con-
trasted inferiority. Even in England, as late as the times
of King James I. the court was at one time furnished with a
dwarf, a giant, and a jester ; these the king often took a
pleasure in opposing to each other, and often fomented quar-
rels among them, in order to be a concealed spectator of
their animosity. It was a particular entertainment of the
courtiers at that time to see little Jeffrey, for so the dwarf
was called, ride round the lists, expecting his antagonist;

* Athenaeus, ix. 390.

ANIMALS. 367

and discovering, in his actions, all the marks of contempti-
ble resolution.

It was in the same spirit, that Peter of Russia, in the
year 1710, celebrated a marriage of dwarfs. This monarch,
though raised by his native genius far above a barbarian,
was, nevertheless, still many degrees removed from actual
refinement. His pleasures, therefore, were of the vulgar
kind; and this was among the number. Upon a certain
day, which he had ordered to be proclaimed several months
before, he invited the whole body of his courtiers, and all
the foreign ambassadors, to be present at the marriage of a
pigmy man and woman. The preparations for this wedding
were not only very grand, but executed in a style of bar-
barous ridicule. He ordered that all the dwarf men and
women, within two hundred miles, should repair to the capi-
tal ; and also insisted that they should be present at the
ceremony. For this purpose he supplied them with proper
vehicles ; but so contrived it, that one horse was seen carry-
ing in a dozen of them into the city at once, while the mob
followed, shouting and laughing, from behind. Some of
them were at first unwilling to obey an order which they
knew was calculated to turn them into ridicule, and did not
come : but he soon obliged them to obey ; and, as a punish-
ment, enjoined, that they should wait upon the rest at din-
ner. The whole company of dwarfs amounted to seventy,
besides the bride and bridegroom, who were richly adorned,
and in the extremity of the fashion. For this little com-
pany in miniature, every thing was suitably provided ; a low
table, small plates, little glasses, and, in short, every thing
was so fitted as if all things had been dwindled to their
own standard. It was his great pleasure to see their gra-
vity and their pride ; the contention of the women for places,
and the men for superiority. This point he attempted to
adjust, by ordering that the most diminutive should take the
lead ; but this bred disputes, for none, would then consent
to sit foremost. All this, however, being at last settled,
dancing followed the dinner, and the ball was opened with
a minuet by the bridegroom, who measured exactly three
feet two inches high. In the end, matters were so con-
trived, that this little company, who met together in
gloomy pride, and unwilling to be pleased, being at last
familiarized to laughter, joined in the diversion, and

368

A HISTORY OF

became, as the journalist has it,* extremely sprightly and
entertaining.

But whatever may be the entertainment such guests might
afford when united, I never found a dwarf capable of afford-
ing any when alone. I have sometimes conversed with
some of these that were exhibited at our fairs about Town,
and have ever found their intellects as contracted as their
persons. They, in general, seemed to me to have faculties
very much resembling those of children, and their desires
likewise of the same kind ; being diverted with the same
sports, and best pleased with such companions. Of all
those I have seen, which may amount to five or six, the
little man, whose name was Coan, that died lately at Chel-
sea, was the most intelligent and sprightly. I have heard
him and the giant, who sung at the theatres, sustain a very
ridiculous duet, to which they were taught to give great
spirit. But this mirth, and seeming sagacity, were but as-
sumed. He had, by long habit, been taught to look cheer-
ful upon the approach of company ; and his conversation
was but the mere etiquette of a person that had been used
to receive visitors. When driven out of his walk, nothing
could be more stupid or ignorant, nothing more dejected
or forlorn. But we have a complete history of a dwarf,
very accurately related by Mr. Daubenton, in his part
of the Histoire Naturelle ; which L will here take leave to
translate.

This dwarf, whose name was Baby, was well known,
having spent the greatest part of his life at Lunenville, in
the palace of Stanislaus, the titular king of Poland. He
was born near the village of Plaisne, in France, in the year’
1741. Plis father and mother were peasants, both of good
constitutions, and inured to a life of husbandry and la-
bour. Baby, when born, weighed but a pound and a
quarter. We are not informed of the dimensions of his
body at that time ; but we may conjecture they were
very small, as he was presented on a plate to be baptized,
and for a long time lay in a slipper. His mouth, although
proportioned to the rest of his body, was not, at that
time, large enough to take in the nipple ; and he was,

* Die dench wurdige. Iwerg. Hockweit, &c. Lipsire, 1713, vol. viii.
o. 102. seq.

ANIMALS.

369

therefore, obliged to be suckled by a she-goat that was in the
house; and that served as a nurse, attending to his cries
with a kind of maternal fondness. He began to articulate
some words when eighteen months old ; and at two years he
was able to walk alone. He was then fitted with shoes that
were about an inch and a half long. He was attacked with
several acute disorders ; but the small-pox was the only one
which left any marks behind it. Until he was six years old,
he eat no other food but pulse, potatoes, and bacon. His
father and mother were, from their poverty, incapable of
affording him any better nourishment ; and his education
was little better than his food, being bred up among the
rustics of the place. At six years old he was about fifteen
inches high ; and his whole body weighed but thirteen
pounds. Notwithstanding this, he was well proportioned,
and handsome ; his health was good, but his understanding
scarcely passed the bounds of instinct. It was at that time
that the king of Poland, having heard of such a curiosity,
had him conveyed to Lunenville, gave him the name of Baby ,
and kept him in his palace.

Baby, having thus quitted the hard condition of a peasant,
to enjoy all the comforts and conveniences of life, seemed to
receive no alteration from his new way of living, either in
mind or person. He preserved the goodness of his con-
stitution till about the age of sixteen, but his body seemed
to increase very slowly during the whole time ; and his stu-
pidity was such, that all instructions were lost in improving
his understanding. He could never be brought to have any
sense of religion, nor even to shew the least signs of a rea-
soning faculty. They attempted to teach him dancing and
music, but in vain : he never could make any thing of music ;
and as for dancing, although he beat time tolerably exact,
yet he could never remember the figure, but while his dancing-
master stood by to direct his motions. Notwithstanding,
a mind thus destitute of understanding was not without its
passions ; anger and jealousy harassed it at times ; nor was
he without desires of another nature.

At the age of sixteen, Baby was twenty-nine inches tall ;
at this he rested ; but having thus arrived at his acme, the
alterations of puberty, or rather, perhaps, of old age, came
fast upon him. From being very beautiful, the poor little
creature now became quite deformed ; his strength quite
vol. i. — 17-18. 3 A

A HISTORY OF

370

forsook him ; liis back-bone began to bend ; his bead hung
forward ; his legs grew weak ; one of bis shoulders turned
awry ; and his nose grew disproportionably large. With his
strength, his natural spirits also forsook him ; and, by the
time he was twenty, he was grown feeble, decrepit, and
marked with the strongest impressions of old age. It had
been before remarked by some, that he would die of old age
before he arrived at thirty ; and, in fact, by the time he was
twenty- two, he could scarcely walk a hundred paces, being
worn out with the multiplicity of his years, and bent under
the burden of protracted life. In this year he died ; a cold,
attended with a slight fever, threw him into a kind of lethargy,
which had a few momentary intervals ; but he could scarcely
be brought to speak. However, it is asserted, that in the
five last years in his life he shewed a clearer understanding
than in his times of best health : but at length he died, after
enduring great agonies, in the twenty-second year of his age.

Opposite to this accidental diminution of the human race,
is that of its extraordinary magnitude. Concerning the
reality of a nation of giants, there have been many disputes
among the learned. Some have affirmed the probability of
such a race ; and others, as warmly have denied the possi-
bility of their existence. But it is not from any speculative
reasonings, upon a subject of this kind, that information is
to be obtained ; it is not from the disputes of the scholar,
hut the labours of the enterprising, that we are to be in-
structed in this inquiry. Indeed, nothing can be more
absurd, than what some learned men have advanced upon
this subject. It is very unlikely, says Grew, that there should
either be dwarfs or giants ; or if such, they cannot be fitted
for the usual enjoyment of life and reason. Had man been
born a dwarf, he could not have been a reasonable creature :
for to that end, he must have a jolt head, and then he would
not have body and blood enough to supply his brain with
spirits ; or if he had a small head, proportionable to his
body, there would not be brain enough for conducting life.
But it is still worse with giants ; and there could never have
been a nation of such, for there would not be food enough
found in any country to sustain them ; or, if there were
beasts sufficient for this purpose, there would not be grass
enough for their maintenance. But what is still more, add
others, giants could never be able to support the weight of

ANIMALS.

371

their own bodies ; since a man of ten feet high, must be
eight times as heavy as one of the ordinary stature ; whereas
he has but twice the size of muscles to support such a
burden : and, consequently, would be overloaded with the
weight of his own body. Such are the theories upon this
subject ; and they require no other answer, but that experi-
ence proves them both to be false : dwarfs are found
capable of life and reason ; and giants are seen to carry their
own bodies. We have several accounts from mariners, that
a nation of giants actually exists ; and mere speculation
should never induce us to doubt their veracity.

Ferdinand Magellan was the first who discovered this race
of people along the coast towards the extremity of South
America. Magellan was a Portuguese, of noble extraction ;
who having long behaved with great bravery, under Albu-
querque, the conqueror of India, he was treated with neglect
by the court, upon his return. Applying, therefore, to the
king of Spain, he was intrusted with the command of five
ships, to subdue the Molucca islands ; upon one of which he
was slain. It was in his voyage thither, that he happened
to winter in St. Julian’s Bay, an American harbour, forty-
nine degrees south of the line. In this desolate region,
where nothing was seen but objects of terror, where neither
trees nor verdure drest the face of the country, they remained
for some months without seeing any human creature. They
had judged the country to be utterly uninhabitable ; when
one day, they saw approaching, as if he had been dropt from
the clouds, a man of enormous stature, dancing and singing,
and putting dust upon his head, as they supposed, in token
of peace. This overture for friendship was, by Magellan’s
command, quickly answered by the rest of his men ; and the
giant approaching, testified every mark of astonishment and
surprise. He was so tall, that the Spaniards only reached
his waist ; his face was broad, his colour brown, and painted
over with a variety of tints ; each cheek had the resemblance
of a heart drawn upon it ; his hair was approaching to white-
ness ; he was clothed in skins, and armed with a bow. Be-
ing treated with kindness, and dismissed with some trifling
presents, he soon returned with many more of the same
stature ; two of whom the mariners decoyed on ship-board :
nothing could be more gentle than they were in the begin-
ning ; they considered the fetters that were preparing for

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372

them as ornaments, and played with them like children with
their toys ; but when they found for what purpose they were
intended, they instantly exerted their amazing strength,
and broke them in pieces with a very easy effort. This ac-
count, with a variety of other circumstances, has been con-
firmed by succeeding travellers : Herrara, Sebald Wert,
Oliver Van Noort, and James le Maire, all correspond in
affirming the fact, although they differ in many particulars of
their respective descriptions. The last voyager we have had,
that has seen this enormous race, is Commodore Byron. I
have talked with the person who first gave the relation of
that voyage, and who was the carpenter of the Commodore’s
ship ; he was a sensible, understanding man, and I believe
extremely faithful. By him, therefore, I was assured, in the
most solemn manner, of the truth of his relation ; and this
account has since been confirmed by one or two publications ;
in all which the particulars are pretty nearly the same. One
of the circumstances which most puzzled me to reconcile to
probability, was that of the horses, on which they are
described as riding down to the shore. We know the
American horse to be of European breed ; and, in some
measure, to be degenerated from the original. I was at a
loss, therefore, to account how a horse of not more than
fourteen hands high, was capable of carrying a man of nine
feet ; or, in other words, an animal almost as large as itself.
But the wonder will cease, when we consider, that so small
a beast as an ass, will carry a man of ordinary size tolerably
well ; and the proportion between this and the former in-
stance is nearly exact. We can no longer, therefore, refuse
our assent to the existence of this gigantic race of mankind :
in what manner they are propagated, or under what regu-
lations they live, is a subject that remains for future investi-
gation. It should appear, however, that they are a wander-
ing nation, changing their abode with the course of the sun,
and shifting their situation, for the convenience of food,
climate, or pasture.*

This race of giants are described as possessed of great
strength ; and, no doubt, they must be very different from
those accidental giants that are to be seen in different parts

* Later voyagers have not confirmed this account, in some particu-
lars.

ANIMALS.

373

of Europe. Stature, with these, seems rather their infirmity
than their pride ; and adds to their burden, without in-
creasing their strength. Of those I have seen, the generality
were ill formed and unhealthful ; weak in their persons, or
incapable of exerting what strength they were possessed of.
The same defects of understanding that attended those of
suppressed stature, were found in those who were thus
overgrown : they were heavy, phlegmatic, stupid, and in-
clined to sadness. Their numbers, however, are but few ;
and it is thus kindly ordered by Providence, that as the
middle stature is the best fitted for happiness, so the middle
ranks of mankind are produced in the greatest variety.

However, mankind seems naturally to have a respect for
men of extraordinary stature ; and it has been a supposition
of long standing, that our ancestors were much taller, as well
as much more beautiful, than we. This has been, indeed, a
theme of poetical declamation from the beginning ; and man
was scarcely formed, when he began to deplore an imaginary
decay. Nothing is more natural than this progress of the
mind, in looking up to antiquity with reverential wonder.
Having been accustomed to compare the wisdom of our
fathers with our own, in early imbecility, the impression of
their superiority remains when they no longer exist, and
when we cease to be inferior. Thus the men of every age
consider the past as wiser than the present ; and the
reverence seems to accumulate as our imaginations ascend.
For this reason, we allow remote antiquity many advantages,'
without disputing their title : the inhabitants of uncivilized
countries represent them as taller and stronger ; and the
people of a more polished nation, as more healthy and more
wise. Nevertheless, these attributes seem to be only the
prejudices of ingenuous minds ; a kind of gratitude, which
we hope in turn to receive from posterity. The ordinary
stature of men, Mr. Derham observes, is, in all probability,
the same now as at the beginning. The oldest measure we
have of the human figure, is in the monument of Cheops, in
the first pyramid of Egypt. This must have subsisted many
hundred years before the times of Homer, who is the first that
deplores the decay. This monument, however, scarcely
exceeds the measure of our ordinary coffins : the cavity is no
more than six feet long, two feet wide, and deep in about the
same proportion. Several mummies also, of a very early

374

A HISTORY OF

age, are found to be only of the ordinary stature ; and shew
that, for these three thousand years at least, men have not
suffered the least diminution. W e have many corroborating
proofs of this, in the ancient pieces of armour which are dug
up in different parts of Europe. The brass helmet dug up
at Medauro, fits one of our men, and yet is allowed to have
been left there at the overthrow of Asdrubal. Some of our
finest antique statues, which we learn from Pliny and others
to be exactly as big as the life, still continue to this day, re-
maining monuments of the superior excellence of their work-
men indeed, but not of the superiority of their stature. We
may conclude, therefore, that men have been in all ages
pretty much of the same size they are at present ; and that
the only difference must have been accidental, or perhaps
national.

As to the superior beauty of our ancestors, it is not easy
to make the comparison : beauty seems a very uncertain
charm ; and frequently is less in the object, than in the eye
of the beholder. Were a modern lady’s face formed exactly
like the Venus of Medicis, or the Sleeping Vestal, she would
scarcely be considered beautiful, except by the lovers of
antiquity, whom of all her admirers perhaps she would be
least desirous of pleasing. It is true, that we have some
disorders among us that disfigure the features, and from
which the ancients were exempt ; but it is equally true, that
we want some which were common among them, and which
were equally deforming. As for their intellectual powers,
these also were probably the same as ours : we excel them in
the sciences, which may be considered as a history of accu-
mulated experience ; and they excel us in the poetic arts,
as they had the first rifling of all the striking images of
Nature.

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375

CHAP. XIII.

OF MUMMIES, WAX-WORKS, ETC.

“ Man* is not content with the usual term of life, but he
is willing to lengthen out his existence by art ; and although
he cannot prevent death, he tries to obviate his dissolution.
It is natural to attempt to preserve even the most trifling
relics of what has long given us pleasure ; nor does the mind
separate from the body, without a wish, that even the
wretched heap of dust it leaves behind may yet be remem-
bered. The embalming, practised in various nations, pro-
bably had its rise in this fond desire : an urn filled with
ashes, among the Romans, served as a pledge of continuing
affection ; and even the grassy graves in our own church-
yards, are raised above the surface, with the desire that the
body below should not be wholly forgotten. The soul,
ardent after eternity for itself, is willing to procure, even for
the body, a prolonged duration.”

But of all nations, the Egyptians carried this art to the
highest perfection : as it was a principle of their religion,
to suppose the soul continued only coeval to the duration
of the body, they tried every art to extend the life of the
one by preventing the dissolution of the other. In this
practice they were exercised from the earliest ages ; and the
mummies they have embalmed in this manner, continue
in great numbers to the present day. We are told, in
Genesis, that Joseph seeing his father expire, gave orders
to his physicians to embalm the body, which they executed
in the compass of forty days, the usual time of embalm-
ing. Herodotus also, the most ancient of the profane
historians, gives us a copious detail of this art, as it was
practised, in his time, among the Egyptians. There are

* This chapter I have, in a great measure, translated from Mr. Dau-
benton. Whatever is added from others, is marked with inverted
commas.

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376

certain men among them, says he, who practise embalming
as a trade ; which they perform with all expedition possible.
In the first place, they draw out the brain through the
nostrils, with irons adapted to this purpose ; and in pro-
portion as they evacuate it in this manner, they fill up the
cavity with aromatics : they next cut open the belly, near
the sides, with a sharpened stone, and take out the entrails,
which they cleanse, and wash in palm oil ; having per-
formed this operation, they roll them in aromatic powder,
fill them with myrrh, cassia, and other perfumes, except
incense ; and replace them, sewing up the body again.
After these precautions, they salt the body with nitre, and
keep it in the salting-place for seventy days, it not being
permitted to preserve it so any longer. When the seventy
days are accomplished, and the body washed once more,
they swathe it in bands made of linen, which have been
dipt in a gum the Egyptians use instead of salt. When the
friends have taken back the body, they make a hollow trough,
something like the shape of a man, in which they place the
body ; and this they enclose in a box, preserving the whole
as a most precious relic, placed against the wall. Such
are the ceremonies used with regard to the rich. As for
those who are contented with a humbler preparation, they
treat them as follows : they fill a syringe with an odoriferous
liquor extracted from the cedar-tree, and, without making
any incision, inject it up the body of the deceased, and
then keep it in nitre, as long as in the former case. When
the time is expired, they evacuate the body of the cedar
liquor which had been injected ; and such is the effect
of this operation, that the liquor dissolves the intestines,
and brings them away : the nitre also serves to eat away
the flesh, and leaves only the skin and the bones remain- „
ing; This done, the body is returned to the friends, and
the embalmer takes no farther trouble about it. The
third method of embalming those of the meanest con-
dition, is merely by purging and cleansing the intestines by
frequent injections, and preserving the body for a similar
term in nitre, at the end of which it is restored to the
relations.

Diodorus Siculus also makes mention of the manner
in which these embalmings are performed. According to
him, there were several officers appointed for this purpose ;

ANIMALS.

377

the first of them, who was called the scribe, marked those
parts of the body, on the left side, which were to be opened ;
the cutter made the incision ; and one of those that were to
salt it drew out all the bowels, except the heart and the kid-
neys; another washed them in palm wine and odoriferous
liquors ; afterwards they anointed for above thirty days with
cedar, gum, myrrh, cinnamon, and other perfumes. These
aromatics preserved the body entire for a long time, and gave
a very agreeable odour. It was not in the least disfigured
by this preparation ; after which it was returned to the
relations, who kept it in a coffin, placed upright against a
wall.

Most of the modern writers who have treated on this
subject, have merely repeated what has been said by
Herodotus ; and if they add any thing of their own, it is
but merely from conjecture. Dumont observes, that it is
very probable, that aloes, bitumen, and cinnamon, make a
principal part of the composition which is used on this
occasion : he adds, that, after embalming, the body is put
into a coffin, made of the sycamore-tree, which is almost
incorruptible. Mr. Grew remarks, that in an Egyptian
mummy, in the possession of the Royal Society, the prepa-
ration was so penetrating as to enter into the very substance
of the bones, and rendered them so black, that they seemed
to have been burnt. From this he is induced to believe,
that the Egyptians had a custom of embalming their dead,
by boiling them in a kind of liquid preparation, until all the
aqueous parts of the body were exhaled away ; and until
the oily or gummy mattter had penetrated throughout.
He proposes, in consequences of this, a method of mace-
rating, and afterwards of boiling the dead body in oil of
walnut.

I am, for my own part, of opinion, that there were seve-
ral ways of preserving dead bodies from putrefaction ; and
that this would be no difficult matter, since different
nations have all succeeded in the attempt. We have an
example of this kind among the Guanches, the ancient
inhabitants of the island of Teneriff. Those who survived
the general destruction of this people by the Spaniards,
when they conquered this island, informed them, that the
art of embalming was still preserved there ; and that there
was a tribe of priests among them possessed of the secret,
vol. i. — 17-18. 3 B

A HISTORY OF

378

which they kept concealed as a sacred mystery. As the
greatest part of the nation was destroyed, the Spaniards
could not arrive at a complete knowledge of this art;
they only found out a few of the particulars. Having
taken out the bowels, they washed the body several times
in a lee, made of the dried bark of the pine-tree, warmed,
during the summer, by the sun, or by a stove in the win-
ter. They afterwards anointed it with butter, or the fat
of bears, which they had previously boiled with odori-
ferous herbs, such as sage and lavender. After this
unction, they suffered the body to diy ; and then repeated
the operation as often as it was necessary, until the
whole substance was impregnated with the preparation.
When it was become very light, it was then a certain sign
that it was fit and properly prepared. They then rolled
it up in the dried skins of goats ; which, when they had
a mind to save expense, they suffered to remain with the
hair still growing upon them. Purchas assures us, that
he has seen mummies of this kind in London ; and men-
tions the name of a gentleman who had seen several of
them in the island of Teneriff, which were supposed to
have been two thousand years old ; but without any cer-
tain proofs of such great antiquity. This .people, who
probably came first from the coasts of Africa, might have
learned this art from the Egyptians, as there was a traf-
fic carried on from thence into the most internal parts of
Africa.

Father Acosta and Garcilasso de la Vega make no doubt
but that the Peruvians understood the art of preserving their
dead for a very long space of time. They assert their having
seen the bodies of several incas, that were perfectly pre-
served. They still preserved their hair and their eye-brows ;
but they had eyes made of gold, put in the places of those
taken out. They were clothed in their usual habits, and
seated in the manner of the Indians, their arms placed on
their breasts. Garcilasso touched one of their fingers, and
found it apparently as hard as wood ; and the whole body was
not heavy enough to over-burden a weak man, who should
attempt to carry it away. Acosta presumes that these
bodies were embalmed with a bitumen, of which the Indians
knew the properties. Garcilasso, however, is of a different
opinion, as he saw nothing bituminous about ' them ; but

ANIMALS.

379

he confesses that he did not examine them very par-
ticularly; and he regrets his not having inquired into
the methods used for that purpose. He adds, that be-
ing a Peruvian, his countrymen would not have scrupled to
inform him of the secret, if they really had it still among
them.

Garcilasso, thus being ignorant of the secret, makes
use of some inductions to throw light upon the subject;
he asserts, that the air is so dry and so cold at Cusco,
that flesh dries there like wood, without corrupting; and
he is of opinion, that they dried the body in snow before
they applied the bitumen : he adds, that in the times of
the incas, they usually dried the flesh whicn was design-
ed for the use of the army; and that, when it had lost
its humidity, it might be kept without salt, or any other
preparation.

It is said, that at Spitzbergen, which lies within the arctic
circle, and consequently in the coldest climate, bodies never
corrupt, nor suffer any apparent alteration, even though
buried for thirty years. Nothing corrupts or putrefies in
that climate ; the wood which has been employed in build-
ing those houses where the train-oil is separated, appears as
fresh as the day it was first cut.

If excessive cold, therefore, be thus capable of preserving
bodies from corruption, it is not less certain that a great
degree of dryness, produced by heat, produces the same
effect. It is well known that the men and animals that are
buried in the sands of Arabia quickly dry up, and continue
in preservation for several ages, as if they had been actually
embalmed. It has often happened, that whole caravans
have perished in crossing those deserts, either by the burn-
ing winds that infest them, or by the sands which are raised
by the tempest, and overwhelm every creature in certain
ruin. The bodies of those persons are preserved entire;
and they are often found in this condition by some acci-
dental passenger. Many authors, both ancient and mo-
dern, make mention of such mummies as these ; and
Shaw says, that he has been assured that numbers of
men, as well as other animals, have been thus preserved,
for times immemorial, in the burning sands of Saibah,
which is a place, he supposes, situate between Rasem and
Egypt.

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380

The corruption of dead bodies being entirely caused by
the fermentation of the humours, whatever is capable of hin-
dering or retarding this fermentation, will contribute to
their preservation. Both heat and cold, though so contrary
in themselves, produce similar effects in this particular, by
drying up the humours. The cold in condensing and thick-
ening them, and the heat in evaporating them before they
they have time to act upon the solids. But it is necessary
that these extremes should be constant ; for if they succeed
each other so as that cold shall follow heat, or dryness
humidity, it must then necessarily happen that corruption
must ensue. — However, in temperate climates, there are
natural causes capable of preserving dead bodies ; among
which we may reckon the quality of the earth in which
they are buried. If the earth be drying and astringent,
it will imbibe the humidity of the body; and it may pro-
bably be for this reason that the bodies buried in the
monastery of the Cordeliers, at Thoulouse, do not putrefy,
but dry in such a manner that they may be lifted up by one
arm.

The gums, resins, and bitumens, with which dead bodies
are embalmed, keep off the impressions which they would
else receive from the alteration of the temperature of the
air; and still more, if a body thus prepared be placed in
a dry or burning sand, the most powerful means will be
united for its preservation. We are not to be surprised,
therefore, at what we are told by Chardin of the country
of Chorosan, in Persia. The bodies which have been pre-
viously embalmed, and buried in the sands of that country,
as he assures us, are found to petrefy, or, in other words, to
become extremely hard, and are preserved for several ages.
It is asserted, that some of them have continued for a thou-
sand years.

The Egyptians, as has been mentioned above, swathed
the body with linen bands, and enclosed it in a coffin : how-
ever, it is probable, that, with all these precautions, they
would not have continued till now, if the tombs, or pits, in
which they were placed, had not been dug in a dry chalky
soil, which was not susceptible of humidity ; and which
was besides covered over with a dry sand of several feet
thickness.

The sepulchres of the ancient Egyptians subsist to this

ANIMALS.

381

day. Most travellers who have been in Egypt have de-
scribed those of ancient mummies, and have seen the
mummies interred there. These catacombs are within two
leagues of the ruins of the city, nine leagues from Grand
Cairo, and about two miles from the village of Zaccara.
They extend from thence to the Pyramids of Pharaoh, which
are about eight miles distant. These sepulchres lie in a
field, covered with a fine running sand, of a yellowish colour.
The country is dry and hilly ; the entrance of the tombs
is choaked up with sand ; there are many open, but seve-
ral more that are still concealed. The inhabitants of the
neighbouring village have no other commerce, or method
of subsisting, but by seeking out mummies, and selling
them to such strangers as happen to be at Grand Cairo.
This commerce, some years ago, was not only a very com-
mon, but a very gainful one. A complete mummy was
often sold for twenty pounds : but it must not be supposed
that it was bought at such a high price from a mere passion
for antiquity ; there were much more powerful motives for
this traffic. Mummy, at that time, made a considerable
article in medicine ; and a thousand imaginary virtues were
ascribed to it, for the cure of most disorders, particularly
of the paralytic kind. There was no shop, therefore,
without mummy in it; and no physician thought he had
properly treated his patient without adding this to his
prescription. Induced by the general repute, in which this
supposed drug was at that time, several Jews, both of Italy
and France, found out the art of imitating mummy so ex-
actly, that they, for a long time, deceived all Europe. This
they did by drying dead bodies in ovens, after having pre-
pared them with myrrh, aloes, and bitumen. Still, how-
ever, the request for mummies continued, and a variety of
cures were daily ascribed to them. At length, Parseus wrote
a treatise on their total inefficacy in physic ; and shewed
their abuse in loading the stomach, to the exclusion of
more efficacious medicines. From that time, therefore,
their reputation began to decline ; the Jews discontinued
their counterfeits, and the trade returned entire to the Egyp-
tians, when it was no longer of value. The industry of
seeking after mummies is now totally relaxed, their price
merely arbitrary, and just what the curious are willing to
give. '

A HISTORY OF

382

In seeking for mummies, they first clear away the sand,
which they may do for weeks together, without finding what
is wanted. Upon coming to a little square opening of about
eighteen feet in depth, they descend into it, by holes for
the feet, placed at proper intervals, and there they are
sure of finding what they seek for. These caves, or wells,
as they call them, are hollowed out of a white free-stone,
which is found in all this country, a few feet below the
covering of sand. When one gets to the bottom of
these, which are sometimes forty feet below the surface,
there are several square openings on each side, into pas-
sages of ten or fifteen feet wide, and these lead to cham-
bers of fifteen or twenty feet square. These are all hewn
out of the rock ; and in each of the catacombs are to be
found several of these apartments, communicating with each
other. They extend a great way under ground, so as to be
under the city of Memphis, and in a manner to undermine
its environs.

In some of the chambers, the walls are adorned with
figures and hieroglyphics ; in others, the mummies are
found in tombs round the apartment hollowed out in the
rock. These tombs are upright, and cut into the shape of
a man, with his arms stretched out. There are others found,
and these in the greatest number, in wooden-coffins, or in
cloths covered with bitumen. These coffins, or wrappers,
are covered all over with a variety of ornaments. There are
some of them painted, and adorned with figures, such as
that of Death, and the leaden seals, on which several charac-
ters are engraven. Some of these coffins are carved into the
human shape ; but the head alone is distinguishable : the
rest of the body is all of a piece, and terminated by a pedes-
tal, while there are some with their arms hanging down ;
and it is by these marks that the bodies of persons of rank
are distinguished from those of the meaner order. These
are generally found lying on the floor, without any profusion
of ornaments ; and in some chambers the mummies are
found indiscriminately piled upon each other, and buried in
the sand.

Many mummies are found lying on their backs; their
heads turned to the north, and their hands placed on the
belly. The bands of linen, with which these were swathed,
are found to-be more than a thousand yards long; and.

ANIMALS.

383

of consequence, the number of circumvolutions they make
about the body must have been amazing. These were
performed by beginning at the head, and ending at the
feet ; but they contrived it so as to avoid covering the
face. However, when the face is entirely uncovered, it
moulders into dust immediately upon the admission of the
air. When, therefore, it is preserved entire, a slight cover-
ing of cloth is so disposed over it, that the shape of the
eyes, the nose, and the mouth, are seen under it. Some
mummies have been found with a long beard, and hair that
reached down to the mid-leg, nails of a surprising length,
and some gilt, or at least painted of a gold colour. Some
are found with bands upon the breast, covered with hiero-
glyphics, in gold, silver, or in green ; and some with tute-
lary idols, and other figures of jasper, within their body. A
piece of gold also has often been found under their tongues,
of about two pistoles value ; and, for this reason, the Ara-
bians spoil all the mummies they meet with, in order to get
at the gold.

But although art, or accident, has thus been found to
preserve dead bodies entire, it must by no means be sup-
posed that it is capable of preserving the exact form and
lineaments of the deceased person. Those bodies which
are found dried away in the deserts, or in some particular
church-yards, are totally deformed, and scarcely any linea-
ments remain of their external structure. Nor are the
mummies preserved by embalming, in a better condition.
The flesh is dried away, hardened, and hidden under a
variety of bandages ; the bowels, as we have seen, are
totally removed ; and from hence, in the most perfect of
them, we see only a shapeless mass of skin discoloured ;
and even the features scarcely distinguishable. The art, is
therefore, an effort rather of preserving the substance than
the likeness of the deceased; and has, consequently, not
been brought to its highest pitch of perfection. It appears
from a mummy, not long since dug up in France, that the
art of embalming was more completely understood in the
western world than even in Egypt. This mummy, which
was dug up at Auvergne, was an amazing instance of their
skill, and is one of the most curious relics in the art
of preservation. As some peasants, in that part of the
world, were digging in a field, near Rion, within about

A HISTORY OF

384

twenty six paces of the highway, between that and the river
Artiers, they discovered a tomb, about a foot and a half
beneath the surface. It was composed only of two stones ;
one of which formed the body of the sepulchre, and the
other the cover. This tomb was of free-stone, seven feet
and a half long, three feet and a half broad, and about
three feet high. It was of rude workmanship ; the cover
had been polished, but was without figure or inscription :
within this tomb was placed a leaden-coffin, four feet
seven inches long, fourteen inches broad, and fifteen high.
It was not made coffin-fashion, but oblong, like a box,
equally broad at both ends, and covered with a lid that
fitted on like a snuff-box, without a hinge. This cover
had two holes in it, each of about two inches long, and
very narrow, filled with a substance resembling butter ;
but for what purpose intended remains unknown. With-
in this coffin was a mummy, in the highest and most
perfect preservation. The internal sides of the coffin
were filled with an aromatic substance, mingled with
clay. Round the mummy was wrapped a coarse cloth, in
form of a napkin ; under this were two shirts, or shrouds,
of the most exquisite texture ; beneath these a bandage,
which covered all parts of the body, like an infant in
swaddling-clothes ; still under this general bandage there
was another, which went particularly round the extremi-
ties, the hands, and the legs. The head was covered
with two caps ; the feet and hands were without any par-
ticular bandages ; and the whole body was covered with
an aromatic substance an inch thick. When these were
removed, and the body exposed naked to view, nothing
could be more astonishing than the preservation of the
whole, and the exact resemblance it bore to, a body that
had been dead a day or two before. It appeared well
proportioned, except that the head was rather large, and
the feet small. The skin had all the pliancy and colour
of a body lately dead : the visage, however, was of a

brownish hue. The belly yielded to the 'touch ; all the
joints were flexible, except those of the legs and feet ; the
fingers stretched forth of themselves when bent inwards.
The nails still continued entire ; and all the marks of the
joints, both in the fingers, the palms of the hands, and the
soles of the feet, remained perfectly visible. The bones

ANIMALS,

385

of the arms and legs were soft and pliant ; but, on the con-
trary, those of the skull preserved their rigidity ; the hair,
which only covered the back of the head, was of a chesnut
colour, and about two inches long. The pericranium at top
was separated from the skull by an incision, in order to open
it for the introducing proper aromatics in the place of the
brain, where they were found mixed with clay. The teeth,
the tongue, and the ears, were all preserved in perfect form.
The intestines were not taken out of the body, but re-
mained pliant and entire, as in a fresh subject ; and the
breast was made to rise and fall like a pair of bellows. The
embalming preparation had a very strong and pungent
smell, which the body preserved for more than a month
after it was exposed to the air. This odour was perceived
wherever the mummy was laid ; although it remained there
but a very short time, it was even pretended that the
peasants of the neighbouring villages were incommoded
by it. If one touched either the mummy, or any part of
the preparation, the hands smelled of it foi several hours
after, although washed with water, spirit of wine, or vinegar.
This mummy, having remained exposed for some months to
the curiosity of the public, began to suffer some mutilations.
A part of the skin of the forehead was cut off, the teeth were
drawn out, and some attempts were made to pull away the
tongue. It was, therefore, put into a glass-case, and
shortly after transmitted to the king of France’s cabinet at
Paris.

There are many reasons to believe this to be the body of
a person of the highest distinction : however, no marks
remain to assure us either of the quality of the person, or
the time of his decease. There are only to be seen some
irregular figures on the coffin ; one of which represents a
kind of star. There were also some singular characters
upon the bandages, which were totally defaced by those
who had torn them away. However, it should seem that
it had remained for several ages in this state, since the first
years immediately succeeding the interment, are usually
those in which the body is most liable to decay. It appears
also to be a much more perfect method of embalming
than that of the Egyptians ; as in this the flesh continues
with its natural elasticity and colour, the bowels remain
entire*, and the joints have almost the pliancy which they
vol. i. — 17-18. 3 C

386

A HISTORY OF

had when the person was alive. Upon the whole, it is
probable that a much less tedious preparation than that
used by the Egyptians would have sufficed to keep the
body from putrefaction ; and that an injection of petreo-
leum inwardly, and a layer of asphaltum without, would
have sufficed to have made a mummy ; and it is remark-
able that Auvergne, where this was found, affords these
two substances in sufficient plenty. This art, therefore,
might be brought to greater perfection than it has arrived
at hitherto, were the art worth preserving. But mankind
have long since grown wiser in this respect ; and think it
unnecessary to keep by them a deformed carcase, which,
instead of aiding their magnificence, must only serve to
mortify their pride.

CHAP. XIV.

OF ANIMALS.

Leaving man, we now descend to the lower ranks
of animated nature, and prepare to examine the life,
manners, and characters, of these our humble partners
in the creation. But, in such a wonderful variety as is
diffused around us, where shall we begin ? The number
of beings endued with life, as well as we, seems, at first
view, infinite. Not only the forest, the waters, the air,
teems with animals of various kinds ; but almost every
vegetable, every leaf, has millions of minute inhabitants,
each of which fill up the circle of its allotted life, and
some are found objects of the greatest curiosity. In
this seeming exuberance of animals, it is natural for
ignorance to lie down in hopeless uncertainty, and to
declare what requires labour to particularize to be utterly
inscrutable. It is otherwise, however, with the active
and searching mind ; no way intimidated with the im-
mense variety, it begins the task of numbering, grouping,
and classing, all the various kinds that fall within its
notice ; finds every day new relations between the several
parts of the creation ; acquires the art of considering
several at a time under one point of view ; and, at last.

ANIMALS.

387

begins to find that the variety is neither so great nor so
inscrutable as was at first imagined. As in a clear night,
the number of the stars seems infinite ; yet, if we sedulously
attend to each in its place, and regularly class them, they will
soon be found to diminish, and come within a very scanty
computation.

Method is one of the principal helps in natural history,
and without it very little progress can be made in this
science. It is by that alone we can hope to dissipate the
glare, if I may so express it, which arises from a multipli-
city of objects at once presenting themselves to the view.
It is method that fixes the attention to one point, and leads
it, by slow and certain degrees, to leave no part of nature
unobserved.

All naturalists, therefore, have been very careful in adopt-
ing some method of classing or grouping the several parts
of nature ; and some have written books of natural history
with no other view. These methodical divisions some
have treated with contempt,* not considering that books,
in general, are written with opposite views ; some to be
read, and some only to be occasionly consulted. The
methodists in natural history, seem to be content with the
latter advantage ; and have sacrificed to order alone, all
the delights of the subject, all the arts of heightening,
awakening, or continuing curiosity. But they certainly
have the same use in science, that a dictionary has in
language ; but with this difference, that in a dictionary
we proceed from the name to the definition ; in a system
of natural history, we proceed from the definition to find
out the thing. Without the aid of system, nature must
still have lain undistinguished, like furniture in a lumber-
room : every thing wre wish for is there indeed, but we
know not where to find it. If, for instance, in a morning
excursion, I find a plant, or an insect, the name of which
I desire to learn ; or, perhaps, am curious to know whether
already known ; in this inquiry I can expect information
only from one of these systems, which being couched in
a methodical form, quickly directs me to what I seek for.
Thus we will suppose that our inquirer has met with a
spider, and that he has never seen such an insect before.

* Mr. Buffon in his Introduction, &c.

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388

He is taught by the writer of a system* to examine whe-
ther it has wings, and he finds it has none. He, therefore,
is to look for it among the wingless insects, or the Aptera,
as Linnaeus calls them : he then is to see whether the
head and breast make one part of the body, or are dis-
united ; he finds they make one : he is then to reckon the
number of feet and eyes, and he finds that it has eight of
each. The insect, therefore, must be either a scorpion or a
spider ; but he lastly examines its feelers, which he finds
clavated, or clubbed ; and, by all these marks, he at last
discovers it to be a spider. Of spiders, there are forty-
seven sorts ; and, by reading the description of each, the
inquirer will learn the name of that which he desires to
know. With the name of the insect, he is also directed
to those authors that have given any account of it, and the
page where that account is to be found ; by this means he
may know at once what has been said of that animal by
others, and what there is of novelty in the result of his own
researches.

From hence it will appear how useful those systems in
natural history are to the inquirer ; but, having given them
all their merit, it would be wrong not to observe, that they
have, in general, been very much abused. Their authors,
in general, seem to think that they are improvers of
natural history, when in reality they are but guides ; they
seem to boast that they are adding to our knowledge, while
they are only arranging it. These authors, also, seem to
think that the reading of their works and systems is the
best method to attain a knowledge of nature ; but setting
aside the impossibility of getting through whole volumes of
a dry long catalogue, the multiplicity of whose contents is
too great for even the strongest memory, such works rather
tell us the names than the history of the creature we desire
to inquire after. In these dreary pages, every insect or
plant, that has a name, makes as distinguished a figure as
the most wonderful, or the most useful. ' The true end of
studying nature is to make a just selection, to find those
parts of it that most conduce to our pleasure or convenience,
and to leave the rest in neglect. But these systems, em-
ploying the same degree of attention upon all, give us no

* Linnaeus.

ANIMALS.

389

opportunities of knowing which most deserves attention ;
and he who has' made his knowledge from such systems
only, has his memory crowded with a number of trifling,
or minute particulars, which it should be his business and
his labour to forget. These books, as was said before, are
useful to be consulted, but they are very unnecessary to
be read ; no inquirer into nature should be without one
of them ; and, without any doubt, Linnseus deserves the
preference.

One fault more, in almost all these systematic writers,
and that which leads me to the subject of the present
chapter, is, that seeing the necessity of methodical distri-
bution in some parts of nature, they have introduced it
into all. Finding the utility of arranging plants, birds, or
insects, they have arranged quadrupeds also with the same
assiduity ; and although the number of these is so few as
not to exceed two hundred,* they have darkened the sub-
ject with distinctions and divisions, which only serve to
puzzle and perplex. All method is only useful in giving
perspicuity, where the subject is either dark or copious :
but with regard to quadrupeds, the number is but few;
many of them we are well acquainted with by habit ; and
the rest may very readily be known, without any method.
In treating of such, therefore, it would be useless to con-
found the reader with a multiplicity of divisions : as quad-
rupeds are conspicuous enough to obtain the second rank
in nature, it becomes us to be acquainted with, at least,
the names of them all. However, as there are naturalists
who have gained a name from the excellence of their me-
thods in classing these animals, some readers may desire
to have a knowledge of what has been laboriously invented
for their instruction. I will just take leave, therefore, to
mention the most applauded methods of classing animals, as
adopted by Ray, Klein, and Linnseus ; for it often happens,
that the terms which have been long used in a science,
though frivolous, become, by prescription, a part of the
science itself.

Ray, after Aristotle, divides all animals into two kinds ;

* In Dr. Shaw’s General Zoology, the number of quadrupeds, not
including the cetaceous and seal tribes, amount to five hundred and
twelve, besides their varieties.

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390

those which have blood, and those which are bloodless. In
the last class, he places all the insect tribes. The former
he divides into such as breathe through the lungs, and
such as breathe through gills: these last comprehend the
fishes. In those which breathe through the lungs, some
have the heart composed of two ventricles, and some have
it of one. Of the last are all animals of the cetaceous
kind, all oviparous quadrupeds, and serpents. Of those
that have two ventricles, some are oviparous, which are
the birds ; and some viviparous, which are quadrupeds.
The quadrupeds he divides into such as have a hoof, and
such as are claw-footed. Those with the hoof, he divides
into such as have it undivided, such as have it cloven, and
such as have the hoof divided into more parts, as the rhi-
noceros, and hippopotamus. Animals with the cloven
hoof, he divides into such as chew the cud, as the cow,
and the sheep ; and such as are not ruminant, as the
hog. He divides those animals that chew the cud, into
four kinds : the first have hollow horns, which they never
shed, as the cow ; the second is of a less species, and is
of the sheep kind ; the third is of the goat kind ; and
the last, w'hich have solid horns, and shed them annually,
are of the deer kind. Coming to the claw-footed animals,
he finds some with large claws, resembling the fingers of
the human hand ; and these he makes the ape kind. Of
the others, some have the foot divided in two, and have
a claw to each division ; these are the camel kind. The
elephant makes a kind by itself, as its claws are covered
over by a skin. The rest of the numerous tribe of claw-
footed animals he divides into two kinds ; the analogous,
or such as resemble each other ; and the anomalous, which
differ from the rest. The analogous claw-footed animals,
are of two kinds ; they have more than two cutting teeth
in each jaw, such as the lion and the dog, which are car-
nivorous ; or they have but two cutting teeth in each
jaw, and these are chiefly fed upon vegetables. The car-
nivorous kinds are divided into the great and the little.
The great carnivorous animals are divided into such as
have a short snout, as the cat and the lion ; and^such as have
it long and pointed, as the dog and the wolf. The little
claw-footed carnivorous animals, differ from the great, in
having a proportionably smaller head, and a slender body.

ANIMALS.

391

that fits them for creeping into holes, in pursuit of their
prey, like worms ; and they are therefore called the vermin
kind.

We see, from this sketch of division and sub-division,
how a subject, extremely delightful and amusing in itself,
may be darkened and rendered disgusting. But, notwith-
standing, Ray seems to be one of the most simple distri-
butors ; and his method is still, and not without reason,
adopted by many. Such as have been at the trouble to learn
this method, will certainly find it useful ; nor would we be
thought, in the least, to take from its merits ; all we con-
tend for is, that the same information may be obtained by a
pleasanter and an easier method.

It was the great success of Ray’s method, that soon
after produced such a variety of attempts in the same
manner; but almost all less simple, and more obscure.
Mr. Klein’s method is briefly as follows : he makes the
power of changing place, the characteristic mark of ani-
mals in general ; and he takes their distinctions from their
aptitude and fitness for such a change. Some change
place by means of feet, or some similar contrivance ; others
have wings and feet : some can change place only in
water, and have only fins : some go upon earth, without any
feet at all : some change place, by moving their shell : and
some move only at a certain time of the year. Of such,

however, as do not move at all, he takes no notice. The

quadrupeds that move chiefly by means of four feet upon
land he divides into two orders. The first are the hoofed
kind ; and the second, the claw kind. Each of these
orders is divided into four families. The first family of
the hoofed kind, are the single hoofed, such as the horse,
ass, &e. The second family are such as have the hoof
cloven into two parts, such as the cow, & c. The third

family have the hoof divided into three parts ; and in

this family is found only the rhinoceros. The fourth
family have the hoof divided into five parts ; and in this
is only to be found the elephant. With respect to the
clawed kind, the first family comprehends those that have
but two claws on each foot, as the camel; the second
family have three claws; the third, four; and the fourth,
five. This method of taking the distinctions of animals
from the organs of motion, is ingenious ; but is, at the

392

A HISTORY OF

same time, incomplete ; and, besides, the divisions into
which it must necessarily fall, is inadequate ; since, for in-
stance, in his family with two claws, there is but one animal ;
whereas, in his family with five claws, there are above a
hundred.

Brisson, who has laboured this subject with great accu-
racy, divides animated nature into nine classes ; namely,
quadrupeds ; cetaceous animals, or those of the whale kind ;
birds ; reptiles, or those of the serpent kind ; cartilaginous
fishes ; spinous fishes ; shelled animals ; insects ; and
worms. He divides the quadrupeds into eighteen orders ;
and takes their distinctions from the number and form of
their teeth.

But of all those whose systems have been adopted and
admired, Linnaeus is the foremost ; as, with a studied brevity,
his system comprehends the greatest variety in the smallest
space.

According to him, the first distinction of animals is to be
taken from their internal structure. Some have the heart
with two ventricles, and hot red blood ; namely, quadrupeds
and birds. The quadrupeds are viviparous, and the birds
oviparous.

Some have the heart with but one ventricle, and cold red
blood ; namely, amphibia and fishes. The amphibia are
furnished with lungs ; the fishes with gills.

Some have the heart with one ventricle, and cold white
serum ; namely, insects and worms : the insects have feelers ;
and the worms, holders.

The distinctions of quadrupeds, or animals with paps,
as he calls them, are taken from their teeth. He divides
them into seven orders ; to which he gives names that are
not easy of translation : Primates, or principles, with four
cutting teeth in each jaw ; Bruta, or brutes, with no cutting
teeth ; Ferae, or wild beasts, with generally six cutting teeth
in each jaw ; Glires, or dormice, with two cutting
teeth, both above and below ; Pecora, or cattle, with
many cutting teeth above, and none below ; Belluae, or
beasts, with the fore-teeth blunt ; Cete, or those of the
whale "kind, with cartilaginous teeth. I have but just
sketched out this system, as being, in its own nature, the
closest abridgment : it would take volumes to dilate it to
its proper length. The names of the different animals,

ANIMALS,

393

and their classes, alone make two thick octavo volumes ;
and yet nothing is given but the slightest description of
each. I have omitted all criticism also upon the accuracy
of the preceding systems: this has been done both by
Buffon and Daubenton, not with less truth than humour ;
tor they had too much good sense not to see the absur-
dity of multiplying the terms of science to no end, and
disappointing our curiosity rather with a catalogue of
nature’s varieties, than a history of nature.

Instead, therefore, of taxing the memory and teazing the
patience with such a variety of divisions and subdivisions,
I will take leave to class the productions of nature in the
most obvious, though not in the most accurate, manner.
In natural history, of all other sciences, there is the least
danger of obscurity. In morals, or in metaphysics, every
definition must be precise, because those sciences are built
upon definitions ; but it is otherwise in those subjects
where the exhibition of the object itself is always capable of
correcting the error. Thus it may often happen, that
in a lax system of natural history, a creature may be
ranked among quadrupeds that belongs more properly
to the fish or the insect classes. But that can produce very
little confusion, and every reader can thus make a sys-
tem the most agreeable to his own imagination. It will be
of no manner of consequence whether we call a bird or
an insect a quadruped, if we are careful in marking all
its distinctions : the uncertainty in reasoning, or thinking,
that these approximations of the different kinds of
animals produce, is but very small, and happens but
very rarely: whereas the labour that naturalists have been
at to keep the kinds asunder, has been excessive. This,
in general, has given birth to that variety of systems which
we have just mentioned, each of which seems to be almost
as good as the preceding.

Taking, therefore, this latitude, and using method only
where it contributes to conciseness or perspicuity, we
shall divide animated nature into four classes ; namely,
Quadrupeds, Birds, Fishes, and Insects. All these seem
in general pretty well distinguished from each other by
nature ; yet there are several instances in which we can
scarcely tell whether it is a bird or a quadruped that we
are about to examine ; whether it is a fish or an insect
vol. i. — 18. 3D

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394

that offers to our curiosity. Nature is varied by impercep-
tible gradations, so that no line can be drawn between any
two classes of its productions, and no definition made to
comprehend them all. However, the distinctions between
these classes are sufficiently marked, and their encroach-
ments upon each other are so rare, that it will be sufficient
particularly to apprize the reader when they happen to be
blended.

There are many quadrupeds that we are well acquainted
with ; and of those we do not know, we shall form the most
clear and distinct conceptions, by being told wherein they
differ, and wherein they resemble those with which we are
familiar. Each class of quadrupeds may be ranged under
some one of the domestic kinds, that may serve for the
model by which we are to form some kind of idea of the
rest. Thus we may say that a tiger is of the cat kind, a
wolf of the dog kind, because there are some rude resem-
blances between each; and a person who has never seen
the wild animals, will have some incomplete knowledge of
their figure from the tame ones. On the contrary, I will
not, as some sytematic writers have done,* say that the bat
is of the human kind, or a hog of the horse kind, merely
because there is some resemblance in their teeth, or their
paps. For although this resemblance may be striking
enough, yet a person who has never seen a bat or a hog,
will never form any just conception of either, by being told
of this minute similitude. In short, the method in classing
quadrupeds should be taken from their most striking resem-
blances ; and where these do not offer, we shall not force
the similitude, but leave the animal to be described as a
solitary species. The number of quadrupeds is so few, that
indeed, without any method whatever, there is no great
danger of confusion.

All quadrupeds, the number of which, according to
Buffon, amounts to but two hundred, may be classed in the
following manner.

First, those of the Horse kind. This class contains the
Horse, the Ass, and the Zebra. Of these none have horns,
and their hoof is of one solid piece.

The second class are those of the Cow kind ; compre-

* Linnaei Syat.

ANIMALS. 395

bending the Urus, the Buffalo, the Bison, and the Bonas-
sus. These have cloven hoofs, and chew the cud.

The third class is that of the sheep kind ; with cloven
hoofs, and chewing the cud like the former. In this is
comprehended the Sheep, the Goat, the Lama, the Vi-
gogne, the Gazella, the Guinea Deer, and all of a similar
form.

The fourth class is that of the Deer kind, with cloven
hoofs, and with solid horns, that are shed every year. This
class contains the Elk, the Rein-deer, the Stag, the Buck,
the Roe-buck, and the Axis.

The fifth class comprehends all those of the Hog kind,
the Peccari, and the Babyrouessa.

The sixth class is, that numerous one of the Cat kind.
This comprehends the Cat, the Lion, the Panther, the Leo-
pard, the Jaguar, the Cougar, the Jaguarette, the Lynx,
the Ounce, and the Catamountain. These are all carnivor-
ous, and fulnished with crooked claws, which they can
sheathe and unsheathe at pleasure.

The seventh class is that of the Dog kind, carnivorous,
and furnished with claws like the former* but which they
cannot sheathe. This class comprehends the Do g, the
Wolf, the Fox, the Jackal, the Isatis, the Hysena, the
Civet, the Gibet, and the Genet,

The eighth class is that of the Weasel kind, with a long
small body, with five toes, or claws, on each foot ; the first
of them separated from the rest like a thumb. This com-
prehends the Weasel, the Martin, the Pole-cat, the Ferret,
the Mangoust, the Vansire, the Ermine, with all the varieties
of the American Moufettes.

The ninth class is that of the Rabbit kind, with two large
cutting teeth in each jaw. This comprehends the Rabbit,
the Hare, the Guinea-pig, all the various species of the
Squirrel, the Dormouse, the Marmotte, the Rat, the
Mouse, the Agouti, the Paea, the Aperea, and the Tapeti.

The tenth class is that of the Hedge-hog kind, with
claw-feet, and covered with prickles ; comprehending the
Hedge-hog and the Porcupine, the Couando and the
Urson.

The eleventh class is that of the Tortoise kind, covered
with a shell, or scales. This comprehends the Tortoise,
the Pangolin, and the Phataguin.

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396

The twelfth is that of the Otter, or amphibious kind;
comprehending the Otter, the Beaver, the Desman, the
Morse, and the Seal. •

The thirteenth class is that of the Ape and Monkey
kinds, with hands, and feet resembling hands.

The fourteenth class is that of winged quadrupeds, or the
Bat kind; containing the Bat, the Flying Squirrel, and
some other varieties.

The animals which seem to approach no other kind, either
in nature or in form, but to make each a distinct species
in itself, are the following : the Elephant, the Rhinoceros,
the Hippopotamos, the Camelopard, the Camel, the Bear,
the Badger, the Tapir, the Cabrai, the Coati, the Ant-bear,
the Tatou, and, lastly, the Sloth.

All other quadrupeds, whose names are not set down,
will be found among some of the above-mentioned classes,
and referred to that which they most resemble. When,
therefore, we are at a loss to know the name of any par-
ticular animal, by examining which of the known kinds it
most resembles, either in shape, or in hoofs, or claws, and
then examining the particular description, we shall be
able to discover not only its name, but its histoiy. I have
already said, that all methods of this kind are merely arbi-
trary, and that Nature makes no exact distinction between
her productions. It is hard, for instance, to tell whether
we ought to refer the civet to the dog or the cat kind ;
but, if we know the exact history of the civet, it is no
great matter to which kind we shall judge it to bear the
greatest resemblance. It is enough, that a distribution
of this kind excites in us some rude outlines of the make,
or some marked similitudes in the nature of these ani-
mals ; but to know them with any precision, no system,
or even description, will serve, since the animal itself, or
a good print of it, must be seen, and its history be read
at length, before it can be said to be known. To pre-
tend to say that we have an idea of a quadruped, because
we can tell the number or the make of its teeth, or its
paps, is as absurd as if we should pretend to distinguish
men by the buttons of their clothes. Indeed it often hap-
pens that the quadruped itself can be but seldom seen :
that many of the more rare kinds do not come into Eu-
rope above once in an age, and some of them have never

ANIMALS.

397

been able to bear the removal : in such a case, therefore
there is no other substitute but a good print of the animal,
to give an idea of its figure ; for no description whatsoever
can answer this purpose so well. Mr. Locke, with his usual
good sense, has observed, that a drawing of the animal,
taken from the life, is one of the best methods of advancing
natural history ; and yet, most of our modern systematic
writers are content rather with describing. Descriptions,
no doubt, will go some way towards giving an idea of the
figure of an animal ; but they are certainly much the longest
way about, and, as they are usually managed, much the
most obscure. In a drawing we can, at a single glance,
gather more instruction than by a day’s painful investigation
of methodical systems, where we are told the proportions with
great exactness, and yet remain ignorant of the totality. In
fact, this method of describing all things is a fault that has
infected many of our books* that treat on the meaner arts,
for this last age. They attempt to teach by words, what is
only to be learnt by practice and inspection. Most of our
dictionaries, and bodies of arts and sciences, are guilty of
this error. Suppose, for instance, it be requisite to mention
the manner of making shoes, it is plain that all the verbal
instructions in the world will never give an adequate idea
of this humble art, or teach a man to become a shoemaker.
A day or two in a shoemaker’s shop will answer the end
better than a whole folio of instruction, which only serves
to oppress the learner with the weight of its pretended im-
portance. W e have lately seen a laborious work carried on
at Paris, with this only intent, of teaching all the trades by
description : however, the design at first blush seems to be
ill considered ; and it is probable that veiy few advantages
will be derived from so laborious an undertaking. With
regard to the descriptions in natural history, these, without
all question, under the direction of good sense, are necessary;
but still they should be kept within proper bounds ; and,
where a thing may be much more easily shewn tlian described,
the exhibition should ever precede the account.

398

A HISTORY OF

CHAP. XV.

OF QUADRUPEDS IN GENERAL, COMPARED TO MAN.

Upon comparing the various animals of the globe with
each other, we shall find that quadrupeds demand the rank
immediately next ourselves ; and, consequently,- come first
in consideration. The similitude between the structure of
their bodies and ours, those instincts which they enjoy in
a superior degree to the rest, their constant services, or
their unceasing hostilities, all render them the foremost
objects of our curiosity, the most interesting parts of animated
nature. These, however, although now so completely sub-
dued, very probably, in the beginning, were nearer upon an
equality with us, and disputed the possession of the earth.
Man, while yet savage himself, was but ill qualified to
civilize the forest. While yet naked, unarmed, and without
shelter, every wild beast was a formidable rival ; and the
destruction of such was the first employment of heroes.
But when he began to multiply, and arts to accumulate, he
soon cleared the plains of the most noxious of these his
rivals ; a part was taken under his protection and care, while
the rest found a precarious refuge in the burning desert, or
the howling wilderness.

From being rivals, quadrupeds have now become the
assistants of man ; upon them he devolves the most labo-
rious employments, and finds in them patient and humble
coadjutors, ready to obey, and content with the smallest
retribution. It was not, however, without long and re-
peated efforts that the independent spirit of these animals
was broken ; for the savage freedom, in wild animals, is
generally found to pass down through several generations
before it is totally subdued. Those cats and dogs that
are taken from a state of natural wildness in the forest,
still transmit their fierceness to their young; and, how-
ever concealed in general, it breaks out upon several
occasions. Thus the assiduity and application of man
in bringing them up, not only alters their disposition, but
their very forms ; and the difference between animals in

ANIMALS.

399

a state of nature and domestic tameness, is so considerable,
that Mr. Buffo n has taken this as a principal distinction in
classing them.

In taking a cursory view of the form of quadrupeds, we
may easily perceive, that of all the ranks of animated nature,
they bear the nearest resemblance to man. This similitude
will be found more striking when, erecting themselves on
their hinder feet, they are taught to walk forward in an
upright posture. We then see that all their extremities in
a manner correspond with ours, and present us with a rude
imitation of our own. In some of the ape kind the resem-
blance is so striking, that anatomists are puzzled to find in
what part of the human body man’s superiority consists ; and
scarcely any but the metaphysician can draw the line that
divides them.

But if we compare their internal structure with our own,
the likeness will be found still to increase, and we shall per-
ceive many advantages they enjoy in common with us, above
the lower tribes of nature. Like us, they are placed above
the class of birds, by bringing forth their young alive ; like
us, they are placed above the class of fishes, by breathing
through the lungs ; like us, they are placed above the class
of insects, by having red blood circulating through their
veins ; and, lastly, like us, they are different from almost
all the other classes of animated nature, being either wholly
or partly covered with hair. Thus nearly are we repre-
sented in point of conformation, to the class of ani-
mals immediately below us; and this shews what little
reason we have to be proud of our persons alone, to
the perfection of which quadrupeds make such very near
approaches.

The similitude of quadrupeds to man. obtains also in the
fixedness of their nature, and their being Jess apt to be
changed by the influence of climate or food, than the lower
ranks of nature.* Birds are found very apt to alter both in
colour and size ; fishes likewise still more ; insects may be
quickly brought to change and adapt themselves to the cli-
mate ; and if we descend to plants, which may be allowed to
have a kind of living existence, their kinds may be suprisingly
and readily altered, and taught to assume new forms. The

* Buffon, vol. xviii. p. 179.

400

A HISTORY OF

figure of every animal may be considered as a kind of drapery,
which it may be made to put on or off by human assiduity :
in man, the drapery is almost invariable ; in quadrupeds, it
admits of some variation ; and the variety may be made
greater still, as we descend to the inferior classes of animal
existence.

Quadrupeds, although they are thus strongly marked, and
in general divided from the various kinds around them, yet
some of them are often of so equivocal a nature, that it is
hard to tell whether they ought to be ranked in the qua-
druped class, or degraded to those below them. If, for in-
stance, we were to marshal the whole groupe of animals
round man, placing the most perfect next him, and those
most equivocal near the classes they most approach, we
should find it difficult, after the principal had taken their
stations near him, where to place many that lie at the out-
skirts of this phalanx. The bat makes a near approach to
the serial tribe, and might, by some, be reckoned among the
birds. The porcupine has not less pretensions to that class,
being covered with quills, and shewing that birds are not the
only part of nature that are furnished with such a defence.
The armadillo might be referred to the tribe of insects or
snails, being, like them, covered with a shell ; the seal and
the morse might be ranked among the fishes, like them
being furnished with fins, and almost constantly residing in
the same element. All these, the farther they recede from
the human figure, become less perfect, and may be consi-
dered as the lowest kinds of that class to which we have
referred them.

But although the variety in quadrupeds is thus great,
they all seem well adapted to the stations in which they
are placed. There is scarcely one of them, how rudely
shaped soever, that is not formed to enjoy a state of hap-
piness fitted to its nature. All its deformities are only re-
lative to us, but all its enjoyments are peculiarly its own.
We may superficially suppose the sloth, that takes up
months in climbing a single tree, or the mole, whose eyes
are too small for distant vision, are wretched and helpless
creatures : but it is probable that their life, with respect
to themselves, is a life of luxury ; the most pleasing food
is easily obtained ; and as they are abridged in one plea-
sure, it may be doubled in those which remain. Quadm-

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401

peds, and all the lower kinds of animals, have, at worst, but
the torments of immediate evil to encounter, and this is bu
transient and accidental : man has two sources of cala-
mity, that which he foresees, as well as that which he feels ;
so that, if his reward were to be in this life alone, then, in-
deed, would he be, of all beings, the most wretched.

The heads of quadrupeds, though differing from each
other, are, in general, adapted to their way of living. In
some it is sharp, the better to fit the animal for turning
up the earth in which its food lies. In some it is long,
in order to give a greater room for the olfactory nerves,
as in dogs, who are to hunt and find out their prey by
the scent. In others it is short and thick, as in the lion, to
increase the strength of the jaw, and to fit it the better
for combat. In quadrupeds that feed upon grass, they
are enabled to hold down their heads to the ground, by a
strong tendinous ligament, that runs from the head to the
middle of the back. This serves to raise the head although
it has been held to the ground for several hours, without
any labour, or any assistance from the muscles of the
neck.

The teeth of all animals are entirely fitted to the nature of
their food. Those of such as live upon flesh differ in every
respect from such as live upon vegetables. In the latter
they seem entirely made for gathering and bruising their
simple food, being edged before, and fitted for cutting ;
but broad towards the back of the jaw, and fitted for
pounding. In the carnivorous kinds, they are sharp before,
and fitted rather for holding than dividing. In the one, the
teeth serve as grindstones ; in the other, as weapons of de-
fence : in both, however, the surface of those teeth which
serve for grinding are unequal ; the cavities and risings
fitting those of the opposite, so as to tally exactly when
the jaws are brought together. These inequalities better
serve for comminuting the food ; but they become smooth
with age ; and, for this reason, old animals take a longer
time to chew their food than such as are in the vigour of
life.

Their legs are not better fitted than their teeth to their
respective wants or enjoyments. In some they are made
for strength only, and to support a vast unwieldly frame,
vol. i. — 19-20. 3E

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402

without much flexibility or beautiful proportion. Thus the
.eg s of the elephant, the rhinoceros, and the sea-horse,
resemble pillars : were they made smaller, they would be
unfit to support the body ; were they endowed with greater
flexibility, or swiftness, that would be needless, as they
do not pursue other animals for food ; and, conscious of
their own superior strength, there are none that they
deign to avoid. Deers, hares, and other creatures, that
are to find safety only in flight, have their legs made en-
tirely for speed; they are slender and nervous. Were it
not for this advantage every carnivorous animal would
soon make them a prey, and their races would be entirely
extinguished. But, in the present state of nature, the
means of safety are rather superior to those of offence ;
and the pursuing animal must owe success only to pa-
tience, perseverance, and industry. The feet of some,
that live upon fish alone, are made, for swimming. The
toes of these animals are joined together with membranes,
being web-footed like a goose or a duck, by which they
swim with great rapidity. Those animals that lead a life
of hostility, and live upon others, have their feet armed
with sharp claws, which some can sheathe and unsheathe at
will. Those, on the contrary, who lead peaceful lives, have
generally hoofs, which serve some as weapons of defence ;
and which, in all, are better fitted for traversing exten-
sive tracts of rugged country than the claw-foot of their
pursuers.

The stomach is generally proportioned to the quality of
the animal’s food, or the ease with which it is obtained,
la those that live upon flesh, and such nourishing sub-
stances, it is small and glandular, affording such juices
as are best adapted to digest its contents ; their intes-
tines also are short, and without fatness. On the contrary,
such animals as feed entirely upon vegetables, have the
stomach very large ; and those who chew the cud have no
less than four stomachs, all which serve as so many labo-
ratories, to prepare and turn their coarse food into proper
nourishment. In Africa, where the plants afford greater
nourishment than in our temperate climates, several ani-
mals, that with us have four stomachs, have there but two.*

* Buffon.

ANIMALS.

m

However, in all animals the size of the intestines is pro-
portioned to the nature of the food : where that is furnished
in large quantities, the stomach dilates to answer the in-
crease. In domestic animals, that are plentifully supplied,
it is large; in the wild animals, that live precariously, it
is much more contracted, and the intestines are much
shorter.

In this manner, all animals are fitted by nature to fill up
some peculiar station. The greatest animals are made for
an inoffensive life, to range the plains and the forest with-
out injuring others ; to live upon the productions of the
earth, the grass of the field, or the tender branches of
trees. These, secure in their own strength, neither fly
from any other quadrupeds, nor yet attack them : Nature,
to the greatest strength, has added the most gentle and
harmless dispositions : without this, those enormous crea-
tures would be more than a match for all the rest of the
creation ; for what devastation might not ensue, were the
elephant, or the rhinoceros, or the buffalo, as fierce and
as mischievous as the tiger or the rat ? In order to oppose
these larger animals, and in some measure to prevent their
exuberance, there is a species of the carnivorous kind, of
inferior strength indeed, but of greater activity and cun-
ning. The lion and the tiger generally watch for the larger
kinds of prey, attack them at some disadvantage, and com-
monly jump upon them by surprise. None of the carni-
vorous kinds, except the dog alone, will make a voluntary
attack, but with the odds on their side. 'Xhey are all
cowards by nature, and usually catch their prey by a bound
from some lurking-place, seldom attempting to invade them
openly ; for the larger beasts are too powerful for them, and
the smaller too swift.

A lion does not willingly attack a horse ; and then only
when compelled by the keenest hunger. The combats
between a lion and a horse are frequent enough in Italy ;
where they are both enclosed in a kind of amphitheatre, fitted
for that purpose. The lion always approaches wheeling
about, while the horse presents his hinder parts to the enemy.
The lion in this manner goes round and round, still narrow-
ing his circle, till he comes to the proper distance to make
his spring; just at the time the lion springs, the horse
lashes with both legs from behind, and, in general, the odds

A HISTORY OF

404

are in his favour ; it more often happening that the lion
is stunned, and struck motionless by the blow, than that he
effects his jump between the horse’s shoulders. If the lion
is stunned, and left sprawling, the horse escapes, without
attempting to improve his victory ; but if the lion succeeds,
he sticks to his prey, and tears the horse in pieces in a very
short time.

But it is not among the larger animals of the forest alone,
that these hostilities are carried on ; there is a minuter,
and a still more treacherous contest, between the lower
ranks of quadrupeds. The panther hunts for the sheep and
the goat ; the catamountain for the hare or the rabbit ; and
the wild cat for the squirrel or the mouse. In proportion
as each carnivorous animal wants strength, it uses all the
assistance of patience, assiduity, and cunning. However,
the arts of these to pursue, are not so great as the tricks of
their prey to escape ; so that the power of destruction in
one class, is inferior to the power of safety in the other.
Were this otherwise, the forest would soon be dispeopled
of the feebler races of animals ; and beasts of prey them-
selves would want, at one time, that subsistence which they
lavishly destroyed at another.

Few wild animals seek their prey in the day-time ; they
are then generally deterred by their fears of man in the
inhabited countries, and by the excessive heat of the sun in
those extensive forests that lie towards the south, and in
which they reign the undisputed tyrants. As soon as
the morning, therefore, appears, the carnivorous animals
retire to their dens ; and the elephant, the horse, the deer,
and all the hare kinds, those inoffensive tenants of the plain,
make their appearance. But again, at night-fall, the state
of hostility begins ; the whole forest then echoes to a
variety of different bowlings. Nothing can be more terrible
than an African landscape at the close of evening ; the
deep-toned roarings of the lion ; the shriller yellings of the
tiger ; the jackal, pursuing by the scent, and barking like a
dog ; the hyena, with a note peculiarly solitary and dreadful ;
but, above all, the hissing of the various kinds of serpents,
that then begin their call, and, as I am assured, make a
much louder symphony than the birds in our groves in a
morning.

Beasts of prey seldom devour each other ; nor can any

ANIMALS. 405

tiling but the greatest degree of hunger induce them to it.
What they chiefly seek after, is the deer, or the goat ; those
harmless creatures, that seem made to embellish nature.
These are either pursued or surprised, and afford the most
agreeable repast to their destroyers. The most usual
method with even the fiercest animals, is to hide and
crouch near some path frequented by their prey ; or some
water where cattle come to drink ; and seize them at once
with a bound. The lion and the tiger leap twenty feet at
a spring ; and this, rather than their swiftness or strength,
is what they have most to depend upon for a supply. There
is scarcely one of the deer or hare kind, that is not very
easily capable of escaping them by its swiftness ; so that
whenever any of these fall a prey, it must be owing to their
own inattention.

But there is another class of the carnivorous kind, that
hunt by the scent, and which it is much more difficult to
escape. It is remarkable, that all animals of this kind
pursue in a pack ; and encourage each other by their mutual
cries. The jackal, the syagush, the wolf, and the dog, are
of this kind ; they pursue with patience rather than swift-
ness ; their prey flies at first, and leaves them for miles
behind ; but they keep on with a constant steady pace, and
excite each other by a general spirit of industry and emu-
lation, till at last they share the common plunder. But it
too often happens, that the larger beasts of prey, when they
hear a cry of this kind begun, pursue the pack, and when
they have hunted down the animal, come in and monopolize
the spoil. This has given rise to the report of the jackal’s
being the lion’s provider ; when the reality is, that the
jackal hunts for itself, and the lion is an unwelcome intruder
upon the fruit of his toil.

Nevertheless, with all the powers which carnivorous ani-
mals are possessed of, they generally lead a life of famine
and fatigue. Their prey has such a variety of methods
for escaping, that they sometimes continue without food
for a fortnight together : but nature has endowed them
with a degree of patience equal to the severity of their
state ; so that as their subsistence is precarious, their ap-
petites are complying. They usually seize their prey with
a roar, either of seeming delight, or perhaps to terrify it
from resistance. They frequently devour it, bones and

A HISTORY OF

406

all, in the most ravenous manner ; and then retire to their
dens, continuing inactive, till the calls of hunger again ex-
cite their courage and industry. But as all their methods
of pursuit are counteracted by the arts of evasion, they
often continue to range without success, supporting a
state of famine for several days, nay, sometimes, weeks
together. Of their prey, some find protection in holes,
in which nature has directed them to bury themselves ;
some find safety by swiftness ; and such as are pos-
sessed of neither of these advantages, generally herd to-
gether, and endeavour to repel invasion by united force.
The very sheep, which to us seem so defenceless, are by
no means so in a state of nature ; they are furnished with
arms of defence, and a very great degree of swiftness ; but
they are still further assisted by their spirit of mutual de-
fence : the females fall into the centre ; and the males,
forming a ring round them, oppose their horns to the as-
sailants. Some animals, that feed upon fruits which are
to be found only at one time of the year, fill their holes
with several sorts of plants, which enable them to lie con-
cealed during the hard frosts of the winter, contented with
their prison, since it affords them plenty and protection.
These holes are dug with so much art, that there seems
the design of an architect in the formation. There are
usually two apertures, by one of which the little inhabi-
tant can always escape, when the enemy is in possession
of the other. Many creatures are equally careful of avoid-
ing their enemies, by placing a centinel to warn them of
the approach of danger. These generally perform this
duty by turns ; and they know how to punish such as
have neglected their post, or have been unmindful of the
common safety. Such are a part of the efforts that the
weaker races of quadrupeds exert, to avoid their invaders ;
and, in general, they are attended with success. The arts
of instinct are most commonly found an overmatch for
the invasions of instinct. Man is the only creature against
whom all their little tricks cannot prevail. Wherever he
has spread his dominion, scarcely any flight can save, or
any retreat harbour ; wherever he comes, terror seems to
follow, and all society ceases among the inferior tenants
of the plain ; their union against him can yield them no
protection, and their cunning is but weakness. In their

ANIMALS.

407

fellow-brutes, they have an enemy whom they can oppose
with an equality of advantage; they can oppose fraud or
swiftness to force, or numbers to invasion ; but what can be
done against such an enemy as man, who finds them out
though unseen ; and though remote, destroys them ? Wher-
ever he comes, all the contest among the meaner ranks
seem to be at an end, or is carried on only by surprise.
Such as he has thought proper to protect, have calmly sub-
mitted to his protection ; such as he has found it convenient
to destroy, carry on an unequal war, and their numbers are
every day decreasing.

The wild animal is subject to few alterations ; and, in
a state of savage nature, continues for ages the same, in
size, shape, and colour. But it is otherwise when sub-
dued, and taken under the protection of man ; its exter-
nal form, and even its internal structure, are altered by
human assiduity: and this is one of the first and greatest
causes of the variety that we see among the several
quadrupeds of the same species. Man appears to have
changed the very nature of domestic animals, by cultiva-
tion and care. . A domestic animal is a slave that seems
to have few other desires but such as man is willing to
allow it. Humble, patient, resigned, and attentive, it fills
up the duties of its station ; ready for labour, and content
with subsistence.

Almost all domestic animals seem to bear the marks
of servitude strong upon them. All the varieties in their
colour, all the fineness and length of their hair, together
with the depending length of their ears, seem to have
arisen from a long continuance of domestic slavery. — ■
What an immense variety is there to be found in the
ordinary race of dogs and horses ! the principal differences
of which have been effected by the industry of man, so
adapting the food, the treatment, the labour, and the
climate, that Nature seems almost to have forgotten
her original design ; and the tame animal no longer bears
any resemblance to its ancestors in the woods around
him.

In this manner, nature is under a kind of constraint, in
those animals we have taught to live in a state of . servi-
tude near us. The savage animals preserve the marks of
their first formation ; their colours are generally the same ;

408

A HISTORY OF

a rough dusky brown, or a tawny, seem almost their only
varieties. But it is otherwise in the tame ; their colours are
various, ^and their forms different from each other. The
nature of the climate indeed operates upon all ; but more
particularly on these. That nourishment which is prepared
by the hand of man, not adapted to their appetites, but to
suit his own convenience ; that climate, the rigours of
which he can soften ; and that employment to which
they are sometimes assigned; produce a number of dis-
tinctions that are not to be found among the savage
animals. These, at first, were accidental, but in time
became hereditary; and a new race of artificial monsters
are propagated, rather to answer the purposes of human
pleasure than their own convenience. In short, their very
appetites may be changed ; and those that feed only upon
grass may be rendered carnivorous. I have seen a sheep
that would eat flesh, and a horse that was fond of
oysters.

But not their appetites, or their figure alone, but their
very dispositions, and their natural sagacity, are altered
by the vicinity of man. In those countries where men
have seldom intruded, some animals have been found,
established in a kind of civil state of society. Remote
from the tyranny of man, they seem to have a spirit of
mutual benevolence, and mutual friendship. The beavers,
in those distant solitudes, are known to build like archi-
tects, and rule like citizens. The habitations that these
have been seen to erect, exceed the houses of the human
inhabitants of the same country, both in neatness and
convenience. But as soon as man intrudes upon their
society, they seem impressed with the terrors of their
inferior situation, their spirit of society ceases, the bond
is dissolved, and every animal looks for safety in soli-
tude, and there tries all its little industry to shift only
for itself.

Next to human influence, the climate seems to have
the strongest effects both upon the nature and the form of
quadrupeds. As in man we have seen some alterations
produced by the variety of his situation ; so in the lower
ranks, that are more subject to variation, the influence
of climate is more readily perceived. As these are more
nearly attached to the earth, and in a manner connected

ANIMALS.

409

to the soil ; as they have none of the arts of shielding off
the inclemency of the weather, or softening the rigours
of the sun, they are consequently more changed by its
variations. In general it may be remarked, that the
colder the country, the larger and the warmer is the fur
of each animal ; it being wisely provided by Nature, that
the inhabitant should be adapted to the rigours of its
situation. Thus the fox and wolf, which in temperate
climates have but short hair, have a fine long fur in the
frozen regions near the pole. On the contrary, those
dogs which with us have long hair, when carried to Guinea
or Angola, in a short time cast their thick covering,
and assume a lighter dress, and one more adapted to the
warmth of the country. The beaver, and the ermine, which
are found in the greatest plenty in the cold regions, are
remarkable for the warmth and delicacy of their furs ; while
the elephant, and the rhinoceros, that are natives of the line,
have scarcely any hair. Not but that human industry
can, in some measure, co-operate with, or repress, the
effects of climate in this particular. It is well known what
alterations are produced by proper care, in the sheep’s
fleece, in different parts of our own country ; and the same
industry is pursued with a like success in Syria, where many
of their animals are clothed with a long and beautiful hair,
which they take care to improve, as they work it into that
stuff called camblet, so well known in different parts of
Europe.

The disposition of the animal seems also not less marked
by the climate than the figure. The same causes that
seem to have rendered the human inhabitants of the rigor-
ous climates savage and ignorant, have also operated
upon their animals. Both at the line and the pole, the
wild quadrupeds are fierce and untameable. In these
latitudes, their savage dispositions having not been quelled
by any efforts from man, and being still farther stimu-
lated by the severity of the weather, they continue fierce
and untractable. Most of the attempts which have
hitherto been made to tame the wild beasts brought home
from the pole or the equator, have proved ineffectual.
They are gentle and harmless enough while young ; but
as they grow up, they acquire their natural ferocity, and
snap at the hand that feeds them. It may indeed, in
vol. i, — 19-20. 3 F

A HISTORY OF

410

general, be asserted, that in all countries where the men are
most barbarous, the beasts are most fierce and cruel : and
this is but a natural consequence of the struggle between
man and the more savage animals of the forest ; for in
proportion as he is weak and timid, they must be bold
and intrusive ; in proportion as his dominion is but feebly
supported, their rapacity must be more obnoxious. In the
extensive countries, therefore, lying round the pole, or
beneath the line, the quadrupeds are fierce and formidable.
Africa has ever been remarked for the brutality of its men,
and the fierceness of its animals : its lions and its leopards
are not less terrible than its crocodiles and its serpents ;
their dispositions seem entirely marked with the rigours
of the climate, and being bred in an extreme of heat,
they shew a peculiar ferocity, that neither the force of man
can conquer, nor his arts allay. However, it is happy
for the wretched inhabitants of those climates, that its most
formidable animals are all solitary ones ; that they have
not learnt the art of uniting, to oppress mankind ; but
each depending on its own strength, invades without any
assistant.

The food also is another cause of the variety which
we find among quadrupeds of the same kind. Thus the
beasts which feed in the valley are generally larger than
those which glean a scanty subsistence on the mountain.
Such as live in the warm climates, where the plants are
much larger and more succulent than with us, are equally
remarkable for their bulk. The ox fed in the plains of
Indostan, is much larger than that which is more hardily
maintained on the side of the Alps. The deserts of Africa,
where the plants are extremely nourishing, produce the
largest and fiercest animals ; and, perhaps for a contrary
reason, America is found not to produce such large ani-
mals as are seen in the ancient continent. But, what-
ever be the reason, the fact is certain, that while Ame-
rica exceeds us in the size of its reptiles of all kinds, it
is far inferior in its quadruped productions. Thus, for
instance, the largest animal of that country is the tapir,
which can by no means be compared to the elephant of
Africa. Its beasts of prey, also, are divested of that
strength and courage which is so dangerous in this part
of the world. The American lion, tiger, and leopard, if

ANIMALS.

411

such diminutive creatures deserve these names, are neither
so fierce nor so valiant as those of Africa and Asia. The
tiger of Bengal has been seen to measure twelve feet in
length, without including the tail : whereas the American
tiger seldom exceeds three. This difference obtains still
more in the other animals of that country, so that some
have been of opinion* that all quadrupeds in Southern
America are of a different species from those most re-
sembling them in the old world ; and that there are none
which are common to both, but such as have entered
America by the north ; and which, being able to bear the
rigours of the frozen pole, have travelled from the ancient
continent, by that passage, into the new. Thus the hear,
the wolf, the elk, the stag, the fox, and the beaver, are
known to the inhabitants as well of North America as of
Russia ; while most of the various kinds to the southward,
in both continents, bear no resemblance to each other.
Upon the whole, such as peculiarly belong to the new
continent are without any marks of the quadruped per-
fection. They are almost wholly destitute of the power of
defence ; they have neither formidable teeth, horns, or tail ;
their figure is awkward, and their limbs ill proportioned.
Some among them, such as the ant-bear and the sloth,
appear so miserably formed, as scarcely to have the
power of moving and eating. They, seemingly, drag out a
miserable and languid existence in the most desert soli-
tude ; and would quickly have been destroyed in a country
where there were inhabitants, or powerful beasts to oppose
them.

But if the quadrupeds of the new continent be less, they
are found in much greater abundance ; for it is a rule that
obtains through nature, that the smallest animals multiply
the fastest. The goat, imported from Europe to South
America, soon begins to degenerate ; but as it grows less
it becomes more prolific ; and, instead of one kid at a time,
or two at the most, it generally produces five, and some-
times more. What there is in the food, or the climate,
that produces this change, we have not been able to learn ;
we might be apt to ascribe it to the heat, but that on the
African coast, where it is still hotter, this rule does not

* Buffon.

A HISTORY OF

412

obtain ; for the goat, instead of degenerating there, seems
rather to improve.

However, the rule is general among all quadrupeds,
that those which are large and formidable produce but
few at a time ; while such as are mean and contemptible
are extremely prolific. The lion, or tiger, have seldom
above two cubs at a litter ; while the cat, that is of a
similar nature, is usually seen to have five or six. In this
manner, the lower tribes become extremely numerous ;
and, but for this surprising fecundity, from their natural
weakness they would quickly be extirpated. The breed
of mice, for instance, would have long since been blotted
from the earth, were the mouse as slow in production as
the elephant. But it has been wisely provided, that such
animals as can make but little resistance, should at least
have a means of repairing the destruction, which they
must often suffer, by their quick reproduction ; that they
should increase even among enemies, and multiply under
the hand of the destroyer. On the other hand, it has as
wisely been ordered by Providence, that the larger kinds
should produce but slowly ; otherwise, as they require
proportional supplies from nature, they would quickly
consume their own store ; and, of consequence, many of
them would soon perish through want ; so that life would
thus be given without the necessary means of subsist-
ence. In a word, Providence has most wisely balanced
the strength of the great against the weakness of the little.
Since it was necessary that some should be great and
others mean, since it was expedient that some should live
upon others, it has assisted the weakness of one by granting
it fruitfulness ; and diminished the number of the other by
infecundity.

In consequence of this provision, the larger creatures,
which bring forth few at a time, seldom begin to generate
till they have nearly acquired their full growth. On the
contrary, those which bring many, reproduce before they
have arrived at their natural size. Thus the horse and the
bull are nearly at their best before they begin to breed ; the
hog and the rabbit scarcely leave the teat before they become
parents in turn. Almost all animals likewise continue
the time of their pregnancy in proportion to their size.
The mare continues eleven months with foal, the cow nine.

ANIMALS.

413

the wolf five, and the bitch nine weeks. In all, the inter-
mediate litters are the most fruitful ; the first and the last
generally producing the fewest in number, and the worst of
the kind.

Whatever be the natural disposition of animals at other
times, they all acquire new courage when they consider
themselves as defending their young. No terrors can
then drive them from the post of duty ; the mildest begin
to exert their little force, and resist the most formidable
enemy. Where resistance is hopeless, they then incur
every danger, in order to rescue their young by flight,
and retard their own expedition by providing for their
little ones. When the female oppossum, an animal of
America, is pursued, she instantly takes her young into
a false belly, with which nature has supplied her, and
carries them off, or dies in the endeavour. I have been
lately assured of a she-fox, which, when hunted, took her
cub in her mouth, and run for several miles without quitting
it, until at last she was forced to leave it behind, upon
the approach of a mastiff, as she ran through a farmer’s
yard. But, if at this period the mildest animals acquire
new fierceness, how formidable must those be that subsist
by rapine ! At such times, no obstacles can stop their
ravage, nor no threats can terrify ; the lioness then seems
more hardy than even the lion himself. She attacks men
and beasts indiscriminately, and carries all she can overcome
reeking to her cubs, whom she thus early accustoms to
slaughter. Milk, in the carnivorous animals, is much more
sparing than in others ; and it may be for this reason that
all such carry home their prey alive, that, in feeding their
young, its blood may supply the deficiencies of nature, and
serve instead of that milk with which they are so sparingly
supplied. j

Nature, that has thus given them courage to defend their
young, has given them instinct to choose the proper times
of copulation, so as to bring forth when the provision suited
to each kind is to be found in the greatest plenty. The wolf,
for instance, couples in November, so that the time of
pregnancy continuing five months, it may have its young in
April. The mare, who goes eleven months, admits the
horse in summer, in order to foal about the beginning o’f
May. On the contrary, those animals which lay up pro-

A HISTORY OF

414

visions for the winter, such as the beaver and the marmotte,
couple in the latter end of autumn, so as to have then-
young about January, against which season they have
provided a very comfortable store. These seasons for
coupling, however, among some of the domestic kinds, are
generally in consequence of the quantity of provisions with
which they are at any time supplied. Thus we may, by
feeding any of these animals, and keeping off the rigour of
the climate, make them breed whenever we please. In
this manner those contrive who produce lambs all the year
round.

The choice of situation in bringing forth is also very
remarkable. In , most of the rapacious kinds, the female
takes the utmost precautions to hide the place of her retreat
from the male; who otherwise, when pressed by hunger,
would be apt to devour her cubs. She seldom, therefore,
strays far from the den, and never approaches it while he
is in view, nor visits him again till her young are capable of
providing for themselves. Such animals as are of tender
constitutions take the utmost care to provide a place of
warmth, as well as safety, for their young; the rapacious
kinds bring forth in the thickest woods ; those that chew
the cud, with the various tribes of the vermin kind, choose
some hiding place in the neighbourhood of man. Some
dig holes in the ground ; some choose the hollow of a tree ;
and all the amphibious kinds bring up their young near
the water, and accustom them betimes to their proper
element.

Thus Nature seems kindly careful for the protection of
the meanest of her creatures : but there is one class of
quadrupeds that seems entirely left to chance, that no parent
stands forth to protect, nor no instructor leads, to teach
the arts of^ubsistence. These are the quadrupeds that are
brought forth from the egg, such as the lizard, the tortoise,
and the crocodile. The fecundity of all other animals
compared with these is sterility itself. These bring forth
above two hundred at a time ; but, as the offspring is more
numerous, the parental care is less exerted. Thus the nu-
merous brood of eggs are, without farther solicitude, buried
in the warm sands of the shore, and the heat of the sun
alone is left to bring them to perfection. To this perfection
they arrive almost as soon as disengaged from the shell.

ANIMALS.

415

Most of them, without any other guide than instinct, im-
mediately make to the water. In their passage thither, they
have numberless enemies to fear. The birds of prey that
haunt the shore, the beasts that accidentally come there,
and even the animals that give them birth, are known, with
a strange rapacity, to thin their numbers as well as the
rest.

But it is kindly ordered by Providence, that these ani-
mals, which are mostly noxious, should thus have many
destroyers : were it not for this, by their extreme fecundity,
they would soon over-run the earth, and cumber all our
plains with deformity.

[“ Thus throughout the whole economy of nature we may
trace displays of infinite wisdom, even in regulating the
impulses of instinctive power, and in governing its annual
or varied tides. A mere system of organized matter, without
any independent and intelligent cause, could never have
communicated to itself that prescience which the numerous
tribes of animals exhibit ; and to ascribe the visible pheno-
mena to chance, is to invest a mere abstract idea with attri-
butes, which, even human knowledge, refined by all the light
which philosophy imparts, is scarcely able to comprehend.
And even if we allow chance to have been the primitive
cause of existence, and of the varied phenomena connected
w ith it, we must ascribe to it that eternity of being which
Atheism denies to the intelligent Creator ; unless we con-
ceive that chance, by chance, has begotten chance throughout
an infinite series in past duration. The absurdity of such a
supposition it would be folly to pursue.

“ That many things appear inexplicable in the economy
and overruling Providence of God, will be most readily
allowed. In every department, shadows, andj^obscurities,
veil from human penetration a considerable portion of his
ways. In the vast chain of being, a few links only are open
to human inspection ; and even these the dimness of our
bodily organs and mental powers will not permit us fully to
explore. Sometimes even those links which we perceive
are not immediately connected together ; and at other times,
mists, minuteness, and distance, lay an embargo upon our
faculties. It is thus that the parts with which we are sur-
rounded, are intercepted and concealed from our discernment.

A HISTORY OF ANIMALS.

416

while the chain itself, stretching into another world, can
only be discovered by that light, which, in futurity, eternity
shall impart.

“ In the structure and organs of animals, there is an
adaptation for certain ends which the most superficial ob-
server can hardly fail to observe. Adaptation implies design,
and this involves some being or power capable of forming
the design, and calculating upon issues, which no combina-
tion of accidents. has in any known case ever yet produced.
The evidences of wisdom which are scattered over the surface
of our globe, speak in a language that must be heard even
by the most careless and inattentive ; and the animal world
presents us with a noble compendium of facts, that are con-
stantly exposed to the scrutiny of every eye. Of these, Dr.
Goldsmith has furnished a grand exhibition ; and the con-
dition of that reader is not to be envied, who, after perusing
bis Natural History, can close his book, and deliberately
think there is no God.”]

END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.

4

Printed, by Henry Fisher , at the Caxton Press , London.

i. i.

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