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PALEY’S ore? lite ILLUSTRATIONS.

NATURAL THEOLOGY:

OR,

EVIDENCES OF THE EXISTENCE AND
ATTRIBUTES OF THE

DEITY,

COLLECTED FROM THE APPEARANCES OF NATURE.

—<—

BY WILLIAM PALEY, D. D.
ARCH-DEACON OF CARLISLE.

eee

ILLUSTRATED BY THE PLATES,
AND BY A SELECTION FROM THE NOTES OF

JAMES PAXTON,

Member of the Royal College of Surgeons, London.

WITH )
ADDITIONAL NOTES,

ORIGINAL AND SELECTED, FOR THIS EDITION.

And a Vocabulary of Scientific Terms.

Boston:
PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY LINCOLN & EDMANDS,

No. 59 Washington-Street.
1829.

Re

184

DISTRICT OF MASSACHUSETTS, to wit:
District Clerks office.

BE IT REMEMBERED, That on the fourteenth day of March, A. D. 1829, in the
fifty-third year of the Independence of the United States of America Mincola & Edmands,
of the said district, have deposited in this office the title of a Book, the right whereof they claim
as Proprietors, in the words following, to wil:

© Paley’s Theology, with Illustrations. Natural Theology : or, Evidences of the Existence and
Attributes of the Deity, collected from the Appearances of Nature. By William Paley, D. D.
Arch-Deacon of Carlisle. Illustrated by the Plates, and by a Selection from the Notes of James
Paxton, Member of the Royal College of Surgeons, London. ‘With additional Notes, Original and
Selected, for this Edition. And a Vocabulary of Scientific Terms.”

In Conformity to the Act of the Congress of the United States, entitled, ** An Act for the
encouragement of Learning, by securing the copies of Maps, Charts and Books, to the Authors
and Proprietors of such copies during the times therein mentioned ;?? and alsoto an Actentitled,
S© An Act supplementary toan Act, entitled, An Act for the Encouragement of Learning, by se-
curing the Copies of Maps, Charts and Books to the Authors and Proprietors of such Copies during
thetimes therein mentioned: and extending the Benefits thereof to the Arts of Designing, En-
graving and Etching. Historical, and other Prints.’?

JNO. W. DAVIS, Clerk of the District of Massachusetts.
or QO QOu:-

PUBLISHERS’ NOTICE.

To give this valuable work a more extended circulation in our Col-
leges and High Schools, the Publishers engaged a competent profes-
sional gentleman of Boston, to superintend this edition. And they feel
confident that his Notes, and those he has selected—the references to
the Plates—and his Vocabulary, will be found greatly to enhance the
value of the book. They have been at much expense to procure the J/-
lustrations ; butas these plates are as necessary to facilitate the scholar
in his study of this work, as an atlas is to aid the pupil’s progress in
geography, they believe they shall be remunerated by the patronage
which a discerning public will bestow upon their endeavours to pre-
sent a complete edition of this standard work of acknowledged merit.

>> @QO<.-
NOTE.

The reader will please to supply ,the following references to plates,
which were omitted in the text.
p. 112, after the word package, insert (PI. xxii. Fig. 1.)

115, after mesentery, insert (PI. xxii. Fig. 2.)

130, after bill, insert (Pl. xxiii. Fig. 1.)

132, after place,* insert (Pl. xxiii. Fig. 2.)

162, after chameleon, insert (Pl. xxxi. Fig. 1.)

163, after sea-fox, insert (Pl. xxxi. Fig. 2, 3.)

¢

- PREFACE TO THIS EDITION.

aes

THE present edition of the Natural Theology of Dr. Paley was
undertaken with the view of making this admirable work more ex-
tensively useful than it could ever be under the form in which it has
been usually circulated. A great proportion of those who have read
it must have sensibly felt the disadvantage under which they labour
in comprehending the descriptions; and of course the arguments of
the author, from the want of a knowledge of the subjects to which
they relate. No man could so well supply the want of this knowl-
edge, by clearness of statement and description, as Dr. Paley; and itis
probable that few other writers would have made a book so intelligible,
which relates to subjects remote from common observation, without

ie aid of plates and illustrations. Still it must be imperfectly com-
»rehended in many important parts, except by those acquainted with

‘he sciences from which his illustrations are drawn. Enough it is

- rue may be understood by all, to carry them along with the argument,

and produce a general conviction of its truth. But the conceptions
even of professional readers would be much more clear, definite, and
satisfactory, were the description aided by visible representations.

It was the original design of the publishers to have merely attached
the plates and references of Paxton, which have been published in
England and in this country in a separate volume, to’the text of Dr.
Paley. It was, however, suggested to them that the value of their
edition might be increased by the addition of Notes, and they had made
arrangements for this purpose and were going on with the work,
when Mr. Paxton’s edition of the Natural Theology fell into their
hands, containing, beside the plates, a considerable number of Notes.
From these Notes a selection has been made of such as seemed
most valuable and interesting. A number of Notes have also been
made up of quotations from the excellent treatise of Mr. Charles Bell
on Animal Mechanics, published in the Library of Useful Knowledge ;
a tract which cannot be too highly recommended to the perusal of
those who take pleasure in studying the indications of a wise and be-
nevolent Providence in the works of creation.

A few additional Notes have also been subjoined, which have not
been before published.

It seems to be supposed by some, that the progress made in science !

since the writing of this work must have furnished ample materials
for valuable additions to it, It will readily appear, however, upon re-

e%

oe

«
a

iv PREFACE.

flection, that this is not likely to be the case, and that no particular ad-
vantage to the argument is to be expected from bringing it down, as
it is often expressed, to the present state of science. The object of
the work is, not to teach science in its connexion with Natural Theol-
ogy, a plan entirely different, and one upon which distinct works may,
and have been written, but to gather materials from the knowledge
communicated by science, where with to construct an argument for the.
existence and attributes of God. The excellence of such a work,
then, will not consist in the number of illustrations, or in the copious-
ness and completeness of the materials, but in the judgment with
which they are selected, and the aptness. with which they are made
to bear upon the question at issue.

So far, therefore, as the argument is concerned, no additional
strength will be given to it by new discoveries in science. As Dr.
Paley has himself admitted, a single case thoroughly made out, proves
all that can be proved, and, generally speaking, the most familiar in-
stances which can be selected and made intelligible are the best for
this purpose, and will have the greatest influence upon men’s minds.
All the knowledge, therefore, which is necessary for the complete-
ness and strength of the argument was possessed long ago.

Still there is an advantage in selecting and arguing from a variety
of examples, arising out of the different constitutions of men’s minds,
or their different habits of thinking and reasoning. Some are more af-
fected by examples of one kind, and some by those of another. In
this way much more might be done in the way of illustrating and en-
forcing the argument, and holding it up in every possible light, than
has been attempted in the present edition. The principal object here
had in view, has been to make such additions, as with the help of the
engraved views, would bring the argument, as stated by the author,
clearly within reach of all readers.

To give a correct edition, various English and American copies have
been consulted, in which variations have been found ; but those read-
ings have been adopted, which appeared best to comport with that
familiarity, and originalfty of expression, which gives its principal
charm, and its great force and clearness to Dr. Paley’s style.

J. WW:
Boston, March, 1829.

TO THE
RIGHT HONOURABLE AND RIGHT REVEREND

SHUTE BARRINGTON, LL. D.
LORD BISHOP OF DURHAM.

_ My Lorp,

TuHE following work was undertaken at your Lordship’s recommen-
dation ; and amongst other motives, for the purpose of making the
most acceptable return I could make for a great and important benefit
conferred upon me.

It may be unnecessary, yet not perhaps, quite impertinent, to
state to your Lordship and to the reader, the several inducements that
have led me once more to the press. The favour of my first and ever
honoured patron had put me in possession of so liberal a provision in
the church, as abundantly to satisfy my wants, and much to exceed
my pretensions. Your Lordship’s munificence, in conjunction with
that of some other excellent Prelates, who regarded my services with
the partiality with which your Lordship was pleased to consider them,
hath since placed me in ecclesiastical situations, more than adequate to
every object of reasonable ambition. In the mean time, a weak, and,
of late, a painful state of health, deprived me of the power of discharg-
ing the duties of my station, in a manner at all suitable, either to my
sense of those duties, or to my most anxious wishes concerning them.
My inability for the public functions of my profession, amongst other
consequences, left me much at leisure. That leisure was not to be
lost. It was only in my study that I could repair my deficiencies in
the church. It was only through the press that I could speak. These
circumstances, in particular, entitled your Lordship to call upon me
for the only species of exertion of which I was capable, and disposed
me, without hesitation, to obey the callin the best manner that I
could. In the choice of a subject I had no place left for doubt: in
saying ‘which, I do not so much refer, either to the supreme impor-
tance of the subject, or to any scepticism concerning it with which
the present times are charged, as I do, to its connexion with the sub-
jects treated of in my former publications. The following discussion
alone was wanted to make up my works into a system: in which

Vi DEDICATION.

works, such as they are, the public have now before them, the evi-
dences of natural religion, the evidences of revealed religion, and an
account of the duties that result from both. It is of small importance,
that they have been written in an order, the very reverse of that in
which they ought to be read. I commend therefore the present vol-
ume to your Lordship’s protection, not only as, in all probability, my
last labour, but as the completion of a consistent and comprehensive
design.

Hitherto, my Lord, I have been speaking of myself and not of my
Patron. Your Lordship wants not the testimony of a dedication, nor any
testimony from me: I consult therefore the impulse of my own mind
alone when I declare, that in no respect has my intercourse -with your
Lordship been more gratifying to me, than in the opportunities, which
it has afforded me, of observing your earnest, active, and unwearied
solicitude, for the advancement of substantial Christianity : a solici-
tude, nevertheless, accompanied with that candour of mind, which suf-
fers no subordinate differences of opinion, when there isa coincidence
in the main intention and object, to produce an alienation of esteem,
or diminution of favour. It is fortunate for a country, and honourable
to its government, when qualities and dispositions like these are placed
in high and influential stations. Such is the sincere judgment which
I have formed of your Lordship’s character, and of its public value:
my personal obligations I can never forget. Under a due sense of
both these considerations, I beg leave to subscribe myself, with great
respect and gratitude,

My Lord,

Your Lordship’s faithful
And most devoted servant,
WILLIAM PALEY.
Bishop-Wearmouth, July, 1802,

TO THE
HONOURABLE AND RIGHT REVEREND

SHUTE BARRINGTON, LL. D.
LORD BISHOP OF DURHAM.

My Lorp,

To your suggestion the world is indebted for the existence of Dr.
Paley’s valuable work on Natural Theology. The universal and
permanent esteem in which it has been held in this country, and its
favourable reception in France, even after the desolating influence
of the Revolution, have abundantly approved your Lordship’s selec-
tion both of the subject and of the person to whom you intrusted it.

In looking round, then, for a patron for these ILLusTRATIONS,
it was natural to have recourse to him who was the original sug-
gestor of the work which it is their object to explain. Nor was I
disappointed in my wish; your Lordship not only condescending to
approve of the design, but to encourage me in its prosecution, by
your very liberal support. For this distinguished honour you will
believe me deeply sensible; and if I may indulge the hope that my
humble efforts will increase the utility of so eminent a writer, I

shall consider it the highest gratification.
| I am, my Lor»,
With great veneration,

Your Lordship’s most obliged,
And obedient servant,

JAMES PAXTON.
Oxford, January 1, 1826.

CONTENTS.

CHAP. Page
1. State of the Argument, . - - - - 2 5
2. State of the Argument, continued, - - arti ma
3. Application of the Argument, - - - = a 13
4, Of the succession of plants and animals, _ - Saisie aia 2
5. Application of the Argument, continued, - - - 34
6. The Argument cumulative, - - 2 - = ae
7. Of the mechanical and omental pare and functions of

Animals and Vegetables, - : . 45
8. Of mechanical Arrangement in the human Frime—Of the

Bones, - - - - . if; nye ait cee
9. Of the Muscles, - - - - - - « % 14

10. Of the Vessels of animal Bodies, - u a 5 - 91

11. Of the animal Structure, regarded as a Mass, ee) 110

12. Comparative Anatomy, - - - “ a z - 128

13. Peculiar Organizations, - - e g i Bi 139

14. Prospective Contrivances, - - = = é - 146

15. Relations, - - - - . a ~ Z Z 151

16. Compensation, - - - - : 3 3 - 159

17. The Relation of animated Bodies to inanimate Nature, - 168

18. Instincts, - - - - - - = os Baw f:/)

19. Of Insects, - ° - - - - e é s 182

20. Of Plants, - - - - - - 3 3 - 196

21. Of the Elements, - - - - = “i : 210

22. Astronomy, - - ° - - = = s - 215

23. Personality of the Deity, - - - - 2 2 233

24. Of the Natural Attributes of the Deity, - - - - 249

25. The Unity of the Deity, ° - - ° - - 253

26. The Goodness of the Deity, - - - - . - 256

27. Conclusion, - - - ° - - - - 295

Vocabulary, SH hae ay ne ees et

Ue

NATURAL THEOLOGY.

or @OO«.-

CHAPTER I.
STATE OF THE ARGUMENT.

IN crossing a heath, suppose I pitched my, foot against
a stone, and were asked how the stone came to be there,
I might possibly answer, that, for any thing I knew to the
contrary, it had lain there forever: nor would it perhaps
be very easy to show the absurdity of this answer. But
suppose | had found a watch upon the ground, and it
_ should be inquired how the watch happened to be in that
place, I should hardly think of the answer which I had be-
fore given, that, for any thing I knew, the watch might
have always been there. Yet why should not this answer
serve for the watch, as well as for the stone? Why is it
not as admissible in the second case, as in the first? For
this reason, and for no other, viz. that, when we come to
inspect the watch, we perceive (what we could not discov-
er in the stone) that its several parts are framed and put
together for a purpose, e. g.that they are so formed and ad-
justed as to produce motion; and that motion so regulated
as to point out the hour of the day; that, if the several
parts had been differently shaped from what they are, or of
a different size from what they are, or placed after any oth-
er manner, or in any other order, than that in which they
are placed, either no motion at all would have been carried
on in the machine, or none which would have answered the
use that is now served by it. To reckon up a few of the
plainest of these parts, and of their offices, all tending to one
result: [See Plate I.]|—We see a cylindrical box containing a
coiled elastic spring, which, by its endeavour to relax itself,
turns round the box. We next observe a flexible chain (artifi-
cially wrought for the sake of flexure) communicating the ac-
tion of the spring from the box to the fusee. We then find a

B

6 STATE OF THE ARGUMENT.

series of wheels, the teeth of which, catch in, and apply to,
each other, conducting the motion from the fusee to the bal-
ance,and from the balance to the pointer; and at the same

time, by the size and shape of those wheels, so regulating

that motion, as to terminate in causing an index, by an

equable and measured progression, to pass over a given

space in a given time. We take notice that the wheels are

made of brass, in order to keep them from rust ; the sprigs

of steel, no other metal being so elastic ; that over the face

of the watch there is placed a glass, a material employed

in no other part of the work ; but im the room of which, if
there had been any other than a transparent substance, the

hour could not be seen without opening the case. This

mechanism being observed (it requires indeed an exami-

nation of the instrument, and perhaps some previous knowl-

edge of the subject, to perceive and understand it; but be-

ing once, as we have said, observed and understood,) the

inference, we think, is inevitable; that the watch must

have had a maker; that there must have existed, at some

time and at some place or other, an artificer or artifi-

cers, who formed it for the purpose which we find it actu-

ally to answer; who comprehended its construction, and

designed its use.

I. Nor would it, I apprehend, weaken the conclusion,
that we had never seen a watch made: that we had never
known an artist,capable of making one ; that we were alto-
gether incapable of executing such a piece of workman-
ship ourselves, or of understanding in what manner it was
performed; all this being no more than what is true of
some exquisite remains of ancient art, of some lost arts, and,
to the generality of mankind, of the more curious produc-
tions of modern manufacture. Does one man in a million
know how oval frames are turned? Ignorance of this kind
exalts our opinion of the unseen and unknown artist’s
skill, if he be unseen and unknown, but raises no doubt in
our mind of the existence and agency of suchan artist, at
some former time, and in some place or other. Nor can
I perceive that it varies at all the inference, whether the
question arise concerning a human agent, or concerning
an agent of a different species, or an agent possessing,
in some respects, a different nature.

If. Neither, secondly, would it invalidate our conclu-
sion, that the watch sometimes went wrong, or that it sel-
dom went exactly right. The purpose of the machinery,
the design, and the designer, might be evident, and in the

STATE OF THE ARGUMENT. 7
ease supposed would be evident, in whatever way we ac-
counted for' the irregularity of the movement, or whether
we could account for it or not. It is not necessary that a
machine be perfect, in order to show with what design it
was made: still less necessary, where the only question is,
whether it were made with any design at all.

Ill. Nor, thirdly, would it bring any uncertainty into the
argument, if there were a few parts of the watch, concern-
ing which we could not discover, or had not yet discovered,
in what manner they conduced to the general effect; or
even some parts, concerning which we could not ascer-
tain whether they conduced to that effect in any manner
whatever. for, as to the first branch of the case; if, by
the loss, or disorder, or decay of the parts in question, the
movement of the watch were found in fact to be stopped,
or disturbed, or retarded, no doubt would remain in our
minds as to the utility or intention of these parts, although
we should be unable to investigate the manner according
to which, or the connexion by which, the ultimate effect
depended upon their action or assistance; and the more
complex is the machine, the more likely is this obscurity to
arise. Then, as to the second thing supposed, namely,
that there were parts, which might be spared without prej-
udice to the movement of the watch, and that we had prov-
ed this by experiment—these superfluous parts, even if we
were completely assured that they were such, would not
vacate the reasoning which we had instituted concerning
other parts. The indication of contrivance remained, with
respect to them, nearly as it was before.

IV. Nor, fourthly, would any man in his senses think
the existence of the watch, with its various machinery, ac-
counted for, by being told that it was one out of possible
combinations of material forms; that whatever he had
found in the place where he found the watch, must have
contained some internal configuration or other ; ; and that
this configuration might be the structure now exhibited ;
viz. of the works of a watch, as well as a different struc-
gure.

V. Nor, fifthly, would it yield his inquiry more satisfac-
tion to be answered, that there existed in things a principle
of order, which had disposed the parts of the watch into
their present form and situation. He never knew a watch
_ made by the principle of order; nor can he even form to
himself an idea of what is meant by a principle of order,
distinct frum the intelligence of the watch-maker.

8 STATE OF THE ARGUMENT.

VI. Sixthly, he would be surprised to hear, that the
mechanism of the watch was no proof of contrivance, only
a motive to induce the mind to think so.

VII. And not less surprised to be informed, that the
watch in his hand was nothing more than the result of the
laws of metallic nature. It is a perversion of language to
assign any law, as the efficient, operative cause of any thing.
A law presupposes an agent; for it is only the mode, ac-
cording to which an agent proceeds; it implies a power;
for it is, the order, according to which that power acts.
Without this agent, without this power, which are both dis-
tinct from itself, the /aw does nothing, is nothing. ‘The
expression, ‘‘the law of metallic nature,” may sound strange
and harsh to.a philosophic ear, but it seems quite as justi-
fiable as some others which are more familiar to him ; such
as “the law of vegetable nature”—“ the law of animal na-
ture,” or indeed as “ the law of nature’ in general, when
assigned as the cause of phenomena, in exclusion of agen-
cy and power; or when it is substituted into the place of
these. .

VIII. Neither, lastly, would our observer be driven out
of his conclusion, or from his confidence in its truth, by
being told that he knew nothing at all about the matter.
He knows enough for his argument. He,knows the utility
of the end: he knows the subserviency and adaptation of the
means to the end. ‘These points being known, his igno-
rance of other points, his doubts concerning other points,
affects not the certainty of his reasoning. ‘The conscious-
ness of knowing little, need not beget.a distrust of that
which he does know. i

ore @OO«-
CHAPTER IT.

STATE OF THE ARGUMENT CONTINUED.

Suppose, in the next place, that the person who found
the watch, should, after some time, discover, that, in ad-
dition to all the properties which he had hitherto observed.
in it, it possessed the unexpected property of producing,
in the course of its movement, another watch like itself
(the thing is conceivable ;) that it contained within it a
mechanism, a system of parts, a mould for instance, or a
complex adjustment of lathes, files, and other tools, evident~

STATE OF THE ARGUMENT. ¥
ei i} ‘ }
ly and separately calculated for this purpose; let us in-
quire, what effect ought such a discovery to have upon his
former conclusion.

I. The first effect would be to increase his admiration —
of the contrivance, and his conviction of the consummate
skill of the contriver. Whether he regarded the ob-
ject of the contrivance, the distinct apparatus, the intri-
cate, yet in many parts intelligible mechanism by which —
it was carried on, he would perceive, in this new observa-
tion, nothing but an additional reason for doing what he
had already done; for referring the construction of the
watch to design, and to supreme art. If that construction
without this property, or, which is the same thing, before
this property had been noticed, proved intention and art
to have been employed about it, still more strong would
' the proof appear, when he came to the knowledge of this
further property, the crown and pesigonion of all the
rest. f

II. He would reflect, that though the watch before him
were, im some sense, the maker of the watch, which was
fabricated in the course of its movements, yet it was in a
very different sense from that, in which a carpenter, for
instance, is the maker of a chair; the author of its con-
irivance, the cause of the relation of its parts to their use.
With respect to these, the first watch was no cause at all
to the second ; in no such sense as this, was it the author
of the constitution and order, either.of the parts which
the new watch contained, or of the parts by the aid and
instrumentality of which it was produced. We might pos-
sibly say, but with great latitude of expression, that a
stream of water ground corn; but no latitude of expres-
sion would allow us to say, no stretch of conjecture could
lead us to think, that the stream of water built the mill,
though it were too ancient for us to know who the builder
was. What the stream of water does in the affair is nei-
ther more nor less than this; by the application of an in-
telligent impulse to a mechanism previously arranged,
arranged independently of it, and arranged by intelligence,
an effect is produced; viz. the corn is ground. But the
effect results from the arrangement. The force of the
stream cannot be said to be the cause or author of the
effect, still less of the arrangement. Understanding and
plan in the formation of the mill were not, the less neces-
sary, for any share which the water has in grinding the

2

10 STATE OF THE ARGUMENT.

corn; yet is this share the same, as that which the watclr
would have contributed to the production of the new watch,
upon the supposition assumed in the last section, ‘T'here-
fore,

TI. Though it be now no longer probable, that the |
individual watch which our observer had found was made
immediately by the hand of an artificer, yet doth not this
alteration in any wise affect the inference, that an artificer
had been originally employed and concerned in the pro--
duction. The argument from design remains as it was.
Marks of design and contrivance are no more accounted
for now, than they were before. In the same thing, we
may ask for the cause of different properties. We may
ask for the cause of the colour of a body, of its hardness, of
its heat; and these causes may be all different. We are
- now asking for the cause of that subserviency to an use,
that relation to an end, which we have remarked in the
watch before us. No answer is given to this question by
telling us that a preceding watch produced it. ‘There can-
not be design without a designer; contrivance without @
contriver; order without choice; arrangement, without
any thing capable of arranging ; subserviency and relation
to a purpose, without that which could intend a purpose;
means suitable to an end, and, executing their office m
accomplishing that end, without the end ever having been
contemplated, or the means accommodated toit. Arrange-
ment, disposition of parts, subserviency of means to an end,
relation of instruments to an use, imply the presence of in-
telligence and mind. No one, therefore can rationally be-
heve, that the insensible, inanimate watch, from which the
watch before us issued, was the proper cause of the me-
chanism we so much admire in it; could be truly said to
have constructed the instrument, disposed its parts, assign-
ed their office, determined their order, action, and mutual
dependency, combined their several motions into one re-
sult, and that also a result connected with the utilities of
other beings. Allthese properties, therefore, are as much
unaccounted for, as they were before.

IV. Nor is any thing gained by running the difficulty
farther back, 1. e. by supposing the watch before us to have
been produced from another watch, that from a former,

- and so on indefinitely. Our going back ever so far brings
us no nearer to the least degree of satisfaction upon the
subject. Contrivance is still unaccounted for. .We still
want a contriver. A designing mind is neither supplied

STATE OF THE ARGUMENT.- Ii

by this supposition, nor dispensed with. If the difficulty:
were diminished the further we went back, by going back.
indefinitely we might exhaust it. And this is the only
case to which this sort of reasoning applies. Where there
is a tendency, or, as we increase the number of terms, a
continual approach towards a limit, there, by supposing the
number of terms to be what is called infinite, we may con-:
ceive the limit to be attained: but where there is no such
tendency or approach, nothing is affected by lengthening
the series. There is no difference as to the point in ques-
tion, (whatever there may be as to many points) between
one series and another; between a series which is finite
and a series which is infinite. A chain, composed of an
infinite number of links, can no more support itself, than
a chain composed of a finite number of links. And of this
we are assured, (though we never can have tried the ex-
periment) because, by increasing the number of links,
from ten, for instance, to a hundred, from a hundred to a
thousand, &c. we make not the smallest approach, we ob-
serve not the smallest tendency, towards self-support.
There is no difference in this respect (yet there may be
a great difference in several respects) between a chain of
a greater or less length, between one chain and another,
between one that is finite and one that is infinite.
This very much resembles the case before us. The ma-
chine, which we are inspecting, demonstrates, by its
construction, contrivance and design. Contrivance must
have had a contriver; design, a designer; whether the
machine immediately proceeded from another machine or
not. That circumstance alters not the case. That other
machine may, in like manner, have proceeded from a for-
mer machine; nor does that alter the case; contrivance
must have had a contriver. That former one from one
preceding it; no alteration still; a contriver is still neces-
sary. No tendency is perceived, no approach towards a
diminution of this necessity. It is the same with any and
every succession of these machines; a succession of ten,
of a hundred, of a thousand ; with one series as with an-
other; a series which is finite, as with a series which is
infinite. In whatever other respects they may differ, in
this they do not. In all equally, contrivance and design
are unaccounted for.

The question is not simply, How came the first watch
into existence? which question, it may be pretended, is
done away by supposing the series of watches thus pro~

12 STATE OF THE ARGUMENT.

duced from one another to have been infinite, and conse-
quently to have had no such first, for which it was neces-
sary to provide a cause. This, perhaps, would have been
nearly the state of the question if nothing had been before
us, but an unorganized, unmechanized substance, without
mark or indication of contrivance. It might be difficult to
‘show that such substance could not have existed from eter-
nity, either in succession (if it were possible, which I think
it is not, for unorganized bodies to spring from one another, )
or by individual perpetuity. But that is not the question
now. ‘To suppose it to be so, is to suppose that it made
no difference whether we had found a watch or a stone.
As it is, the metaphysics of that question have no place;
for, in the watch which we are examining, are seen con-
trivance, design; an end, a purpose, means for the
end, adaptation to the purpose. And the question, which
irresistibly presses upon our thoughts, is, whence this con-
trivance and design? ‘The thing required is the intending
mind, the adapting hand, the intelligence by which that
hand was directed. This question, this demand, is not
shaken off, by increasing a number of succession of sub-
stances, destitute of these properties; nor the more, by in-
creasing that number to infinity. If it be said, that, upon
the supposition of one watch being produced from another
in the course of that other’s movements, and by means of
the mechanism within it, we have a cause for the watch in
my hand, viz. the watch from which it proceeded, I deny,
that for the design, the contrivance, the suitableness of means
to an end, the adaptation of instruments to an use (all
which we discover in a wateh,) we have any cause what-
ever. It is in vain, therefore, to assign a series of such
causes, or to allege that a series may be carried back to
infinity; for I do not admit that we have yet any cause at
all for the phenomena, still less any series of causes either
finite or infinite. Here is contrivance, but no contriver;
proofs of design, but no designer.

V. Our observer would further also reflect, that the mak-
er of the watch before him, was, in truth and reality, the
maker of every watch produced from it; there being no
difference, (except that the latter manifests a more ex-
quisite skill,) between the making of another watch with
his own hands by the mediation of files, lathes, chisels, &c.
and the disposing, fixing, and inserting, of these instru-
ments, or of others equivalent to them, in the body of the
watch already made, in such a manner, as to form a new

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT. 13

watch in the course of the movements which he had given
to theold one. It is only working by one set of tools, in-
stead of another.

The conclusion which the first examination of the watch,
of its works, construction, and movement suggested, was,
that it must have had, for the cause and author of that con-
struction, an artificer, who understood its mechanism, ana
designed its use. This conclusion is invincible. A second
examination presents us with a new discovery. ‘The watch
is found, in the course of its movement, to produce anoth-
er watch, similar. to itself: and not only so, but we perceive
in it a system of organization, separately calculated for that
purpose. What effect would this discovery have, or ought
it to have, upon our former inference? What, as hath al-
ready been said, but to increase, beyond measure, our ad-
miration of the skill, which had been employed in the for-
mation of such a machine? Or shall it, instead of this,
all at once, turn us round to an opposite conclusion, viz.
that no art or skill whatever has been concerned in the
business, although all other evidences of art and skill re-
main as they were, and this last and supreme piece of art
be now added to the rest? Can this be maintained with-
eut absurdity? Yet this is atheism.

OB Qoe-
CHAPTER III.
APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT.

Tuts is atheism; for every indication of contrivance, ev-
ery manifestation of design, which existed in the watch, ex~-
ists in the works of nature ; with the difference, on the side
of nature, of being greater and more, and that in a degree
which exceeds all computation. I mean that the contriv-
ances of nature surpass the contrivances of art, in the com-
plexity, subtlety, and curiosity of the mechanism ; and still
more, if possibly, do they go beyond them in number and
variety : yet in a multitude of cases, are not less evidently
mechanical, not less evidently contrivances, not less evi-
dently accommodated to their end, or suited to their office,
than are the most perfect productions of human ingenuity.
_ I know no better method of introducing so large a sub-
ject, than of comparing a single thing with a single thing;
an eye, for example, with a telescope. As far as the ex~

14 APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT.

amination of the instrument goes, there is precisely the
same proof that the eye was made for vision, as there is
that the telescope was made for assisting it.. They are
made upon the same principles; both being adjusted to the
laws by which the transmission and refraction of rays of
light are regulated. I speak not of the origin of the laws
themselves; but, such laws being fixed, the construction,
in both cases, is adapted to them. For instance; these
laws require, in order to produce the same effect, that the’
rays of light, in passing from water into the eye, should be
refracted by a more convex surface than when they passed
out of air into the eye. Accordingly we find, that the eye
of a fish, in that part of it called the crystalline lens, is much
rounder than the eye of terrestrial animals. [Plate IL. fig. 1.]
What plainer manifestation of design can there be than this
difference? What could a mathematical instrument maker
have done more, to show his knowledge of his principle,
his application of that knowledge, his suiting of his means
to his end; | will not say to display the compass or excel-
lency of his skill and art, for in these all comparison is
indecorous, but to testify counsel, choice, or consideration,
purpose 2

To some it may appear a difference sufficient to destroy
all similitude between the eye and the telescope, that the
one is a perceiving organ, the cther an unperceiving instru-
ment. The fact 1s, that they are both instruments. And,
as tothe mechanism, at least as to mechanism being em-
ployed, and even as to the kind of it, this circumstance va-
ries not the analogy at all. For observe, what the constitu-
tion of the eye is. [Plate II. fig. 2,3, 4.] Itis necessary, in
order to produce distinct visjon, that an image or picture of
the object be formed at the bottom of the eye. Whence this
mecessity arises, or how the picture is connected with the
sensation, or contributes to it, it may be difficult, nay we
will confess, if you please, impossible for us to search out.
But the present question is not concerned in the inquiry. It
may be true, that in this, and in other instances, we trace
mechanical contrivance a certain way; and that then we
come to something which is not mechanical, or which Is in-
scrutable. But this affects not the certainty of our inves-
tigation, as far as we have gone. The difference between
an animal and an automatic statue, consists in this,—that,
in the animal, we trace the mechanism to a certain point,
ang then we are stopped; either the mechanism becoming
too subtile for our discernment, or something else beside

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT. 15

the known Jaws of mechanism taking place ; whereas, in
the automaton, for the comparatively few motions of which
it is capable, we trace the mechanism throughout. But,
up to the limit, the reasoning is as clear and certain in the
one case as the other./ In the example before us, it is a
matter of certainty, because it is 2 matter which experience
and observation demonstrate, that the formation of an im-
age at the bottom of the eye is necessary to perfect vision.
The image itself can be shown. Whatever affects the dis-
tinctness of the image, affects the distinctness of the vision.
The formation then of such an image being necessary, (no
matter how,) to the sense of sight, and to the exercise of
that sense, the apparatus by which it is formed is con-
structed and put together, not only with infinitely more art,
but upon the selfsame principles of art, as in the telescope
or the camera obscura. The perception arising from the
image may be laid out of the question ; for the production
of the image, these are instruments of the same kind.
The end is the same; the means are the same. ‘The pur-
pose in both is alike; the contrivance for accomplishing
that purpose is in both alike. The lenses of the telescope,
and the humours of the eye, bear a complete resemblance
to one another, in their figure, their position, and in their
power over the rays of light, viz. in bringing each pen-

cil to a point at the right distance from the lens; name-

»

ly, in the eye, at the exact place where the membrane is
spread to receive it. How is it possible, under circum-
stances of such close affinity, and under the operation of -
equal evidence, to exclude contrivance from the one, yet
to acknowledge the proof of contrivance having been em-
ployed, as the plainest and clearest of all propositions, in
the other ? |

The resemblance between the two cases is still more accu-
rate, and obtains in more points than we have yet represented,
or than we are, on the first view of the subject, aware of.
In dioptric telescopes there is an imperfection of this na-
ture.—Pencils of light, in passing through glass lenses,
are separated into different colours, thereby tinging the ob-
ject, especially edges of it, as if it were viewed through a
prism. To correct this inconvenience had been long a
desideratum in the art. At last it came into the mind of
a sagacious optician, to inquire how this matter was man-
aged in the eye; in which there was exactly the same diffi-
culty to contend with as in the telescope. His observation
taught him, that, in the eye, the evil was cured by com-

16 APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT.

bining together lenses composed of different substances,

i. e..of substances which possessed different refracting -
powers. Our artist borrowed from thence his hint; and

produced a correction of the defect by imitating, in glasses

made from different materials, the effects of the different

humours through which the rays of light pass before they

reach the bottom of the eye. Could this be in the eye

without purpose, which suggested to the optician the only

effectual means of attaining that purpose ?*

But further; there are other points, not so much perhaps:
of strict resemblance between the two, as of superiority of
the eye over the telescope, which being found im the laws
that regulate both, may furnish topics of fair and just com-
parison. ‘Two things were wanted, to the eye, which
were not wanted, at least in the same degree, to the teles-
cope; and these were the adaptation of the organ, first,
io different degrees of light; and, secondly, to the vast
diversity of distance. at which objects are viewed by the
naked eye, viz. from a few inches to as many miles. These
difficulties present not themselves to the maker of the
telescope. He wants all the light he can get; and he
never directs his instrument to objects near at hand. In

* <The hint taken from the eye, and applied by Mr. Dollond in the
construction of achromatic telescopes, has been since carried still far-
ther, and illustrates more strongly, if possible, the point so admi-
rably insisted upon by Dr. Paley, namely, the resemblance between
the eye and our optical instruments. In. the best achromatic tele-
scopes, composed of the different kinds of glass, according to the dis-
covery of Mr. Dollond, white or luminous objects are not shown per-
fectly free from colour, their edges being tinged on one side with a
claret coloured, and on the other with a greenish fringe. This remain-
ing imperfection has been got rid of by the combination of solid and
jfiuad lenses in the object and eye-glasses of telescopes. For this beau-
tiful discovery science is indebted to Dr. Blair of Edinburgh, who
found that by placing a concave lens of muriatic acid with a metallic
solution, between two convex lenses of glass, a combined lens was
formed which refracted rays with perfect regularity and equality. A
lens like thishas been used with great advantage. The most impor-
tant point is, however, to consider this improvement in its application
to the argument, and it will be seen how much nearer this construc-
tion brings the telescope to the eye. In Dollond’s telescope there is a
combination of solid lenses of different substances.—In Blair’s, a com-
bination of fluid and solid; which is exactly the case in the human
eye. The only difference is, that in the eye there is a solid lens be-
tween two fluid ones; and in the telescope a fluid between two solid.
The combination is closely similar, and the final cause in both proba-
bly the same, namely, to correct the unequal refraction of light.”—See
Edinburgh Journal of Sciencé, No. viii. p. 212: and Library of
Useful Knowledge, No. 1& 12. .: [ Ed.

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT. 17

the eye, both these cases were to be provided for; and for
the purpose of providing for them a subtile and appropriate
mechanism is introduced. |

I. In order to exclude excess of light, when it is ex-
cessive, and to render objects visible under obscurer degrees
of it, when no more can be had; the hole or aperture in
the eye, through which the iight enters, is so formed, as to
contract or dilate itself for the purpose of admitting a great-
er or less number of rays at the same time. ‘The cham-
ber of the eye is a camera obscura, which, when the light
is too small, can enlarge its opening; when too strong,
can again contract it; and that without any other assist-
ance than that of its own exquisite machinery. It is fur;
- ther also, in the human subject to be observed, that this
hele in the eye, which we call the pupil, under all its dif-
ferent dimensions, retains its exact circular shape. This
is a structure extremely artificial, Let an artist only try
to execute the same. He will find that his threads and
strings must be disposed with great consideration and con-
trivance, to make a circle, which shall continually change
its diameter, yet preserve its form. This is done in the
eye by an application of fibres, i. e. of strings, similar, in
their position and action to what an artist would and must
employ, if he had the same piece of workmanship to per-
form. [Plate II. Fig. 5 & 6.]|*

II. The second difficulty which has been stated, was the
suiting of the same organ to the perception of objects that

*'There is a curious circumstance in the way in which light pro-
duces the contraction of the opening of the iris, which strengthens very
much the argument derived from design manifested in its structure
and adaptation to its purpose. The object of the iris, it is to be observ-
ed, has reference to the quantity of light to be admitted upon the re-
tina or expansion of the optic nerve. It is the state of the retina then

“which regulates the motionsof the iris, and it is the action of the light
on the retina which causes those motions and not its action upon the iris
itself. This has been shown bya very delicate experiment. - If aray
of light be accurately thrown in such a direction, that it shall fall upon
the circle of the iris itself, and not pass through its aperture, no con-
traction of the aperture takes place; but if it be so thrown as to pass
through the aperture, and fall upon the retina without touching the
iris at all, still a contraction of the iris immediately takes place. So
that light upon tae iris alone occasions no contraction, although it is
the part which really contracts when the same light falls upon a dis-
tant part. The design here is too obvious to need being enlarged upon.
How could the iris acquire the power of contracting when light falls
on another membrane, for the protection of that membrane ? although
it does not contract when the light falls upon itself alone ? [d.

C

18 APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT.

lie near at hand, within a few inches, we will suppose, of
the eye, and of objects which were placed at a considerable _
distance from it, that, for example, of as many furlongs,
({ speak in both cases of the distance at which distinct —
vision can be exercised.) Now, this, according to the
principles of optics, that is, according to the laws by which
the transmission of light is regulated, (and these laws are
fixed,) could not be done, without the organ itself under-
going an alteration, and receiving an adjustment, that
might correspond with the exigency of the case, that is to
say, with the different inclination to one another under
which the rays of light reached it. Rays issuing from points
placed at a small distance from the eye, and which conse-
quently must enter the eye in a spreading or diverging
order, cannot, by the same optical instrument in the same
state, be brought to a point, 1. e. be made to form an image,
in the same piace with rays proceeding from objects situat-
ed at a much greater distance, and which rays arrive at
the eye in directions nearly, and, physically speaking,
parallel. It requires a rounder lens to do it. The point
of concourse behind the lens must fall critically upon the
retina, or the vision is confused ; yet this point, by the im-
mutable properties of light, is carried further back, when
the rays proceed from a near object, than when they are
sent from one that is remote. A person, who was using
an optical instrument, would manage this matter by chang-
ing, as the occasion required, his lens or his telescope ;
or by adjusting the distance of his glasses with his hand
or his screw ; but how is it to be managed in the eye?
What the alteration was, or in what part of the eye it took
place, by what means it was effected. (for, if the known
laws which govern the refraction of light be maintained,
some alteration in the state of the organ there must be,)
had long formed a subject of inquiry and conjecture.
The change, though sufiicient for the purpose, 1s so minute
as to elude ordinary observation. Some very late discove-
ries, deduced from a laborious and most accurate inspection
of the structure and operation of the organ, seem at length
to have ascertained the mechanical alteration which the
parts of the eve undergo. It is found, that by the action of _
certain muscles, [Pl. I. fig.’7.] called the straight muscles,
and which action is the most advantageous that could be
imagined for the purpose,—it is found, I say, that whenever
the eye is directed to a near object, three changes are produc-
ed in it at the same time, all severally contributing to the ad-

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT. 19

justment required. ‘The cornea, or outermost coat of the
eye, is rendered more round and prominent ; the crystalline
lens underneath 1s pushed forwards; and the axis of
vision, as the depth of the eye is called, is elongated.
These changes in the eye vary its power over the rays of
light in sach a manner and degree as to produce exactly
the effect which is wanted, viz. the formation of an image
upon the retina, whether the rays come to the eye ina
state of divergency, which is the case when the object is
near to the eye, or come parallel to one another, which is
the case when the object is placed at a distance. Can any
thing be more decisive of contrivance than this is? The
most secret laws of optics must have been known to the
author of a structure endowed with such a capacity of
change. It is, as though an optician, when he hada
nearer object to view, should rectify his instrument by
putting in another glass, at the same time drawing out
also his tube to a different length.

Observe a new-born child first lifting up its eyelids.
What does the opening of the curtain discover? The an-
terior part of two pellucid globes, which, when they come

'~ to be examined, are found to be constructed upon strict op-

tical principles; the selfsame principles upon which we
ourselves construct optical instruments. We find them
perfect for the purpose of forming an image by refraction ;
composed of parts executing different offices; one part
having fulfilled its office upon the pencil of light, deliver-
ing it over to the action of another part; that to a third,
and so onward; the progressive action depending for its
success upon the nicest and minutest adjustment of the
parts concerned ; yet, these parts, so in fact adjusted as to’
produce, not by a simple action or effect, but by a combi-
nation of actions and effects, the result which is ultimate-
ly wanted. And forasmuch as this organ would have to
operate under different circumstances, with strong degrees
of light, and with weak degrees, upon near objects, and
upon remote ones, and these differences demanded, accord-
ing to the laws by which the transmission of light is regu-
fated, a corresponding diversity of structure; that the
aperture, for example, through which the light passes,
should be larger or less; the lenses rounder or flatter, or
that their distance from the tablet, upon which the picture
is delineated, should be shortened or lengthened: this, I say,
being the case and the difficulty, to which the eye was to
be adapted, we find its several parts capable of being oc-

20 APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT.

casionally changed, and a most artificial apparatus provid-
ed to produce that change. This is far beyond the com-
mon regulator of a watch, which requires the touch of a
foreign hand to set it; but is not altogether unlike Harri-
son’s contrivance for making a watch regulate itself, by in-
serting within it a machinery, which, by the artful use of
the different expansion of metals, preserves the equability
of the motion under all the various temperatures of heat
-and cold in which the instrument may happen to be placed.
The ingenuity of this last contrivance has been justly prais-
ed. Shall, therefore, a structure which differs from it
chiefly by surpassing it, be accounted no contrivance at all?
or, if it be a contrivance, that it is without a contriver ?

~~ But this, though much, is not the whole: by different
species of animals the faculty we are describing is possess-
ed, in degrees suited to the different range of vision which
their mode of life, and of procuring their food, requires.
Birds, for instance, in general, procure their food by means

“Sof their beak ; and the distance between the eye and the

¢ point of the beak being small, it becomes necessary that
“) they should have the power of seeing very near objects dis-
tinctly. On the other hand, from being often elevated much
above the ground, living in air, and moving through it with
great velocity, they require for their safety, as well as for
assisting them in descrying their prey, a power of seeing
at great distance; a power, of which, in birds of rapine,
surprising examples are given. The fact accordingly is,
that two peculiarities are found in the eyes of birds, both
tending to facilitate the change upon which the adjustment
of the eye to different distances depends. The one isa
bony, yet, in most species, a flexible rim or hoop, [Plate IIT.
fig. 1, 2.] surrounding the broadest part of the eye; which,
confining the action of the muscles to that part, increases
the effect of their lateral pressure upon the orb, by which
pressure its axis 1s elongated for the purpose of looking at
very near objects. The other is an additional muscle, call-
ed the marsupium, [Plate III. fig. 3, 4, 6.] to draw, upon
occasion, the crystalline lens back, and so fit the same eye
for the viewing of very distant objects. By these means
the eyes of birds can pass from one extreme to another of
their scale of adjustment, with more ease and readiness
than the eyes of other animals.

The eyes of fishes also, compared with those of terres-
trial animals, exhibit certain distinctions of structure,
adapted to their state and element. We have already ob-

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT. 91

served upon the figure of the crystalline bebidas by
its roundness the density of the medium through which
their light passes: to which we have to add, that the eyes
of fishes, in their natural and indolent state, appear to be ad-
justed to near objects, in this respect differing from the hu-
man eye, as well as those of quadrupeds and birds. The
ordinary shape of the fish’s eye being in a much higher de-
gree convex than that of land animals, a corresponding
difference attends its muscular conformation, viz. that it
is throughout calculated for flattening the eye.

The iris also in the eyes of fish does not admit of con-
traction. This is a great difference, of which the proba-
ble reason is, that the diminished light in water is never
too strong for the retina.

In the eel, [ Plate III. fig. 5.] which has to work its head
through sand and gravel, the roughest and harshest sub-
stances, there is placed before the eye, and at some distance
from it, a transparent, horny, convex case or covering,
which, ‘without obstructing the sight, defends the organ.
To such an animal, could any thing be: more wanted, or
more useful?

Thus, in comparing together the eyes of different kinds
of animals, we see, in their resemblances and distinction,
one general plan laid down, and that plan varied with the
varying exigencies to which it is to be applied.

There is one property, however, common, I believe,
to all eyes, at least to all which ‘have been examined,*
namely, that the optic nerve enters the bottom of the eye,
not in the centre or middle, but a little on one side; not
in the point where the axis of the eye meets the retina,
but between that point and the nose.—The difference
which this makes is, that no part of an object is unperceiv-
ed by both eyes at the same time.

In considering vision as achieved by the means of an
image formed at the bottom of the eye, we can never re-
flect, without wonder, upon the smallness, yet correctness,
of the picture, the subtlety of the touch, the fineness of the
lines. A landscape of five or six square leagues is brought
into a space of half an inch diameter; yet the multitude of
objects which it contains are all preserved ; are all discrim-
inated in their magnitudes, positions, figures, colours. The

* The eye of the seal or sea-calf, I understand, is an exception,—
ei Acad, Paris, 1701, p. 123.

C2

IZ APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT:

prospect from Hampstead-Hill is compressed into the com~
pass of a sixpense, yet. circumstantially represented. A
stage coach, travelling at its ordinary speed for half an
hour, passes, in the eye, only over one-twelfth of an inch,
yet is this change of place in the image distinetly per-
ceived throughout its whole progress; for it is only by
means of that perception that the motion of the coach it-
self is made sensible to the eye. If any thing can abate
our admiration of the smallness of the visual tablet compar-
ed with the extent of vision, it is a reflection, which the
view of nature leads us, every hour, to make, viz. that in
the hands of the Creator, great and little are nothing:
Sturmius held, that the examination of the eye was
a cure for atheism. Beside that conformity to optical
principles, which its internal constitution displays, and
which alone amounts to a manifestation of intelligence hav-
ing been exerted in its structure ; besides this, which forms,
no doubt, the leading character of the organ, there is to be
seen, in every thing belonging to it and about it, an ex-
traordinary degree of care and anxiety for its preservation,
due, if we may so speak, to its value and tenderness. It is
lodged in a strong, deep, bony socket, composed by the
junction of seven different bones,* hollowed out at their
edges. In some few species, as that of the coatimondi,t
the orbit is not bone throughout; but whenever this is the
case, the upper, which is the deficient part, is supplied by
a cartilaginous ligament, a substitution which shows the
same care. Within this socket it is imbedded in fat, of
_ all animal substances the best adapted both to its repose
and motion. It is sheltered by the eyebrows, and arch of
hair, which, like a thatched pent-house, prevent the sweat
and moisture of the forehead from running down into it.
But it is still better protected by its dd. Of the super-
ficial parts of the animal frame, I know none which, in
its office and structure, is more deserving of attention than
the eyelid. It defends the eye; it wipes it; it closes it in
sleep. Are there, in any work of art whatever, purposes
more evident than those. which this organ fulfils; or an
apparatus for executing those purposes more intelligible,
more appropriate, or more mechanical? Ifit be overlooked -
by the observer of nature, it can only be because it 1s ob-
vious and familiar—This is a tendency to be guarded
against. We pass by the plainest instances, whilst we are

* Heister, sect. 89. t Mem. of the R. Ac. Paris, p. 117.

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT. Qs

exploring those which are rare and curious; by which con-
duct of the understanding, we sometimes neglect the
strongest observations, being taken up with others, which,
though more recondite and scientific, are, as solid argu-
ments, entitled to much less consideration.

In order to keep the eye moist and clean, which qualities
are necessary to its brightness and its use, a wash is con-
stantly supplied by a.secretion for the purpose; and the
superfluous brine is conveyed to the nose througha perfora-
tion in the bone as large as a goose quill. [Plate IV. fig. 1.]
When once the fluid has entered the nose, it spreads itself
upon the inside of the nostril, and is evaporated by the‘cur-
rent of warm air, which, in the course of respiration, is con-
tinually passing over it. Can any pipe or outlet for carry-
ing off the waste liquor from a dye-house or distillery, be
more mechanical than this is? It is easily perceived that
the eye must want moisture: but could the want of the eye
generate the gland which produces the tear, or bore the hole
by which it is discharged—a hole through a bone ?

It is observable that this provision 1s not found in fish;
the element in which they live supplying a constant lotion _~
to the eye. | '

It were, however, injustice to dismiss the eye as a piece
of mechanism, without noticing thet most exquisite of all
contrivances, the nictitating membrane, which is found in
the eyes of birds and of many quadrupeds. [Plate IV fig. |
2,3,4,5.] Its use is to sweep the eye, which it does
in an instant; to spread over it the lachrymal humour;
to defend it also from sudden injuries; yet not totally,
when drawn upon the pupil, to shut ont the light. The
commodiousness with which it lies folded up in the
upper corner of the eye, ready for use and action, and
the quickness ‘with which it executes its purpose, are
properties known and obvious to every observer; but,
what is equally admirable, though not quite so obvious,
is the combination, of two different kinds of substance,
muscular and elastic, and of two different kinds of ac-
tion, by which the motion of this membrance is performed.
It is not, as in ordinary cases, by the action of two
antagonist muscles, one pulling forward and the other —
backward, that a reciprocal change is effected; but it is
thus: the membrance itself is an elastic substance, ca-
pable of being drawn out by force like a piece of elastic
gum, and by its own elasticity returning, when the force
is removed, to its former position. Such being its nature,

24 APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT.

in order to fit it up for its office it is connected by a ten-
don or thread with a muscle in the back part of the eye;
this tendon or thread, though strong, is so fine, a8 not to
obstruct the sight, even when it passes across it; and the
muscle itself being placed in the back part of the eye, de-
rives from its situation the advantage, not only of being
secure, but of being out of the way; which it could hard-
ly have been in any position that could be assigned to it
in the anterior part of the orb, where its function lies.
When the muscle behind the eye contracts, the membrance,
‘by means of the communicating thread, is instantly drawn
over the forepart of it. When the muscular contraction
(which is a positive, and, most probably a voluntary effort,)
ceases to be exerted, the elasticity alone of the membrance.
brings it back again to its position.* Does not this, if any
thing can do it, bespeak an artist, master of his work, ac-
quainted with his materials? ‘Of a thousand other
things,” say the French Academicians, ‘‘ we perceive not
the contrivance, because we understand them only by the
effects of which we know not the causes; but we here
treat of a machine, all the parts whereof are visible; and
which needs only to be looked upon to discover the rea-
sons of its motion and action.’’t

In the configuration of the muscle, which, though placed
behind the eye, draws the nictitating membrane over the
eye, there is, what the authors, just now quoted, deserved-
ly call a marvellous mechanism. I suppose this structure
to be found in other animals; but, m the Memoirs from
which this account is taken, it is anatomically demonstrat-
ed only in the cassowary. The muscle is passed through
a loop formed by another muscle; and is there inflected,
as if it were round a pulley. This is a peculiarity; and
observe the advantage of it. A single muscle with a
straight tendon, which is the common muscular form, would
have been sufficient, if it had had the power to draw far
enough. But the contraction, necessary to draw the mem-
brane over the whole eye, required a longer muscle than
could lie straight at the bottom of the eye. Therefore,
in order to have a greater length in a less compass, the
cord of the main muscle makes an angle. This, ‘so far,

* Phil. Tran. 1796.

t Memoirs for a Natural History of Animals by the Royal Academy:
of Sciences at Paris, done into English by order of the Royal Society,
1701, p. 249. ee

_ APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT. V5

amewered the end ; but, still further, it makes an angle,
not ‘round a fixed pivot, but round a loop formed by anoth-
er muscle; which second muscle, whenever it contracts,
of course twitches the first muscle at the point of inflec-
tion, and thereby assists the action designed by both.

One question may possibly have dwelt in the reader’s
mind during the perusal of these observations, namely, Why
should not the Deity have given to the animal the faculty
of vision at once? Why this circuitous perception; the
ministry of so many means, an element provided for the
purpose; reflected from opaque substances, refracted
through transparent ones; and both according to precise
laws; then, a complex organ, an intricate and artificial ap-
paratus, in order, by the operation of this element, and in
conformity to the restrictions of these laws, to produce an
jmage upon a membrane communicating with the brain ¢
Wherefore all this? Why make the difficulty in order on-
ly to surmount it? If to perceive objects by some other
mode than that of touch, or objects which lay out of
the reach of that sense, were the thing purposed, could not.
a simple volition of the Creator have communicated the ca-
pacity? Why resort to contrivance where power is omnip-
otent? Contrivance, by its very definition and nature, is
the refuge of imperfection. To have recourse to expedi-
ents, implies difficulty, impediment, restraint, defect of
power. This question belongs to the other senses, as well
as to sights; to the general functions of animal life, as nu-
irition, secretion, respiration; to the economy of vegeta-
bles ; and indeed to almost all the operations of nature.
The ‘question therefore is of a very wide extent; and, a-
mongst other answers which may be given to it, beside rea-
sons of which probably we are ignorant, one answer is this:
It is only by the display of contrivance, that the existence,
the agency, the wisdom of the Deity, cvuld be testified to
his rational creatures. This is the scale by which we as-
cend to all the knowledge of our Creator which we possess,
so far as it depends upon the phenomena, or the works of na-
ture. Take away this, and you take away from us every sub-
ject of observation, and ground of reasoning ; I mean as our
rational faculties are formed at present. Whatever is done,
God could have done, without the intervention of instru-
ments or means: but it is in the construction of instru-
ments, in the choice and adaptation of means, that a crea~
_ tive intelligence is seen. It is this which constitutes the
order and beauty of the universe, God, therefore, has

26 APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT.

been pleased to prescribe limits to his own power, and to
work his ends within those limits. The general laws of
matter have perhaps the nature of these limits , its inertia,
its re-action; the laws which govern the communication of
motion, the refraction and reflection of light, the constitu-
tion of fluids non-elastic and elastic, the transmission of
sound through the latter; the laws of magnetism, of elec-
tricity ; and probably others yet undiscovered. These are
‘general laws; and when a particular purpose is te be ef-
fected, it is not by making a new law, nor by the suspen-
sion of the old ones, nor by making them wind and bend
and yield to the occasion (for nature with great steadiness
adheres to, and supports them,) but it is, as we have seen
in the eye, by the iterposition of an apparatus, correspond-
ing with these laws, and suited to the exigency which re-
sults from them, that the purpose is at length attained. As
we have said, therefore, God prescribes limits to his power,
that he may let in the exercise, and thereby exhibit demon-
Strations of his wisdom. For then,1. e. such laws and lim-
itations beiny laid down, it is as though one Being should
have fixed certain rules; and, if we may so speak, provid-
ed certain materials; and afterwards, have committed to
another being out of these materials, and in subordination
to these rules, the task of drawing forth a creation: a sup-
position which evidently leaves room, and induces indeed a
necessity for contrivance. Nay, there may be many such
agents, and many ranks of these. We do not advance this as
a doctrine either of philosophy or of religion ; but we say —
that the subject may safely be represented under this
view, because the Deity, acting himself by general laws,
will have the same consequences upon our reasoning,
as if he had prescribed these lawsto another. It has been
said, that the problem of creation, was “attraction and
matter being given, to make a world out of them:” and,
as above explained, this statement perhaps does not convey
a false idea.

ae
., Cael

™

We have made choice of the eye as an instance upon
which to rest the argument of this chapter. Some single
example was to be proposed: and the eye offered itself un-
der the advantage of admitting of a strict comparison with
optical instruments. The ear, it is probable, is no less
artificially and mechanically adapted to its office than the
eye; but we know less about it: we do not so well un-

APPLICATION OF, THE ARGUMENT. QF

derstand the action, the use, or the mutual dependency of
its internal parts _ Its general form, however, both external
and internal, is sufficient to show that it 1S an Imstrument.
adapted to the reception of sound; that is to say, already
knowing that sound consists in pulses of the air, we per-
ceive, in the structure of the ear, a suitableness to receive im-
pressions from this species of action, and to propagate these
impressions to the brain. For, of what does this structure
consist ?[ PI. V. fig. 1.] An external ear , (the concha) calcu-
lated, like an ear-trumpet, to catch and collect the pulses of
which we have spoken; im large quadrupeds, turning to
the sound, and possessing a configuration, as weil as mo-
tion, evidently fitted for the office: of a tube which leads
into the head, lying at the root of this outward ear, the
folds and sinuses thereof tending and conducting the air
towards it: of a thin membrane, like the pelt of a drum,

stretched across this passage upon a bony rim: of a chain
of moveable, and infinitely curious, bones, forming a com-
munication, ‘and. the only communication that can be ob-
served, between the membrane last mentioned, and the in-
terior channels and recesses of the skull: of cavities, sim~
ilar in shape and form to wind instruments of music, being
‘spiral or portions of circles: of the eustachian tube, like
the hole in a drum, to let the air pass freely into and out of
the barrel of the ear, as the covering membrane vibrates, or
as the temperature may be altered: the whole labyrinth
hewn out of a rock: that is, wrought into the substance of
the hardest bone in the body. ‘This assemblage of con-
nected parts constitutes together an apparatus, plainly
enough relative to the transmission of sound, or of the im-
pulses received from sound, and only to be lamented in not
being better understood.

_The communication within, formed by the small bones of
the ear, is, to look upon, more like what we are accustomed
to call machinery, than any thing I am acquainted with in
animal bodies. [ Pl. V. fig. 2.] It seems evidently designed
‘to continue towards the sensorium the tremulous motions
which are excited in the ‘‘ membrane of the tympanum,” or
what is better known by the naine of the ‘‘ drum of the ear.’
The compages of bones consist of four, which are so dispos-
ed, and so hinge upon one another, as that, if the membrane,
the drum of the ear, vibrate, all the four parts are put in
motion together ; and, by the result of their action, work
the base of that which is the last in the series, upon an
aperture which it closes, and upon which it plays, and

-

28 APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT.

which aperture opens into the tortuous canals that lead to
the brain. This last bone of the four is called the stapes.
The office of the drum of the ear is to spread out an ex-
tended surface, capable of receiving the impressions of
sound, and of being put by them into a state of vibration.
The office of the stapes is to repeat these vibrations. It is
a repeating frigate, stationed more within the line: From
which account of its action may be understood, how the
sensation of sound will be excited, by any thing which
communicates a vibratory motion to the stapes, though not,
as in all ordinary cases, through the intervention of the
membrana tympani. This is done by solid bodies applied
to the bones of the skull, as by a metal bar held at one
end between the teeth, and touching at the other end a
tremulous body. It likewise appears to be done, in a con-
siderable degree, by the air itself, even when this mem-
brane, the drum of the ear, is greatly damaged. Hither
in the natural or preternatural state of the organ, the use
of the chain of bones is to propagate the impulse in a d:-
rection towards the brain, and to propagate it with the ad-
vantage of a lever; which advantage consists in increasing
the force anc strength of the vibration, and at the same
time diminishing the space through which it oscillates ;
both of wiich changes may augment or facilitate the still
deeper action of the auditory nerves.

The benesit of the eustachian tube to the organ, may be
made out upon known pneumatic principles. Behind the
drum of the ear is a second cavity or barrel, called the
tympanum. ‘The eustachian tube is a slender pipe, but
sufficient for the passage of air, leading from this cavity
into the back part of the mouth. Now it would not have
done to have bad a vacuum in this cavity ; for, in that case,
the pressure of the atmosphere from without, would have
burst the membrane which covered it. Nor would it have
done to have filled the cavity with lymph or any other
secretion ; which would necessarily have obstructed, both
the vibration of the membrane, and the play of the small
bones. Nor, lastly, would it have done to have occupied
the space with confined air, because the expansion of that
air by heat, or its contraction by cold, would have distend-
- ed or relaxed the covering membrane, in a degree inconsis-
tent with the purpose which it was assigned to execute.

The only remaining expedient, and that for which the
eustachian tube serves, is to open to the cavity a commu-

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT. 99

nication with the external air. In one word; it exactly
answers the purpose of the hole in a drum.

The membrana tympani itself, likewise, deserves all the
examination which can be made of it. It is not found in
the ears of fish; which furnishes an additional proof of
what indeed is indicated by every thing about it, that it is
appropriated to the action of air, or of an elastic medium.
It bears an obvious resemblance to the pelt or head of a
drum, from which it takes its name. It resembles also a
drum head in this principal property, that its use depends
upon its tension. . ‘T'ension is the state essential to it. Now
we know that, in a drum, the pelt is carried over a hoop,
and braced as occasion requires, by the means of strings
attached to its circumference. In the membrane of the
ear, the same purpose is provided for, more simply, but not
less mechanically, nor less successfully, by a different ex-
pedient, viz. by the end of a bone, (the handle of the mal-
leus,) pressing upon its centre. It is only in very large
animals that the texture of this membrane can _ be discern-
ed. In the Philosophical Transactions for the year 1800,
(vol. i.) Mr. Everard Home has given some curious observa.
tions upon the ear, and the drum of the ear, of an elephant.
[ Pl. v. fig. 4. ] He discovered in it, what he calls a radiated
muscle, that is, straight muscular fibres, passing along the
membrane from the circumference to the centre; from the
bony rim which surrounds it, towards the handle of the
malleus to which the central part is attached. This mus-
cle he supposes to be designed to bring the membrane into
unison with different sounds; but then he also discovered,
that this muscle itself cannot act, unless the membrane be
drawn to a stretch, and kept in a due state of tightness,
by what may be called a foreign force, viz. the action of
the muscles of the malleus. Our author, supposing his ex-
planation of the use of the parts to be just, is well founded
in the reflection which he makes upon it: ‘ that this mode
of adapting the ear to different sounds, is one of the most
beautiful applications of muscles in the body ; the mechan-
asm 18 so simple, and the variety of the effects so great.”

In another volume of the transactions above referred to,
and of the same year, two most curious cases are related,
of persons whe retained the sense of hearing, not in a
perfect, but in a very considerable degree, notwithstanding
the almost total loss of the membrane we have beén de-
scribmg. In one of these cases, the use here assigned to
that membrane, of modifying the impressions of sound by

D

30 ON THE SUCCESSION OF -

change of tension, was attempted to be supplied by strain-
ing the muscles of the outward ear. ‘‘ The external ear,’’
we are told, “had acquired a distinct motion upward and
backward, which was observable whenever the patient
listened to any thing which he did not distinctly hear ;
when he was addressed in a whisper, the ear was seen im-
mediately to move ; when the tone of voice was louder,
it then remained altogether motionless.”

It appears probable from both these cases, that a collate-
ral, if not principal, use of the membrane, is to cover and
protect the barrel of the ear which lies behind it Both
the patients suffered from cold; one, ‘‘a great increase of
deafness from catching cold ;’’ the other, “‘ very considera-
ble pain from exposure to a stream of cold air.” Bad ef-
fects therefore followed from this cavity being left open to
the external air; yet had the Author of nature shut it up by
any other cover, than what was capable, by its texture, of
receiving vibrations from sound, and, by its connexion
with interior parts, of transmitting those vibrations to
the brain, the use of the organ, so far as we can judge,
must have been entirely obstructed.

rr @ OO
CHAP. IV.
OF THE SUCCESSION OF PLANTS AND ANIMALS.

Tue generation of the animal no more accounts for the
contrivance of the eye or ear, than, upon the supposition
stated in a preceding chapter, the production of a wateh
by the motion and mechanism of a former watch, would
account for the skill and intention evidenced in the watch
so produced; than it would account for the disposition of
the wheels, the catching of their teeth, the relation of the
several parts of the works to one another and to their com-
mon end, for the suitableness of their forms and places to
their offices, for their connection, their operation, and the
useful result of that operation. I do insist most strenu-
ously upon the correctness of this comparison; that it —
holds as to every mode of specific propagation ; and that
whatever was true of the watch, under the hypothesis
above mentioned, is true of plants and animals.

I. Te begin with the fructification of plants. Can it be
doubted but that the seed contains a particular organiza-

PLANTS AND ANIMALS, OL

tion? Whether a latent plantule with the means of tem-
porary nutrition, or whatever else it be, it encloses an or-
ganization suited to the germination of a new plant. Has
the plant which produced the seed any thing more to do
with that organization, than the watch would have had to
do with the structure of the watch which was produced in
the course of its mechanical movement? I mean, Has it any
thing at all to do with the contr ivance? The maker and con-
triver of one watch when he inserted within it a mechanism
suited to the production of another watch, was, in truth,
the maker and contriver of that other watch. All the prop-
erties of the new watch were to be referred to his agency :
the design manifested in it, to his intention ; the art, to him,
as the artist; the collocation of each part, to his placing;
the action, effect, and use, to his counsel, intelligence, and
workmanship. In producing it by the intervention of a
former watch, he was only working by one set of tools in-
stead of another. So it is with the plant, and the seed
produced by it. Can any distinction be assigned between
the two cases; between the producing watch, and the pro-
ducing plant? Both passive, unconscious substances;
both, by the organization which was given to them, pro-
ducing their like without understanding or design ; both,
that is, instruments.

II. From plants we may proceed to oviparous animals ;
from seeds to eggs. Now, I say, that the bird has the same
concern in the formation of the egg which she lays, asthe
plant has in that of the seed which it drops; and no
other, nor greater. The internal constitution of the egg
is as much a secret to the hen, as if the hen were inan-
imate. Her will cannot alter it, or change a single feather
of the chick. She can neither foresee nor determine of
which sex her brood shall be, or how many of either ; yet
the thing produced shall be, ‘from the first, very different
in its make, according to the sex which it bears So far,
_ therefore, from adapting the means, she is not beforehand

apprized of the effect. Ifthere be concealed within that
smooth shell a provision and a preparation for the produc-
tion and nourishment of a new animal, they are not of her
providing or preparing ; if there be contrivance, it is none ~
‘of hers. Although, therefore, there be the difference of
life and perceptivity between the animal and the plant, it is
a difference which enters not into the account. It is a for-
eign circumstance. It is a difference of properties not
employed. ‘The animal function and the vegetable func-

32 ON THE SUCCESSION OF

tion are alike destitute of any design which can operate up-
on the form of the thing produced. The plant has no de- |
sign in producing the seed, no comprehension of the na-
ture or use of what it produces: the bird with respect to its.
egg, is not above the plant with respect to its seed. Neith-
er the one nor the other bears that sort of relation to what
proceeds from them, which a joiner does to the chair which
he makes. Now a cause, which bears this relation to the
effect, is what we want, in order to account for the suita-
bleness of means to an end, the fitness and fitting of one
thing to another: and this cause the parent plant or ani-
mal does not supply.

It is further observable, concerning the propagation of
plants and animals, that the apparatus employed exhibits
no resemblance to the thing produced; in this respect
holding an analogy with instruments and tools of art. The
filaments, anthere, and stigmata of flowers bear no more
resemblance to the young plant, or even to the seed, which
is formed by their intervention, than a chisel or a plane
does to a table or a chair. What then are the filaments,
anthere, and stigmata of plants, but instruments, strictly
so calle:| ?* :

III We may advance from animals which bring forth
eggs, to animals which bring forth their young alive; and,
of this latter case, from the lowest to the highest; from

* Nearly akin to the reproduction of plants and animals by genera-
tion, is the reproduction of parts of animal bodies which have been.
destroyed, and the reparation of those which have been injured. To
say nothing of the reproduction of limbs in crustaceous animals, the
wonderful but well attested fact, of the formation of a new eye in an
animal of the lizard kind, in the place of one which had been cut out
of the socket, is one which no atheistical theory can approach, in the
way of explanation. In the process by which a new eye is formed,
the apparatus, instruments and materials, employed, bear no resem-
blance to the organ to be formed. The small capillary vessels of the
root of the eye, construct anew eye, out of the blood which circulates
in them. To use a mode of expression like that of our author—the
vessels which thus construct a new eye, bear no more resemblance to
it, than a chisel or a plane, to a table or a chair; and the blood out of
which it is made, no more resemblance toit when made, than the
metallic ores when taken out of the mine, to a complete and perfectly
constructed watch. In this case, we find a contrivance existing in a
whole race of animals, for the accomplishment of a purpose which it ts_
not called upon to accomplish in one instance out of a thousand. If
the reader will examine the several atheistical modes of evading the
force of the arguments for the existence of God, referred to in the
next Chapter, as well as in various other parts of this volume, he wilk
find that they signally fail in their application to this case. Ed.

PLANTS AND ANIMALS. _ 33

- ivrational to rational life, from brutes to the human species ;
without perceiving, as we proceed, any alteration whatever
in the terms of the comparison. The rational animal does
not produce its offspring with more certainty or success
than the irrational animal; aman than a quadruped, a
quadruped than a bird; nor (for we may follow the grada-
tion through its whole scale) a bird than a plant; nor a
plant than a watch, a piece of dead mechanism, would do
upon the supposition which has already so oiten been re-
peated. Rationality therefore has nothing to do in the
business. If an account must be given of the contrivance
which we observe; if it be demanded, whence arose either
the contrivance by which the young animal is produced,
or the contrivance manifested in the young animal itself, it
is not from the reason of the parent that any such account
can be drawn. He is the cause of his offspring in the same
sense as that in which a gardener is the cause of the tulip
which grows upon his parterre, and in no other. We ad-
mire the flower ; we examine the plant; we perceive the
conduciveness of many of its parts to their end and office ;
we observe a provision for its nourishment, growth, pro-
tection, and fecundity : but we never think of the gardener
in all this. We attribute nothing of this to his agency ;
yet it may still be true, that, without. the gardener, we
should not have had the tulip. Just so it is with the suc-
cession of animals even of the highest order, . For the
contrivance discovered in the structure of the thing pro-
duced, we wantacontriver.» ‘The parent is not that contri-
ver. His consciousness decides that question. He is in total
ignorance, why that which is produced took its present form
rather than any other. It is for him only to be astonished
by the effect. We can no more look therefore to the intel-
ligence of the parent animal for what we are in search of,
a cause of relation and of subserviency of parts to their use,
‘which relation and sulserviency we see in the procreated
body, than we can refer the internal confirmation of an
acorn to the intelligence of the oak from which it dropped,

or the structure of the watch to the intelligence of the
"watch which produced it; there being no difference, as far
‘as argument is concerned, between an intelligence which
is not exerted, and an intelligence which does not exist.

D2

\ sah

34 APPLICATION OF THE
‘ CHAP. V.
APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT CONTINUED.

Every observation which was made, in our first chap-
ter concerning the watch, may be repeated with strict pro-
priety concerning the eye; concerning animals; concern-
ing plants; concerning, indeed, all the organized parts of
the works of nature. As,

I. When we are inquiring simply after the existence of
an intelligent Creator, imperfection, inaccuracy, liability
to disorder, occasional irregularities, may subsist, in a con-
siderable degree, without inducing any doubt into the
question : just as a watch may frequently go wrong, seldom
perhaps exactly right, may be faulty in some parts, defec-
tive in some, without the smallest ground of suspicion from
thence arising, that it was not a watch; not made, or not
made for the purpose ascribed to it. When faults are
pointed out, and when a question is started concerning the
skill of the artist, or the dexterity with which the work is
executed, then, indeed, in order to defend these qualities.
from accusation, we must be able, either to expose some
intractableness and imperfection in the materials, or point
out some invincible difficulty m the execution, mto which
imperfection and difficulty the matter of complaint may be
resolved ; or, if we cannot do this, we must adduce such
specimens of consummate art and contrivance proceeding
from the same hand, as may convince the inquirer of the
existence, in the case before him, of impediments like those
which we have mentioned, although, what from the nature
of the case is very likely to happen, they be unknown and
unperceived by him. ‘This we must do in order to vindi- |
cate the artist’s skill, or, at least, the perfection of it; as
we must also judge of his intention, and of the provisions
employed in fulfilling that intention, not from an instance,
in which they fail, but from the great plurality of instances
in which they succeed. But, after all, these are different
questions from the question of the artist’s existence ; or,
which is the same, whether the thing before us be a work of
art or not; and the question ought always to be kept sepa- _
rate in the mind. So tikewise it is in the works of nature.
Irregularities and imperfections are of little or no weight
in the consideration, when that consideration relates sim-
ply to the existence of a Creator. When the argument re-
spects his attributes, they are of weight; but are then to

ARGUMENT CONTINUED. 35.

be taken in conjunction (the attention is not to rest upon
them, but they are to be taken in conjunction) with the
unexceptionable evidences which we possess, of skill,
power, and benevolence, displayed in other instances ;
which evidences may, in strength, number, aud variety, be
such; and may so overpower apparent blemishes , as to in-
duce us, upon the most reasonaole ground, to believe, that
these last ought to be referred to some cause, though we
be ignorant of it, other than defect of knowledge or of be-
nevolence in the author.

Ii. There may be also parts of plants and animals, as
there were supposed to be of the watch of which, in some
instances, the operation, in others, the ase 1s unknown.
These form differeat cases; for the operation may be un-
known, yet the use be certain. Thus itis with the lungs of
animals. It does not, I think, appear, that we are acquainted
with the action of the air upon the blood, or in what man-
ner that action is communicated by the lungs; yet we find
that a very short suspension of their office destroys the
life of the animal. In this case, therefore, we may be said
to know the use, nay, we experience the necessity of the
organ, though we be ignorant of its operation. . Nearly the
same thing may be observed of what is called the lympha-
tic system. We suffer grievous inconveniences from its dis-
order, without being informed of the office which it sus-
taims in the economy of our bodies. ‘T'here may possibly
also be some few examples of the second class, in which,
not only the operation is unknown, but in which experi-
ments may seem to prove that the part is not necessary ;
or may leave a doubt, how far it is even useful to the plant
or animal in whichit is found. This is said to be the case
with the spleen ; which has been extracted from dogs, with-
out any sensible injury to their vital functions. Instances
of the former kind, namely, in which we cannot explain
the operation, may be numerous; for they will be so in
proportion to our ignorance. They will be more or fewer
to different persons, and in different stages of science. Every
improvement of knowledge diminishes their number.
‘There is hardly, perhaps, a year passes, that does not, in
the works of nature, bring some operation, or some mode
of operation, to light, which was before undiscovered, pro-.
bably unsuspected Instances of the second kind, namely,
where the part appears to be totally useless, I believe to be
extremely rare; compared with the number of those, of
which the use is evident, they are beneath any assignable

36 APPLICATION OF THE

proportion ; and perhaps, have never been submitted to a
trial and examination, sufficiently accurate, long enough
continued, or often enough repeated. No accounts, which
I have seen, are satisfactory. The mutilated animal may
live and grow fat, as was the case of the dog deprived of
its spleen, yet may be defective in some other of its func-
tions; which, whether they can all, or in what degree of -
vigour and perfection, be performed, or how long preserv-
ed, without the extirpated organ, does not seem to be ass
certained by experiment. But to this case, even were it fully
made out, may be applied the consideration which we sug-
gested concerning the watch, viz. that these superfluous
parts do not negative the reasoning which we instituted
concerning those parts which are useful, and of which we
know the use. The indication of contrivance, with re-
spect to them, remains as it was before.

III. One atheistic way of replying to our observations
upon the works of nature, and to the proofs of a Deity
which we think that we perceive in them, is to tell us, that
all which we see must necessarily have had some farm, and
that it might as well be its present form, as any other. Let
us now apply this answer to the eye, as we did before to
the watch. Something or other must have occupied that
place in the animal’s head; must have filled up, we will
say, that socket : we will say also, that it must have been
of that sort of substance which we call animal substance;
as flesh, bone, membrane, cartilage, &&c.; but that it should
have been an eye, knowing, as we do, what an eye com-
prehends, viz. that it should have consisted, first, of a se-
ries of transparent lenses (very different, by the by, even
in their substance, from opaque materials of which the rest
of the body is, in general, at least, composed; and with
which the whole of its surface, this single portion of it ex-
cepted, is covered :) secondly, of a black cloth or canvass
(the only membrane of the body which is black) spread
out behind these lenses, so as to receive the image, formed
by pencils of light, transmitted through them; and placed
at the precise geometrical distance, at which, and at which
‘alone, a distinct image could be formed, namely, at the
concourse of the refracted rays: thirdly, of a large nerve,
communicating between this membrane and the brain;
without which the action of light upon the membrane,
-however modified by the organ, would be lost to the pur-
poses of sensation. That this fortunate conformation of
parts should have been the lot, not of one individual out

ARGUMENT CONTINUED. | ov

of many thousand individuals, like the great prize in a lot-
tery, or like some singularity in nature, but the happy
chance of a whole species; nor of one species out of
many thousand species, with which we are acquainted, but
of by far the greatest number of all that exist; and that
under varieties, not casual or capricious, but bearing marks
of being suited to their respective exigencies: that all
this should have taken place, merely because something
must have occupied those points in every animal’s fore-
head; or, that all this should be thought to be accounted
for, by the short answer “that whatever was there must
have had some form or other,” is too absurd to be made
more so by any argumentation. We are not contented
with this answer, we find no satisfaction in it, by way of
accounting for appearances of organization far short of
those of the eye, such as we observe in fossil shells, petri-
fied bones, or other substances which bear the vestiges of
animal or vegetable recrements, but which, either in re-
spect of utility, or of the situation in which they are dis-
covered, may seem accidental enough. It is no way of
accounting even for these things, to say that the stone, for
instance, which is shown to us, (supposing the question to
be concerning a petrification,) must have contained some
internal conformation or other. Nor does it mend the an-
swer to add, with respect to the singularity of the confor-
mation, that, after the event, it is no longer to be comput-
ed what the chances were against it. ‘This 1s always to be
computed, when the question is, whether an useful or imi-
tative conformation be the produce of chance or not. I desire
mo greater certainty in reasoning, than that by which.
chance is excluded from the present disposition of the nat-
ural world. Universal experience is against it. What
does chance ever do for us? In the human body, for in-
stance, chance, i. e. the operation of causes without design,
may produce a wen, a wart, a mole, a pimple, but never an
eye. Amongst inanimate substances, a clod, a pebble, a
liquid drop might be; but never was a watch, a telescope,
an organized body of any kind, answering a valuable pur-
pose by a complicated mechanism, the effect of chance.
In no assignable instance hath such a thing existed without
intention somewhere. |

IV. There is another answer, which has the same ef-
fect as the resolving of things into chance ; which answer
would persuade us to believe, that the eye, the animal to,
which it belongs, every other animal, every plant, indeed

38 APLLICATION OF THE

every organized body which we see, are only so many out
of the possible varieties and combinations of being, which
the lapse of infinite ages has brought into existence; that
the present world is the relic of that variety; millions of
other bodily forms and other species having perished, be-
ing by the defect of their constitutions incapable of preser- |
vation, or of continuance by generation. Now there is no
foundation whatever for this conjecture in any thing which
we observe in the works of nature ; no such experiments
are going on at present; no such energy operates as that
which is here supposed, and which should be constantly
pushing into existence new varieties of beings; nor are
there any appearances to support an opinion that every
possible combination of vegetable or animal structure has
formerly been tried. Multitudes of confirmations, both of
vegetables and animals, may be conceived capable of exist-
ence and succession, which yet do not exist. Perhaps,
almost as many forms of plants might have been found in
the fields, as figures of plants can be delineated upon paper.
A countless variety of animals might have existed which
do not exist. Upon the supposition here stated, we should
see unicorns and mermaids, sylphs and centaurs; the fan-
cies of painters and the fables of poets realized by exam-
ples. Or, if it be alleged that these may transgress the
limits of possible life and propagation, we might, at least,
have nations of human beings without nails upon their fin-
“gers, with more or fewer fingers and toes than ten, some
with one eye, others with one ear, with one nostril, or with-
out the sense of smelling at all. Alli these, and a thousand
other imaginable varieties, might live and propagate. We
may modify any one species many different ways, all con-
sistent with life, and with the actions necessary to preserva-
tion, although affording different degrees of conveniency
and enjoyment to the animal. And if we carry these mod-
ifications through the different species which are known to
subsist, their number would be incalculable. No reason
can be given why; if these deperdits ever existed, they
have now disappeared. Yet, if all possible existences have
been tried, they must have formed part of the catalogue.
But, moreover, the division of organized substances into
animals and vegetables, and the distribution and sub-distri-
bution of each into general and species, which distribution
is not an arbitrary act of the mind, but is founded in the
order which prevails in external nature, appear to me to
contradict the supposition of the present world being the |

ARGUMENT CONTINUED. 88
remains of an indefinite variety of existences; of variety
which rejects all plan. The hypothesis teaches, that every
possible variety of being hath, at one time or other, found.
its way into existence (by what cause or in what manner is
not said,) and that those which were badly formed, perish-
ed; but how or why those which survived should be cast,
as we see that plants and animals are cast, into regular
classes, the hypothesis does not explain; or rather the hy-
pothesis i is inconsistent with this phenomenon.

The hypothesis, indeed, 1s hardly deserving of the con-
sideration which we have given toit. What should. we
think of the man, who, because we had never ourselves
seen watches, telescopes, stocking-mills, steam-engines, &c.
made; knew not how they were made; or could prove by
testimony when they were made, or by whom ;—would
have us believe that these machines, instead of deriving
their curious structures from the thought and design of
their inventors and contrivers, in truth, derive them from ,
no other origin than this; that a mass of metals and oth-
er materials having run, when melted, intoall possible fig-
ures, and combined themselves in all possible forms, and
shapes, and proportions; these things which we see, are
what were left from the accident, as best worth preserving;
and, as such, are become the remaining stock of a magae
zine, which at one time or other, has, by this means, con-
tained every mechanism, useful and useless, convenient
and inconvenient, into which such like materials could be
thrown? I cannot distinguish the hypothesis as applied
to the works of nature, from this solution, which no one
would accept, as applied to a collection of machines.
_V. Tothe marks of contrivance discoverable in animal
bedies, and to the argument deduced from them in proof of
design, and of a designing Creator, this turn is sometimes
attempted to be given, viz. that the parts were not intended
for the use, but that the use arose out of the parts. This
distinction is intelligible. A cabinet-maker rubs his ma- —
hogany with fish-skin ; yet it would be too much to assert
that the skin of the dog-fish was made rough and granulated
on purpose for the polishing of wood, and the use of cabinet-

‘makers. Therefore the distinction is intelligible. But I
think that there is very little place for it in the works of
nature. When roundly and generally affirmed of them, as
it hath sometimes been, it amounts to such another stretch
"of assertion, as it would be to say, that all the implements
of the caltincbaker’s workshop, as well as his fish-skin,

40 | APPLICATION OF THE

were substances accidentally configurated, which he had
picked up, and converted to his use; that his adzes, saws,
planes and gimlets, were not made, as we suppose, to hew,
cut, smooth, shape out, or bore wood with ; but that these
things being made, no matter with what design, or whether
with any, the cabinet-maker perceived that they were ap-
plicable to his purpose, and turned them to account.

But, again; so far as this solution is attempted to be ap-
plied to those parts of animals, the action of which does
not depend upon the will of the animal, it is fraught with
still more evident absurdity. Is it possible to believe that
the eye was formed without any regard to vision ; that if
was the animal itself which found out, that, though formed
with no such intention, it would serve to see with; and
that the use of the eye, as an organ of sight, resulted from
this discovery, and the animal’s application of it? The same
question may be asked of the ear; the same of all the
senses. None of the senses, fundamentally, depend upon
the election of the animal; consequently, neither upon his
sagacity nor his experience. It is the impression which
objects make upon them that constitutes their use. Under
that impression he is passive. He may bring objects to the
sense, or within its reach; he may select these objects ; but
over the impression itself he has no power, or very little ;
and that properly is the sense.

Secondly, there are many parts of animal bodies which
seem to depend upon the will of the animal in a greater
degree than the senses do, and yet with respect to which
this solution is equally unsatisfactory. If we apply the so-
lution to the human body for instance, it forms itself into
questions upon which no reasonable mind can doubt ; such
as, whether the teeth were made expressly for the mastica-
tion of food, the feet for walking, the hands for holding ;
or whether, these things being as they are, being in fact
in the animal’s possession, his own ingenuity taught him
that they were convertible to these purposes, though no
such purposes were contemplated in their formation.

All that there is of the appearance of reason in this
way of considering the subject is, that, in some cases,
the organization seems to determine the habits of the ani-
mal, and its choice, to a particular mode of life; which,
in a Certain sense, may be called ‘“‘the use arising out of
the part.” Now to all the instances, in which there is any
place for this suggestion, it may be replied, that the organ-
ization determines the animal to habits beneficial and salu-

PECUMENT, CONTIUED. ' 4i

tary to itself; and that this effect would not be seen so
regularly to follow, if the several organizations did not
bear a concerted and contrived relation to the substances —
by which the animal was surrounded. They would, other-
wise, be capacities without objects; powers without em-
ployment. ‘The web foot determines, you say, the duck
to swim: but what would that avail, if there were no water
toswimin? The strong, hooked bill, and sharp talons,
_ of one species of bird, determine it to prey upon animals;
the soft straight bill, and weak claws of another species,
deterinine it to pick up seeds: but neither determination
could take effect in providing for the sustenance of the
birds, if animal bodies and vegetable seeds did not lie with-
in their reach. The peculiar conformation of the bill, and
tongue, and claws of the woodpecker, determines that bird
‘to search for his food amongst the insects lodged behind the
bark, or in the wood, of decayed trees; but what would this
profit him if there were no trees, no decayed trees, no insects
lodged under their bark, or in their trunk? The proboscis
with which the bee is furnished, determines him to seek
for honey ; but what would that ‘signify, if flowers supplied.
none? Faculties thrown down upon animals at random,
_ and without reference to the objects amidst which they are
placed, would not produce to them the services and benefits
which we see; and if there be that reference, then there
is Intention. :

Lastly, the solution fails entirely when applied to plants.
The parts of plants answer their uses, without any concur-
rence from the will or choice of the plant.

VI. Others have chosen to refer every thing to a prin-
ciple of order in nature. A principle of order is the word ;
but what is meant by a principle of order, as different
from an intelligent Creator, has not been explained either
by definition or example; and, without such explanation,
it should seem to be a mere substitution of words for rea-
sons, names for causes. Order itself is only the adaptation
of means to an end; a principle of order, therefore, can
only signify the mind and intention which so adapts them.
Or were it capable of being explained in any other sense,
is there any experience, any analogy to sustain it? Was
a watch ever produced by a principle of order? and why

might not a watch be so produced as well as an eye?
_ Furthermore, a principle of order, acting blindly and
without choice, is negated by the observation, mat order
E

42s APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT CONTINUED. —

is not universal ; which it would be, if it issued from a con-
stant and necessary principle; nor indiscriminate, which it
would be, if it issued from an unintelligent principle. Where
order is wanted, there we find it; where order is not want-
ed, i. e. where, if it prevailed, it would be useless, there we
do not find it. Inthe structure of the eye (for we adhere to
our example,) in the figure and position of its several parts,
the most exact order is maintained. In the forms of rocks
and mountains, in the lines which bound the coasts of con-
tinents and islands, in the shape of bays and promontories,
no order whatever is perceived, because it would have been
superfluous. No useful purpose would have arisen from
moulding rocks and mountains into regular solids, bound-
ing the channel of the ocean by geometrical curves, or
from the map of the world resembling a table of diagrams
in Euclid’s Elements, or Simpson’s Conic Sections.

VII. Lastly, the confidence which we place in our ob-
servations upon the works of nature, in the marks which
we discover of contrivance, choice, and design, and in our
reasoning upon the proofs afforded us, ought not to be sha-
ken, as it is sometimes attempted to be done by bringing
forward to our view our own ignorance, or rather, the gen-
eral imperfection of our knowledge of nature. Nor, in
many cases, ought this consideration to affect us, even
when it respects some parts of the subject immediately un-
der our notice. True fortitude of understanding censists in
not suffering what we know to be disturbed by what we
do not know. If we perceive an useful end, and means
adapted to that end, we perceive enough for our conclusion.
If these things be clear, no matter what is obscure. The
argument is finished. For instance; if the utility of vision
to the animal which enjoys it, and the adaptation of the
eye to this office be evident and certain (and I can mention
nothing that is more so,) ought it to prejudice the inference
which we draw from these premises, that we cannot ex-
plain the use of the spleen? Nay more; if there be parts
of the eye, viz. the cornea, the crystalline, the retina, in
their substance, figure, and position, manifestly suited to
the formation of an image by the refraction of rays of light,
at least as manifestly as the glasses and tubes of a dioptric |
telescope are suited to that purpose, it concerns not the
proof which these afford of design and of a designer, that
there may perhaps be other parts, certain muscles, for in-
stance, or nerves, in the same eye, of the agency or effect
of which we can give no account; any more than we

' HE ARGUMENT CUMULATIVE. 43

should be inclined to doubt, or ought to doubt, about the
- construction of a telescope, viz. for what purpose it was
constructed, or whether it were constructed at all, because
‘there belonged to it certain screws and pins, the use or
action of which we did not comprehend.. I take it to be a
general way of infusing doubts and scruples into the mind,
to recall to it its own ignorance, its own imbecility ; to tell
us that upon these subjects we know little, that little im-
perfectly; or rather, that we know nothing properly about
the matter. These suggestions so fallin with our con-
-sciousnesses, as sometimes to produce a general distrust of
our faculties and our conclusions. But this is an unfound-
ed jealousy. The uncertainty of one thing, does not
necessarily affect the certainty of another thing.- Our ig- |
norance of many points need not suspend our assurance of
afew. Before we yield, in anv particular instance, to the
scepticism which this sort of insinuation would induce, we
ought accurately to ascertain, whether our ignorance or
doubt concern those precise points upon which our conclu-
sion rests. Other points are nothing. Our ignorance of
other points may be of no consequence to these; though
they be points, in varinus respects, of great importance.
‘A just reasoner removes from his consideration, not only
what he knows, but what he does not know, touching mat-
ters not strictly connected with his argument, 1. e. not
forming the very steps of his deduction; beyond these,
his knowledge and his ignorance are alike irrelative.

=r @ OO «ace
CHAPTER VI.
THE ARGUMENT CUMULATIVE.

Were there no example in the world of contrivance ex-
cept that of the eye, it would be alone sufficient to support
the conclusion which we draw from it, as to the necessity
of an intelligent Creator. It could never be got rid of;
because it could not be accounted for by any other suppo-
sition, which did not contradict all the principles we pos-
sess of knowledge: the principles according to which,
things do, as often as they can be brought to the test of ex-
perience, turn out to be true or false. Its coats and hu-
mours, constructed, as the lenses of a telescope are con-
structed, for the refraction of rays of light toa point, which

:

44 THE ARGUMENT CUMULATIVE. ©

forms the proper action of the organ ; the provision in its —
muscular tendons for turning its pupil to the object, sim-
ilar to that which is given to the telescope by screws, and
upon which power of direction in the eye, the exercise of
its office as an optical instrument depends; the further
provision for its defénce, for its constant lubricity and
moisture, which we see in its sockets and its lids, in its
clands for the secretion of the matter of tears, its outlet or
communication with the nose for carrying off the liquid
after the eye is washed with it; these provisions compose
altogether an apparatus, a system of parts, a preparation of
means, so manifest in their design, so exquisite in their
contrivance, so successful in their issue, so precious, and
so infinitely beneficial in their use, as, in my opinion, to
bear down all doubt that can be raised upon the subject.
And what I wish, under the title of the present chapter,
to observe, is, that, if other parts of nature were imaccessi-
ble to our inquiries, or even if other parts of nature present-
ed nothing to our examination,but disorder and confusion,
the validity of this example would remain the same. If
there were but one watch in the world, it would not be less
certain that it had a maker. If we had never in our lives
seen but one single kind of hydraulic machine; yet, if of
that one kind we understood the mechanism and use, we
should be as perfectly assured that it proceeded from the
hand, and thought, and skill of a workman, as if we visited.
a museum of the arts, and saw collected there twenty dif-
ferent kinds of machines for drawing water, or a thousand
different kinds for other purposes. Of this point each ma-
chine is a proof, independently of the rest. So it is
with the evidences of a divine agency. The proof is not
a conclusion, which lies at the end of a chain of reasoning,
of which chain each instance of contrivance is only a link,
and of which, if one link fail, the whole fails: but it is an
argument separately supplied by every separate example.
An error in stating an example affects only that example.
The argument is cumulative in the fullest sense of that
term. The eye proves it without the ear; the ear without
the eye. The proof in each example is complete; for
when. the design of the part, and the conduciveness of its
structure to that design, is shown, the mind may set itself
at rest; no future consideration can detract any thing
from the force of the example.

MECHANICAL AND IMMECHANICAL, &c. 45
CHAPTER VII.

OF THE MECHANICAL AND IMMECHANICAL PARTS AND FUNC-
‘TIONS OF ANIMALS AND VEGETABLES.

Iv is not that every part of an animal or vegetable has
not proceeded from a contriving mind; or that every part
is not constructed with a view to its proper end and pur-
pose, according to the laws belonging to, and governing,
the substance or the action made use of in that part; or
that each part is not so constructed, as to effectuate its
purpose whilst it operates according to these laws; but it
is, because the laws themselves are not in all cases equal-
ly understood ; or, what amounts to nearly the same thing,
or not equally exemplified in more simple processes, and
more simple machines; that we lay down the distinction,
here proposed, between the mechanical parts, and other
parts, of animals and vegetables.

_For instance; the principle of muscular motion, V1Z.
upon what cause the swelling of the belly of the muscle,
and consequent contraction of its tendons, either by an
act of the will or by involuntary irritation, depends, is
wholly unknown to us. ‘The substance employed, whether
it be fluid, gaseous, elastic, electrical, or none of these, or
nothing resembling these, is also unknown to us ; of course
the laws belonging to that substance, and which regulate
its action, are unknown to us. We see nothing similar
to this contraction in any machine which we can make,
or any process which we can execute. So far (it is con-
fessed) we are in ignorance; but no farther. This power
and principle, from whatever cause it proceeds, being as-
sumed, the collocation of the fibres to receive the princi-
ple, the disposition of the muscle for the use and applica-
tion of the power, is mechanical; and is as intelligible as
the adjustment of the wires and strings by which a puppet
is moved. We see, therefore, as far as respects the sub-
ject before us, what is not mechanical in the animal frame,
and what is. The nervous influence (for we are often
obliged to give names to things which we know little
about)—I say the nervous influence, by which the belly
or middle of the muscle is swelled, is not mechanical.
The utility of the effect we perceive: the means, or the
preparation of means, by which it is produced, we do not.
But obscurity as to the origin of muscular motion brings

46 MECHANICAL AND IMMECANICAL PARTS

no doubtfulness into our observations upon the sequel of
the process. Which observations relate, Ist, to the con-
stitution of the muscle; im consequence of which consti-
tution, the swelling of the belly or middle part is neces-
sarily and mechanically followed by a contraction of the
tendons: 2dly, to the number and variety of the muscles,
and the corresponding number and variety of useful powers:
which they supply to the animal; which is astonishingly
great; 3dly, to the judicious (if we may be permitted to
use that term, in speaking of the author, or of the works,
of nature,) to the wise and well-contrived disposition of
each muscle for its specific purpose; for moving the joint
this way, and that way, and the other way; for pulling
and drawing the part, to which it is attached, in a determi-
nate and particular direction ; which isa mechanical oper-
ation, exemplified in a multitude of instances. ‘To mention
only one; the tendon of the trochlear muscle of the eye,
to the end that it may draw in the line required, is passed.
through a cartilaginous ring, at which it is reverted, exactly
in the same manner as a rope in a ship is carried over a
block or round a stay, in order to make it pullin the direction
which is wanted. [PI. v. fig. 1.] All this, as we have said,
is mechanical; and is as accessible to inspection, as capa-
ble of being ascertained, as the mechanism of the automa-
ton in the Strand. Snppose the automaton to be put in
motion by a magnet (which is probable,) it will supply us
with a comparison very apt for our present purpose. Of
‘the magnetic effluvium we know perhaps as little as we do
of the nervous fluid. But magnetic attraction being as-
sumed (it signifies nothing from what cause it proceeds,)
‘we can trace, or there can be pointed out to.us, with per-
fect clearness and certainty, the mechanism, viz. the steel
bars, the wheels, the joints, the wires, by which the motion,
so much admired is communicated to the fingers of the im-
age; and to make any obscurity, or difficulty, or contro-
versy in the doctrine of magnetism, an objection to our
knowledge or our certainty concerning the contrivance, or
the marks of contrivance, displayed in the automaton,
would be exactly the same thing, as it is to make our ig-
norance (which we acknowledge) of the cause of nervous
agency, or even of the substance and structure of the
nerves themselves, a ground of question or suspicion as te
the reasoning which we institute concerning the mechani-
cal part of our frame. That an animal is a machine, is a
proposition, neither correctly true, nor wholly false. ‘The:

AND FUNCTIONS OF ANIMALS, &c. 47

distinction which we have been discussing will serve to
show how far the comparison, which this expression im-
plies, holds; and wherein it fails. -And, whether the dis-
tinction be thought of importance or not, it is certainly of
importance to remember, that there is heither truth nor
justice in endeavouring to bring a cloud over our under-
standings, or a distrust into our reasonings upon this sub-
ject, by suggesting that we know nothing of voluntary
motion, of irritability, of the principle of life, of sensation,
of animal heat, upon all which the animal “functions de-
pend ; for our ‘ignorance of these parts of the animal frame
concerns not at all our knowledge of the mechanical parts
of the same frame. I contend, therefore, that there is
mechanism in animals; that this mechanism is as proper-
ly such, as it is in machines made by art; that this me-
chanism is intelligible and certain; that it is not the less
so, because it often begins or terminates with something
which is not mechanical; that, whenever it is intelligible
and certain, it demonstrates intention and contrivance, as
well in the works of nature as in those of art; and that it
is the best demonstration which either can afford.

But, whilst | contend for these propositions, I do. not
exclude myself from asserting that there may be, and that
there are other cases, in which, although we cannot ex-
hibit mechanism, or prove indeed, that mechanism is em-
ployed, we want not sufficient evidence to conduct us to
the same conclusion.

There is what may be called the chemical part of our
‘frame ; of which, by reason of the imperfection of our
chemistry, we can attain to no distinct knowledge; I

- mean, not to a knowledge, either in degree or kind, similar
‘to that which we possess of the mechanical part of our
frame. It does not, therefore, afford the same species of
argument as that which mechanism affords ; ; and yet it may
afford an argument ina high degree satisfactory. The gas-
tric juice, or the liquor which digests the food in the stom-
achs of animals, is of this class. Of all mensirua it is the
most active, the most universal. In the human stomach, for
instance, consider what a variety of strange Substances, and,
how widely different from one another, it in a few hours re-
duces to one uniform pulp, milk or mucilage. It seizes upon
every thing, it dissolves the texture of almost every thing
that comes in its way. The flesh of, perhaps, all animals:
the seeds and fruits of the greatest number of plants ; the
soots and stalks and leaves of many, hard and tough as

48 MECHANICAL AND IMMECHANICAL PARTS

they are, yield to its powerful pervasion. The change
wrought by it is different from any chemical solution which
we can produce, or with which we are acquainted, in this
respect as well as many others, that, in our chemistry, par-
ticular menstrua act only upon particular substances. Con-
sider, moreover, that this fluid, stronger in its operation
than a caustic alkali or mineral acid, than red precipitate
or aqua fortis itself, is nevertheless as mild, and bland, and
inoffensive to the touch or taste, as saliva or gum water,
which it much resembles. Consider, I say, these several
properties of the digestive organ, and of the juice with
which it is supplied, or rather with which itis made to sup-
ply itself, and you will confess it to be entitled to a name,
which it has sometimes received, that of “the chemical
wonder of animal nature.”

Still we are ignorant of the composition of this fluid, and
of the mode of its action; by which is meant that we are
not capable, as we are in the mechanical part of our frame,
of collating it with the operations of art. And this I call
the imperfection of our chemistry ; for; should the time ev- |
er arrive, which is not perhaps to be despaired of, when we
can compound ingredients, so as to form a solvent, which
will act in the manner in which the gastric juice acts, we
may be able to ascertain the chemical principles upon
which its efficacy depends, as well as from what part, and
by what concoction, in the human body, these principles
are generated and derived.

In the meantime, ought that, which is in truth the de-
fect of our chemistry, to hinder us from acquiescing in the
inference, which a production of nature, by its place, its
properties, its action, its surprising efficacy, its invaluable
use, authorises us to draw in respect of a creative design ?

Another most subtie and curious function of animal bod-
ies is secretion. This function is semi-chemical and semi-
mechanical; exceedingly important and diversified in its
effects, but obscure in its process and in its apparatus.
‘The importance of the secretory organs is but too well at-
tested by the diseases, which an excessive, a deficient, or 2
vitiated secretion is almost sure of producing. A single |
secretion being wrong, is enough to make life miserable ;
or sometimes to destroy it. Nor is the variety less than
the importance. From one and the same blood (I speak
of the human body) about twenty different fluids are sepa-
rated ; in their sensible properties, in taste, smell, colour,
and consistency, the most unlike one another that is possi-

‘AND FUNCTIONS OF ANIMALS, &c. 49

ble; thick, thin, salt, bitter, sweet: And if from our own
we pass to other species of animals, we find amongst their
secretions not only the most various, but the most opposite
properties; the most nutritious aliment, the deadliest poi-
son; the sweetest perfumes, the most ‘fetid odours, Of
these the greater part, as the gastric juice, the saliva, the
bile, the slippery mucillage which lubricates the joints, the
tears which moisten the eye, the wax which defends the
ear, are, after they are secreted, made use of in the animal
economy ; are evidently subservient, and are actually con-
tributing to the utilities of the animal itself, Other fluids
seem to be separated only to be rejected. ‘That this also
is necessary (though why it was originally necessary, we
cannot tell) is shown by the consequence of the separation
being long suspended; which consequence is disease and
death. Akin to secretion, if not the same thing, is assim-
ilation, by which one and the same blood is converted into |
bone, muscular flesh, nerves, membranes, tendons; things
as different as the wood and iron, canvass and cordage, of
which a ship with its furniture is composed. We have no
operation of art wherewith exactly to compare all this, for no
other reason perhaps than that all operations of art are ex-
ceeded by it. No chemical election, no chemical analysis or
resolution of a substance into its constituent parts, no me-
chanical sifting or division, that we are acquainted with, in
perfection or variety, come up to animal secretion. Never-
theless, the apparatus and process are obscure: not to say,
absolutely concealed from our inguiries. In a few, and only
a few instances, we can discern a little of the constitution of
agland. In the kidneys of large animals we can trace the
emulgent artery dividing itself into an infinite number of
branches; their extremities every where communicating
with little round bodies, in the substance of which bodies
the secret of the machinery seems to reside, for there the
change is made. We can discern pipes laid from these
round bodies towards the pelvis, which is a basin within
the solid of the kidney. (Pl. VI. fig. 2.) We can discern
these pipes joining and collecting together into larger pipes;
and when so collected, ending in innumerable papille,
through which the secreted fluid is continually oozing into
its receptacle. This is all we know of the mechanism of
- a gland, even in the case in which it seems most capable of
being investigated. Yet to pronounce that we know noth-
- ing of animal secretion, or nothing satisfactorily, and with
that concise remark to dismiss the article from our argu-

50 MECHANICAL AND IMMECHANICAL PARTS

ment, would be to dispose of the subject very hastily and
very irrationally. For the purpose of which we want, that of
evincing intention, we know a great deal. And what we
know is this. We see the blood carried by a pipe, conduit,
or duct, to the gland. We see an organized apparatus, be
its construction or action what it will, which we call that
-gland. We see the blood, or part of the blood, after it
has passed through and undergone the action of the gland,
“coming from it by an emulgent vein or artery, 1. e. by an-
other pipe or conduit. And we see also at the same time
a new and specific fluid issuing from the same gland by its
excretory duct, i.e by a third pipe or conduit; which new
fluid is in some cases discharged out of the body, in more
cases retained within it, and there executing some impor-
tant and intelligible office. Now supposing, or admitting,
that- we know nothing of the proper internal constitution
of a gland, or of the mode of its acting upon the blood;
then our situation is precisely. like that of an-unmechani-
cal looker-on, who stands by a stocking-loom, a corn-mill,
a carding-machine, or a threshing-machine at work, the
fabric and mechanism of which, as well as all that passes
within, is hidden from his sight by the outside case; or, if
seen, would be too complicated for his uninformed, unin-
structed understanding to comprehend. And what is that
situation ?—This spectator, ignorant as he is, sees at one
end a material enter the machine, as unground grain the
mill, raw cotton the carding-machine, sheaves of unthresh-
ed corn the threshing-machine: and when he casts his eye
to the other end of the apparatus, he sees the material is- |
suing from it in a new state; and, what is more, in a state
manifestly adapted to future uses; the grain in meal fit for
the making of bread, the wool in rovings ready for spinning
into threads, the sheaf in corn dressed for the mill. Is it
necessary that this man, in order to be convinced that de-
sign, that intention, that contrivance has been employed
about the machine, should be allowed to pull it in pieces;
should be enabled to examine the parts separately ; explore
their action upon one another, or their operation, whether
simultaneous or successive, upon the material which is pre-
sented to them? He may long to do this to gratify his
curiosity; he may desire to do it to improve his theoretic
knowledge ; or he may have a more substantial reason for
requesting it, if he happen, instead of a common visitor, to
be a mill-wright by profession, or a person sometimes call.
ed in to repair such-like machines when out of order; but,

_ AND FUNCTIONS OF ANIMALS, S&C. Sf

for the purpose of ascertaining the existence of counsel
and design in the formation of the machine, he wants no
such intromission or privity. What he sees is sufficient.
The effect upon the material, the change produced in it;
the utility of that change for future applications, abundant-
ly testify, be the concealed part of the machine or of its
construction what it may, the hand and agency of a con-
triver. If any confirmation were wanting to the evidence.
which the animal secretions afford of design, it may be de-
rived, as hath been already hinted, from their variety, and
from their appropriation to their place and use. They all
come from the same blood; they are all drawn off by
glands ; yet the produce is very different, and the differ-
ence exactly adapted to the work which is to be done, or
the end to be answered. No account can be given of this
without resorting to appointment. Why, for instance, is
the saliva, which is diffused over the seat of taste insipid,
whilst so many others of the secretions, the urine, the tears,
and the sweat, are salt? Why does the gland within the
ear separate a viscid substance, which defends that passage :
the gland in the upper angle of the eye, a thin brine, which
washes the ball? Why is the synovia of the joints muci-
Jaginous ; the bile bitter, stimulating, and soapy? Why
does the juice, which flows into the stomach, contain pow-
ers which make that bowel the great laboratory, as it is by
its situation the recipient, of the materials of future nu-
irition? ‘These are all fair questions; and no answer can
be given to them, but what calls in intelligence and inten-~
tion.

My object in the present chapter has been to teach three
things : first, that it is a mistake to suppose, that, in rea-
soning from the appearances of nature, the imperfection of
our knowledge proportionably affects the certainty of our
conclusion ; for in many cases it does not affect it at all:
secondly, that the different parts of the animal frame may
be classed and distributed, according to the degree of ex-
actness with which we can compare them with works of
art: thirdly, that the mechanical parts of our frame, or,
those in which this comparison is most complete, although
constituting, probably the coarsest portions of nature’s
workmanship, are the properest to be alleged as proofs
and specimens of design.

52 OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT

CHAPTER VIII.
OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT IN THE HUMAN FRAME.

WE proceed, therefore, to propose certain examples ta-
ken out of this class; making choice of such, as amongst
those which have come to our knowledge, appear to be the
most striking, and the best understood ; but obliged, per-
haps to postpone both these recommendations to a third,
that of the example being capable of explanation without
plates or figures, or technical language.

OF THE BONES.

I. Ichallenge any man to produce, in the joints and
pivots of the most complicated, or the most flexible, ma-

chine, that was ever contrived, a construction .more artifi-

cial, or more evidently artificial, than that which is seen
in the vertebre of the human neck. | PI. VII. fig. 1.] Two

things were to be done. The head was to have the power

of bending forward and backward, as in the act of nodding,
stooping, looking upward or downward; and, at the same
time, of turning itself round upon the body toa certain
extent, the quadrant, we will say, or rather, perhaps, a hun-
dred and twenty degrees of a circle. For these two pur-
poses, two distinct contrivances are employed. [Pl. VII.
fig. 2,3, 4.] First, the head rests immediately upon the
uppermost of the vertebre, and is united to it by a hinge
joint; upon which joint the head plays freely forward and
backward, as far either way as is necessary, or as the liga-
ments allow; which was the first thmg required. But
then the rotatory motion is unprovided for. Therefore
secondly, to make the head capable of this, a further me-
chanism is introduced ; not between the head and the up-
permost bone of the neck, where the hinge is, but between
that bone, and the bone next underneath it. It is a me-
chanism resembling a tenon and mortice. This second,
or uppermost bone but one, has what anatomists call a pro-
cess, ViZ. a projection, somewhat similar, in size and shape,
to a tooth; which tooth, entering a corresponding hole or
socket in the bone above it, forms a pivot or axle, upon
which that upper bone, together with the head which it
supports, turns freely in a circle; and as far in the circle,
as the attached muscles permit the head to turn. Thus
are both motions perfect, without interfering with each

——_——

IN THE HUMAN FRAME. 53

other. When we nod the head we use the hinge joint,

which lies between the head and the first bone of the neck.

When we turn the head round, we use the tenon and mor-
tice, which runs between the first bone of the neck and the
second. We see the same contrivance, and the same prin-
ciple, employed in the frame or mounting of a telescope.
It is occasionally requisite, that the object-end of the in-
strument be moved up and down, as well as horizontally,
or equatorially. For the vertical motion there is a hinge
upon which the telescope plays; for the horizontal or
equatorial motion, an axis upon which the’ telescope and
the hinge turn round together. And this is exactly the

mechanism which is applied to the motion of the head;

nor will any one here doubt of the existence of counsel and

design, except it be by that debility of mind, which can

trust to its own reasonings in nothing.

We may add, that it was, on another account also, ex-
pedient, that the motion of the head backward and for-
ward should be performed upon the upper surface of the
first vertebrae; for if the first vertebre itself had bent for-
ward, it would have brought the spinal marrow, at the very
beginning of its course upon the point of the tooth. |

If. Another mechanical contrivance, not. unlike the
last in its object, but different and original in its means,
is seen in what anatomists call the fore-arm; that is, in
the arm from? the elbow to the wrist, [Pl. VIII. fig.
1, 2.] Here, for the perfect use of the limb, two motions
are wanted; a motion at the elbow backward and forward,

which is called a reciprocal motion ; anda rotatory motion

by which the palm of the hand, as occasion requires, may be
turned upward. How is thismanaged? The fore-arm, it
is well known, consists of two bones, lying along-side each
other, but touching only towards the ends. One, and only
one, of these bones, is joined to the cubit, or upper part
of the arm, at the elbow; the other alone, to the hand at
the wrist. The first, by means, at the elbow, of a hinge
joint (which allows only of motion in the same plane,)
swings backward and forward, carrying along with it the
other bone, and the whole fore-arm. In the meantime, as
often as there is occasion to turn the palm upward, that

other bone, to which the hand is attached, rolls upon the

first, by the help of a groove or hollow near each end of

one bone, to which is fitted a corresponding prominence

in the other. If both bones had been joined to the cubit
; | i

54 OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT |

-or upper arm at the elbow, or both to the hand at the wrist,
the thing could not have been done. ‘The first was to be
at liberty at one end, and the second at the other : by which
means the two actions may be performed together. The
great bone, which carries the fore-arm, may be swinging
upon its hinge at the elbow, at the very same time, that
the lesser bone, which carries the hand, may be turning
round it in the grooves. The management also of these
grooves, or rather of the tubercles and grooves, is very ob-
servable. ‘The two bones are called the radius and the
ulna. Above, i. e. towards the elbow, a tubercle of the
radius plays into a socket of the ulna; whilst below, i. e.
towards the wrist, the radius finds the socket, and the ulna
the tubercle. A single bone in the fore-arm, with a ball
and socket joint at the elbow, which admits of motion in
all directions, might, in some degree, have answered the
purpose, of both moving the arm, and turning the hand.
But how much better it is accomplished by the present me-
chanism, any person may convince himself, who puts the
ease and quickness, with which he can shake his hand at’
the wrist circularly (moving likewise, if he pleases, his arm
at the elbow at the same time,) in competition with the
comparatively slow and laborious motion, with which his
arm can be made toturn round at the shoulder, by the aid
of a ball and socket joint.

{ti. The spine or back bone is a chain of joints of very
wonderful construction. (Pl. IX. fig. 1, 2.) Various, diffe
cult, and almost inconsistent offices were to be executed by
the same instrument. It was to be firm, yet flexible, (now
I know no chain made by art, which is both these; for
by firmness I mean not only strength, but stability ; firm,
to support the erect position of the body ; flexible, to allow of
the bending of the trunk in all degrees of curvature. It was |
further also, which is another, and quite a distinct purpose
from the rest, to become a pipe or conduit for the safe con-
veyance from the brain of the most important fluid* of the
animal frame, that, namely, upon which all voluntary mo-
tion depends, the spinal marrow; a substance not only of

* Tt seems proper to remark here, that the form of expression made
use of in this case implies what is not strictly true. The spinal mar-
row, or more properly the Spinal nerve, is not a fluid but a solid cord
extending from the brain down through the canal of the spine, from
which branches are distributed to all parts of the body. Dr. Paley in
this instance probably had in view the animal spirits, a subtle fluid,
which was formerly believed to be seated in the brain, and carried
through the nerves to the different parts. Ed.

IN THE HUMAN FRAME. 55

. the first necessity to action, if not to life, but of a nature
so delicate and tender, so susceptible and so impatient of
_injury, as that any unusual pressure upon it, or any consid-
erable obstruction of its course, is followed by paralysis or
death. Now the spine was not only to furnish the main
trunk for the passage of the medullary substance from the
brain, but to give out, in the course of its progress, small
pipes therefrom, which, being afterwards indefinitely sub-
divided, might, under the name of nerves, distribute this _
exquisite supply to every part of the body. The same
spine was also to serve another use not less wanted than
the preceding, viz. to afford a fulcrum, stay, or basis (or
more properly speaking a series of these) for the insertion
of the muscles which are spread over the trunk of the
body; in which trunk there are not, as in the limbs, cylin-
drical bones to which they can be fastened, and likewise,
which is a similar use, to furnish a support for the ends of
the ribs to rest upon.

Bespeak of a workman a piece of mechanism which
shall comprise all these purposes, and let him set about to
contrive it; let him try his skill upon it; let him feel the
difficulty of accomplishing the task, before he be told how
the same thing is effected in the animal frame. Nothing
will enable him to judge so well of the wisdom which has
been employed: nothing will dispose him to think of it so
truly. First, for the firmness, yet flexibility, of the spine,
it is composed of a great number of bones (in the human
subject of twenty-four) joined to one another, and compact-
ed together, by broad bases. The breadth of the bases
upon which the parts severally rest, and the closeness of
the junction, give to the chain its firmness and stability ;
the number of parts, and consequent frequency of joints,
its flexibility. Which flexibility, we may also observe,
varies in different parts of the chain: is least in the back,
where strength more than flexure is wanted; greater in the
loins, which it is necessary should be more supple than the
back ; and greatest of all in the neck, for the free motion
of the head. Then, secondly, in order to afford a passage
for the descent of the medullary substance, each of these
bones is bored through the middle in such a manner,
as that, when put together, the hole in one bone falls into
a line, and corresponds with the holes in the two bones
contiguous to it. By which means, the perforated pieces,
when joined, form an entire, close, uninterrupted channel:
at least whilst the spine is upright and at rest. But, asa

56 OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT

settled posture is inconsistent with its use, a great difficul-
ty still remained, which was to prevent the vertebre shift-
ing upon one another, so as to break the line of the canal
as often as the body moves or twists; or the joints gaping
externally, whenever the body is bent forward, and the.
spine, thereupon, made to take the form of a bow. These
dangers, which are mechanical, are mechanically provid-
ed against. ‘The vertebre, by means of their processes
and projections, and of the articulations which some of
these form with one another, at their extremities, are so
locked in and confined, as to maintain, in what are called
the bodies or broad surfaces of the bones, the relative po-
sition nearly unaltered; and to throw the change and
the pressure, produced by flexion, almost entirely upon the
intervening cartilages, the springiness and yielding nature
of whose substance admits of all the motion which is ne-
cessary to be performed upon them, without any chasm.
being produced by a separation of the parts. I say of alk
the motion which is necessary ;, for although we bend our
backs to every degree almost of inclination, the motion of each
vertebre is very small; such is the advantage which we
receive from the chain being composed of so many links,
the spine of so many bones. Had it consisted of three or
four bones only, in bending the body the spinal marrow
must have been bruised at every angle. The reader need
not be told that these intervening cartilages are gristles;
and he may see them in perfection in a loin of veal. Their
form also favours the same intention. They are thicker
before than behind, so that when we stoop forward, the
compressible substance of the cartilage, yielding in its
thicker and anterior part to the force which squeezes it,
brings the surfaces of the adjoining vertebre nearer tathe be-
ing parallel with one another than they were before, instead
of increaing the inclination of their planes, which must have
occasioned a fissure or opening between them. Thirdly, for
the medullary canal giving out in its course, and in a conve-
nient order, a supply of nerves to different parts of the body,
notches are made in the upper and lower edge of every
vertebre, two on each edge; equi-distant on each side
from the middle line of the back. When the vertebra are
put together, these notches, exactly fitting, form small holes,
through which the nerves at each articulation, issue out in
pairs, in order to send their branches to every part of the
body, and with an equal bounty to both sides of the body.
The fourth purpose assigned to the same instrument, is the

IN'THE HUMAN FRAME. : Dd
‘Yasertion of'the bases of the muscles, and the support of
the ends of the ribs; and for this fourth purpose, especial-
ly the former part of it,a figure, specifically suited to the
design, and unnecessary for the other purposes, is given to
the constituent bones. Whilst they are plain, and round,
and smooth ‘towards the front, where any roughness or
projection might have wounded the adjacent viscera, they
run out, behind and on each side, into lorg processes, to
which processes the muscles necessary to the motions of
the trunk are fixed; and fixed with such art, that, whilst
the vertebre supply a basis for the muscles, the muscles
help to keep these bones in their position, or by their ten-
dons to tie them together.

That most important, however, and general property, viz.
the strength of the compages, and the security against lux-
ation, was to be still more specially consulted; for where
‘SO Many joints were concerned, and where, in every one,
derangement would have been fatal, it became a subject of
‘studious precaution. For this purpose, the vertebrae are
articulated, that.is, the moveable joints between them are
formed, by means of those projections of their substance,
which we have mentioned under the name of processes:;
and these so'lock in with, and overwrap, one another, as
to secure the body of the vertebra, not enly from accident-
ally slipping, but even from being pushed out of its place
by any violence short of that which weuld break the bone.
I have often remarked and admired ‘this structure in the
chine of a ‘hare. In this, as in many instances, a plain ob-
server of the animal economy may spare himself the disgust
of being present at human dissections, and-yet‘learn enough
for his information and satisfaction, by even examining the
bones of the animals which come upon his table. Let him
take, for example, into'‘his hands,:a piece of the clean-pick-
ed bone of a’hare’s back.; consisting, we will suppose, of
three vertebrz. He will find the middle bone of the three,
so implicated by means of its projections or processes, with
the bone on each side of it, that no pressure which he can
use, will force it out of its place between them. It will
give way neither forward, nor backward, nor on either side.
In whichever direction he pushes, he perceives, in the
form, or junction, or overlapping of the bones, an impedi-
ment opposed to his attempt; a check and guard against
dislocation. In one part of the spine, he will find a still
‘further fortifying expedient, in the mode according to

; aOR

58 ON MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT

which the ribs are annexed to the spine. Each rib rests
upon two vertebre. That is the thing to be remarked,

and any one may remark it in carving a neck of mutton.

The manner of it is this; the end of the rib is divided by
a middle ridge into two surfaces, which surfaces are join-
ed to the bodies of two contiguous vertebre, the ridge ap-
plying itself to the intervening cartilage. Now this is the
very contrivance which is employed in the famous iron
bridge at my door at Bishop-Wearmouth ; and for the same
purpose of stability ; viz. the cheeks of the bars, which pass
between the arches, ride acrossthe joints, by which the
pieces composing each arch are united. Each cross bar
rests upon two of these pieces at their place of junction ;
and by that position resists, at least in one direction, any
tendency in either piece to slip out of its place. ‘Thus
perfectly, by oné means or the other, is the danger of slip-
ping laterally, or of being drawn aside out of the line of the
back provided against; and, to withstand the bones being
pulled asunder longitudinally, or in the direction of the
line, a strong membrane runs from one end of the chain to
the other, sufficient to resist any force which is ever likely
to act in the direction of the back, or parallel to it, and
consequently to secure the whole combination in their
places. The general result is, that not only the motions of
the human body necessary for the ordinary offices of life
are performed with safety, but that it is an accident hard-
ly ever heard of, that even the gesticulations of a harlequin
distort his spine.

Upon the whole, and as a guide to those who may be in-
clined to carry the consideration of this subject further,
there are three views under which the spine ought to be
regarded, and in all which it cannot fail to excite our ad-
miration. These views relate to its articulations, its liga-
ments and its perforation ; and to the corresponding advan-
tages which the body derives from it, for action, for strength,
and for that, which is essential to every part, a secure com-
munication with the brain,*

* It will be useful to append to the remarks of Dr. Paley upon the -
mechanism of the spine and of other parts of the body, some observa-
tions by a very eminent anatomist and surgeon now living, who has
lately considered the subject of Animal Mechanism in its connexion
with Natural Theology, and has presented some striking and original
views. These observations have been published as one of the trea-
tises of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge, which forms
the ninth number of the series. These extracts will be the more in-
structive as giving views of a professional observer in confirmation of

IN THE HUMAN FRAME. 59

The structure of the spine is not in general different in
different animals. In the serpent tribe, however, it 1s con-

those of our author; and they will also serve as additional illustrations
of the same great truths which he has endeavoured to enforce. Ed.

«The spinal column, as it is called, serves three purposes: it is the
great bond of union betwixt all the parts of the skeleton; it forms a
tube for the lodgment of the spinal marrow, a part of the nervous sys-
tem as important to life as the brain itself; and lastly, it is a column to
sustain the head,

We now see the importance of the spine, and we shall next explain
how the various offices are provided for.

If the protection of the spinal marrow had been the only object of.
this structure, it is natural to infer that it would have been a strong

_and unyielding tube of bone ; but, as it must yield to the inflexion of

the body, it cannot be constituted in so strict an analogy with the skull.
It must, therefore, bend; but it must have no abrupt or considerable
bending at one part; for the spinal marrow within would in this way
suffer.

By this consideration we perceive why there are twenty-four bones
in the spine, each bending a little ; each articulated or making a joint
with its fellow; all yielding ina slight degree, and, consequently,
permitting in the whole spine that flexibility necessary to the motions
of the body. It is next to be observed that, whilst the spine by this
provision moves in every direction, it gains a property which it belongs
more to our present purpose to understand. The bones of the spine
are called vertebre ; at each interstice between these bones, there is
a peculiar gristly substance, which is squeezed out from betwixt the
bones, and, therefore, permits them to approach and play a little in the
motions of the body. This gristly substance is enclosed in an elastic
binding, or membrane of great strength, which passes from the edge
or border of one vertebra, to the border of the one next it. Whena
weight is upon the body, the soft gristle is pressed out, and the mem-
brane yields: the moment the weight is removed, the membranes re-
coil by their elasticity, the gristle is pressed into its place, and the
bones resume their position.

We can readily understand how great the influence of these twenty-
four joinings must be in giving elasticity to the whole column; and how
much this must tend to the protection of the brain. Were it not for
this interposition of elastic material, every motion of the body would
produce a jar to the delicate texture of the brain, and we should suffer
almost as much in alighting on our feet, as in falling on our head. It
is, as we have already remarked, necessary to interpose thin plates of
lead or slate between the different pieces of a column to prevent the
edges (technically called arrises) of the cylinders from coming in con-
tact, as they would, in that case, chip or split off.

But there is another very curious provision for the protection of the
brain ; we mean the curved form of the spine. If a steel spring, per-
fectly straight, be pressed betwixt the hands from its extremities, it
will resist, notwithstanding its elasticity, and when it does give way,
it will be withajerk.

Such would be the effect on the spine if it stood upright, one bone
perpendicular to another; for then the weight would bear equally ;
the spine would yield neither to one side nor to the other ; and, con-

‘ sequently, there would be a resistance from the pressure on all sides

6Q ON MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT

siderably varied; but with a strict reference to the conveni-
ency of the animal. (PI. IX. fig 3, 4,5.) For, whereas in

being balanced. We, therefore, see the great advantage resulting
from the human spine being in the form of an italic f- It is prepared
to yield in the direction of its curves; the pressure is of necessity more
upon one side of the column than on the other; and its elasticity is
immediately in operation without a jerk. It yields, recoils, and so forms _
the most perfect spring; admirably calculated to carry the head with-
out jar, or injury of any kind.

The most unhappy illustration of all this is the condition of old age.
The tables of the skull are then consolidated, and the spine is rigid:
if an old man should fall with his head upon the carpet, the blow,
which would be of no consequence to the elastic frame of a child, may
to him prove fatal; and the rigidity of the spine makes every step
which he takes, vibrate to the interior of the head, and jar on the brain,

We have hinted at a comparison betwixt the attachment of the spine
to the pelvis and the insertion of the mast of ashipinto the hull. The
mast goes directly through the decks without touching them, and th
heel of the mast goes into the step, which is formed of large solft
pieces of oak timber laid across the keelson. 'The keelson is an inner
keel resting upon the floor-timbers of the ship and directly over the
proper keel. These are contrivances Tor enlarging the base on which
the mast rests as a column; for as, in proportion to the height and
weight of a column, its base must be enlarged, or it would sink into
the earth; so, if the mast were to bear upon a point, it would break
through the bottom of the ship.

The mast is supported upright by the shrouds and stays. The
shrouds secure it against the lateral or rolling motion, and the stays
and backstays against the pitching of the ship. These form what is
termed the standing rigging.

The mast dves not bear upon the deck or on the beams of the ship;
indeed there is a space covered with canvass betwixt the deck and the
mast.

We often hear of a new ship going to sea to stretch her rigging; that
is, to permit the shrouds and stays to be stretched by the motion of the
ship, after which they are again braced tight; forif she were overtak-
en by a storm before this operation, and when the stays and shrouds
were relaxed, the mast would lean against the upper deck, by which
it would be sprung or carried away. Indeed, the greater proportion
of masts that are lost are lost inthis manner. There are no baats
which keep the sea‘in such storms as those which navigate the gulf
of Finland. Their masts are not attached at all to the hull of the
ship, but simply rest upon the step.

Although the spine has not a strict resemblance to the mast, the
contrivances of the ship-builder, however different from the provis-
ions of nature, shows what object is te be attained ; and when we are
thus made aware of what is necessary to the security of a column on
a moveable base, we are prepared to appreciate the superior provis-
ions of nature for giving security to the human spine.

The human spine rests on what is called the pelvis, or basin;—a
circle of bones, of which the haunches are the extreme lateral parts ;
and the sacrum (which is the keystone of the arch) may be felt at the
lower part of the back. To this central bone of the arch of the pelvis
the spine ‘is connected; and, taking the similitude of the. mast, the sa-

’

IN THE HUMAN FRAME. 61

quadrupeds the number of vertebre is from thirty to forty,
in the serpent it is nearly one hundred and fifty; where-.
as In men and quadrupeds the surfaces of the bones are

crum is as the step on which the base of the pillar, like the heel of the.
mast, is socketed or morticed. ‘The spine is tied to the lateral parts of
the pelvis by powerful ligaments, which may be compared to the
shrouds. They secure the lower part of the spine against the shock
of lateral motion or rolling; but, instead of the stays to limit the.play
of the spine forwards and backwards in pitching, or to adjust the rake
of the mast, there is a very beautiful contrivance in the lower part of
the column.

The spine forms here a semicircle which has this effect; that wheth- '
er by the exertion of, the lower extremities, the spine is to be carried
forward upon the pelvis, or whether the body stops suddenly in run-
ning, the jar which would necessarily take place at the lower part of
the spine, if it stood upright like a mast, is distributed over several of
the bones of the spine; and, therefore, the chance of injury at any
particular part is diminished.

For example, the sacrum, or centre bone of the pelvis, being car-
ried forward, as when one is about to run, the force is communicated
to the lowest-bone of the spine. But, then, the surfaces of these
hones stand with a very slight degree of obliquity to the line of mo-
tion; the shock communicated from the lower to the second bone of
the vetebrz is still in a direction very nearly perpendicular to its sur-
face of contact. The same takes place in the communication of force
from the second to the third, and from the third to the fourth; so that
before the shock of the horizontal motion acts upon the perpendicular
' spine, it is distributed over four bones of that column, instead of the
whole force being concentrated upon the joining of any two.

If the column stood upright, it would be jarred at the lowest point
of contact with its base. But by forming a semicircle, the motion
would produce a jar on the very lowest part of the column, and which
is distributed over a considerable portion of the column; and in point
of fact, this part of the spine never gives way.. Indeed, we should be
inclined to offer this model to the consideration of nautical men, as
fruitful in hints for improving naval architecture. .

Every one who has seen a ship pitching in a heavy sea, must have
asked himself why the masts are not upright, or rather, why the fore-
mast stands upright, whilst the main and mizen masts stand oblique ta
the deck, or, as the phrase is, rake aft or towards the stern of the ship.

The main and mizen masts incline backwarks, because the strain is
greatest in the forward pitch of the vessel; for the mast having re-
ceived an impulse forwards, it is suddenly checked as the head of the
ship rises; but the mast being set with an inclination backwards, the
motion falls more in a perpendicular line from the head to the heel.
This advantage is lost in the upright position of the foremast, but it is
sacrificed to a superior advantage gained, in working the ship; the
sails upon this mast act more powerfully in swaying the vessel round,
and the perpendicular position causes the ship to tack or stay better ;
but the perpendicular position, as we have seen, causes the strain
in pitching to come at right angles to the mast, and is, therefore, more
apt to spring.

_ These considerations give an interest to the fact, that the human
spine, from its utmost convexity near its base, inclines backwards. ”
: Bell’s Treatise on Animal Mechanics,

62 OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT

flat, and these flat surfaces laid one against the other, and
bound tight by sinews ; in the serpent the bones play one
within another, like a ball and socket,* so that they have
a free motion upon one another in every direction; that is
to say, in men and quadrupeds firmness is more consulted—
in serpents, pliancy.

Yet even pliancy is not obtained at the expense of safety.
The backbone of a serpent, for coherence and flexibility,
is one of the most curious pieces of animal mechanism, with
which we are acquainted. The chain of a watch (I mean the
chain which passes between the spring barrel and the fu-
see,) which aims at the same properties, is but a bungling
piece of workmanship in comparison with that of which
we speak.t

IV. The reciprocal enlargement and contraction of the
chest to allow for the play of the lungs, depends upon a
simple yet beautiful mechanical contrivance, referrible to
the structure of the bones which enclose it. (PI. X. fig. 1.)
The ribs are articulated to the back bone, or rather to its side
projection, obliquely ; that is, in their natural position, they
bend or slope from the place of articulation downwards.
But the basis upon which they rest at this end being fixed,
the consequence of the obliquity, or the inclination down-
wards, is, that when they come to move, whatever pulls
the ribs upwards, necessarily, at the same time, draws
them out; and that, whilst the ribs are brought to a right
angle with the spine behind, the sternum, or part of the
chest to which they are attached in front, is thrust forward.
‘The simple action, therefore, of the elevating muscles, does
the business; whereas, if the ribs had been articulated with
the bodies of the vertebre at right angles, the cavity of the

thorax could never have been further enlarged by a change
of their position. Ifeach rib had been a ridged bone, ar-

ticulated at both ends to fixed bases, the whole chest had
been immovable. Keill has observed, that the breast-bone
in an easy inspiration, is thrust out one tenth of an inch;
and he calculates that this, added to what is gained to the

*Der. Phys. Theol. p. 396.

+ In fish, which have more elastic, but less flexible bodies, the
structure of the spine differs. The end of each vertebra is a cup con-
taining a viscid fluid, which keeps the bones from approaching nearer
to each other than the mean state of the elasticity of the lateral liga-
ments; the fluid is incompressible, therefore forms a ball round which.
the bony cups move ; the ball having no cohesion, the centre of mo-
tion is always adapted to the change which the joint undergoes with-
out producing friction. - Paxton.

—————

IN THE HUMAN FRAME. 63

space within the chest by the flattening or descent of the
diaphram, leaves room for forty-two cubic inches of air to
enter at every drawing in of the breath. When there is a
necessity for a deeper and more laborious inspiration, the
enlargement of the capacity of the chest may be so increas-
ed by effort, as that the lungs may be distended with seventy
or a hundred such cubic inches.* The thorax, says Schel-
hammer, forms a kind of bellows,’such as never have been,
nor probably will be made by any artificer.t

*Anat. p. 229.

t The thorax, or chest, is composed of bones and cartilages, so dis-
posed as to sustain and protect the most vital parts, the heart and
lungs, and to turn and twist with perfect facility in every motion of
the body ; and to be in incessant motion in the act of respiration, without
a moment’s interval during a whole life. In anatomical description,
the thorax is formed of the vertebral column, or spine, on the back
part, the ribs on.either side, and the breast bone, or sternum, on the
fore part. But the thing most to be admired is the manner in which
these bones are united, and especially the manner in which the ribs
are joined to the breast bone, by the interposition of cartilages, or gris-
tle, of a substance softer than bone, and more elastic and yielding. By
this quality they are fitted for protecting the chest against the effects
of violence, and even for sustaining life after the muscular power of
respiration has become too feeble to continue without this support.

If the ribs were complete circles, formed of bone, and extending
from the spine to the breast bone, life would be endangered by any
accidental fracture ; and even the rubs and jolts to which the human
frame is continually exposed, would be too much for their delicate and
brittle texture. But these evils are avoided by the interposition of the
elastic cartilage. On their forepart the ribs are eked out, and joined to
the breast bone by means of cartilages, of a form corresponding to that
of the ribs, being, as it were, a completion of the arch of the rib, by

-a substance more adapted to yield in every shock or motion of the
body. The elasticity of this portion subdues those shocks which would
occasion the breaking of the ribs. We lean forward, or to one side,
and the ribs accommodate themselves, not by a change of form in the
bones, but by the bending or elasticity of the cartilages. A severe
blow upon the ribs does not break them, because their extremities re-
coil and yield to the violence. It is only in youth, however, when
the human frame is in perfection, that this pliancy and elasticity have
full effect. When old age approaches, the cartilages of the ribs
become bony. They attach themselves firmly to the breast-bone,
and the extremities of the ribs are fixed, as if the whole arch were
formed of bone unyielding and inelastic. Then every violent blow
upon the side is attended with fracture of the rib, an accident seldom
occurring in childhood, or in youth.

But there is a purpose still more important to be accomplished by
means of the elastic structure of the ribs, as partly formed of cartil-
age. ‘This is in the action of breathing, or respiration; especially in
the more highly-raised respiration which is necessary in great ex-
ertions of bodily strength, and in violent exercise. There are two acts
of breathing—expiration, or the sending forth of the breath; and in-

64 OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT ;

V. The patella, or knee-pan is a curious little bone; in
its form and office unlike any other bone in the body. (PI.
X. fig. 2,3.) Itis circular; the sizeof a crown piece;
pretty thick ; a little convex on both sides, and covered with
a smooth cartilage. It lies upon the front of the knee, and
the powerful tendons, by which the leg is brought forward,
pass through it (or rather it makes a part of their continu-
ation ) from their origin in the thigh, to their insertion in
the tibia. It protects both the tendon and the joint from
any injury which either might suffer, by the rubbing of one
against the other, or by the pressure of unequal surfaces.
It also gives to the tendons a very considerable mechani-
cal advantage by altering the line of their direction, and
by advancing it further out from the centre of motion ; and
this upon the principles of the resolution of force, upon
which principles all machinery is'founded. These are its
uses. But what is most observable in it is, that it appears
to be supplemental, as it were, to the frame; added as it
should almost seem afterward; not quite necessary, but
very convenient. It is separate from the other bones; that
is, i is not connected with any other bones by the com-
mon mode of union. It is soft, or hardly formed, in infan-
cy; and produced by an ossification, of the inception or
progress of which, no account can be given from the struct-
ure or exercise of the part. ,

spiration, or the drawing in of the breath. When the chest is at .
rest, it is neither in a state of expiration nor in that of inspiration; it is
in an intermediate condition between these two acts. And the mus-
cular effort by which either inspiration or expiration is produced, is
an act in opposition to the elastic property of the ribs. The property
of the ribs is to preserve the breast in the intermediate state between
expiration and inspiration. The muscles of respiration are excited al-
ternately, to dilate or to contract the cavity of the chest, and, in do-
ing so, to raise or todepress the ribs. Hence it is, that both in inspira-
tion and in expiration the elasticity of the ribs is called into play; and,
were it within our province, it would be easy to show, that the dead
power of the cartilages of the ribs preserve life by respiration, after
the vital muscular power would, without such assistance, be too weak.
to continue life. ’

It will at once be understood, from what has now been explained,
how, in age, violent exercise or exertion, is under restraint, in so far
as it depends on respiration. The elasticity of the cartilages is gone, -
the circle of the ribs is now unyielding, and will not allow that high
breathing, that sudden and great dilating and contracting of the cavity
of the chest, which is required for circulating the blood through the
lungs, and relieving the heart amidst the more tumultuous flowing of

the blood which exercise and exertion produce.—Bell’s Treatise on
Animal Mechanics.

]

: IN THE HUMAN FRAME. 65

; " Hana,

Vi. The shoulder-blade is, in some material respects, a
very singular bone; it appearing to be made so expressly
for its own purpose, and so independently of every other
reason. (PI. X. fig. 4.) In such quadrupeds as have no
collar bones, which are by far the greater number, the
shoulder-blade has no bony communication with the trunk,
either by a joint, or process, or in any other way. It does
not grow to, or out of, any other bone of the trunk. It
does not apply to any other bone of the trunk—(I know not
whether this be true of any second bone in the body, ex-
cept perhaps the os hyeides.) In strictness, it forms no
part of the skeleton. It is bedded in the flesh ; attached
only to the muscles. It is no other than a foundation
bone for the arm, laid in, separate, as it were, and distinct,
from the general ossification. The lower limbs connect
themselves at the hip with bones which form a part of the
skeleton ; but, this connection, in the upper limbs, being
wanted, a basis whereupon the arm might be articulated
was to be supplied by a detached ossification for the pur-

ose.
i 1. The above are a few examples of bones made re-
markable by their configuration; but to almost all the
bones belong joints; and in these, still more clearly than
in the form or shape of the bones themselves, are seen
both contrivance and contriving wisdom. Every joint is a
curiosity, and is also strictly mechanical. There is the
hinge joint, and the mortice and tenon joint; each as
manifestly such, and as accurately defined, as any which
can be produced out of a cabinet-maker’s shop. And one
or the other prevails, as either is adapted to the motion
which is wanted: e. g. a mortice and tenon, or ball and
socket joint, is not required at the knee, the leg standing
in need only of a motion backward and forward in the
same plane, for which a hinge joint is sufficient; a mortice
and tenon, or ball and socket joint, is wanted at the hip,
that not only the progressive step may be provided for, but
the interval between the limbs may be enlarged or contract-
ed at pleasure. Now observe what would have been the
inconveniency, i. e. both the superfluity and the defect of
articulation, if the case had been inverted; if the ball and
socket joint had been at the knee, and the hinge joint
at the hip. ‘The thighs must have been kept constantly to-
gether, and the legs have been loose and straddling. There
would have been no use that we know of, in being able to turn
| | G

\

66 OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT

the calves of the legs before: and there would have been
great confinement by restraining the motion of the thighs
to one plane. The disadvantage would not have been
less, if the joints at the hip and the knee had been both of
the same sort; both balls and sockets, or both hinges: yet
why, independently of utility, and of a Creator who con-
sulted that utility, should the same bone (the thigh bone)
be rounded at one end, and channelled at the other?

The hinge joint is not formed by a bolt passing through
the two parts of the hinge, and thus keeping them in their
places; but by a different expedient. A strong, tough,
parchment-like membrane, rising from the receiving bones,
and inserted all round the received bones a little below
their heads, encloses the joint on every side. This mem-
brane ties, confines, and holds the ends of the bones to-
gether ; keeping the corresponding parts of the joint, i. e.
the relative convexities and concavities in close application
to each other.*, -

For the ball and socket joint, beside the membrane al-
ready described, there is in some important. joints, as an
additional security, a short, strong, yet flexible ligament,
inserted, by one end into the head of the ball, by the oth-
er into the bottom of the cup; which ligament keeps the
two parts of the joint so firmly in their place, that none of
the motions which the limb naturally performs, none of the
jerks and twists to which it is ordinarily liable, nothing
less indeed than the utmost and the most unnatural vio-
lence, can pull them asunder. [Plate XI. fig. 1.] . It is
hardly indeed imaginable, how great a force is necessary,
even to stretch, still more to break, this ligament; yet so
flexible is it, as to oppose no impedient to the suppleness of
the joint.t By its situation also, it is inaccessible to injury
from sharp edges. As it cannot be ruptured such is its

* This membrane is the capsular, or bursal ligament, common to
every moveable joint. It certainly connects the bones together, but
does not possess much strength: its chief use is to produce and pre-
serve the synovia in the part where it is required. The security and
strength of the hinge joint depends on certain ligaments called lateral
ligaments, and the tendons of those muscles which pass over it. In
the particular instance of the knee, from its being the largest joint in
the body, there is, as we shall presently find, an additional contrivance
to prevent dislocation. ° . Paxton. .

_t This ligament is also common to all quadrupeds, even in the more’
large and unwieldly, as the Hippopotamus and Rhinoceros—it is want-
ing in the Elephant only, whose limbs, ill qualified for active move-
ments, do not seem to require this security to the joint. | Paxton.

IN THE HUMAN FRAME. 67

Strength ; so it cannot be cut, except by an accident which

would sever the limb. If I had been permitted to frame a
proof of contrivance, such as might satisfy the most dis-
trustful inquirer, I know not whether I could have chosen,
‘an example of mechanism more unequivocal, or more free
from objection, than this ligament. Nothing can be more
mechanical; nothing, however subservient to the safety,
less capable ‘of being generated by the action of the joint.

{ would. particularly solicit the reader’s attention to this
provision, as it is found in the head of the thigh bone; to
its strength, its structure, and its use. It is an instance
upon which I lay my hand. One single fact, weighed by .
a mind in earnest, leaves oftentimes “the deepest i impres-
sion, For the purpose of addressing different understand-
ings and different apprehensions, for the purpose of senti-
| ment, for the purpose of exciting admiration of the Crea-
tor’s works, we diversify our views, we multiply examples ;
but, for the purpose of strict argument, one clear instance
is sufficient : and not only sufficient, but capable, perhaps,

of generating a firmer assurance than what can arise from
a divided attention.

The ginglymus, or hinge joint, does not, it is manifest,
admit of a ligament of the same kind with ‘that of the ball
and socket joint, but it is always fortified by the species of
ligament of which it does admit. The strong, firm, invest-
ing membrane above described, accompanies it in every
part; and, in particular joints, this membrane, which is
properly a ligament, is considerably stronger on the sides
than either before or behind, in order that the convexities
may play true in their concavities, and not be subject to
slip sideways, which is the chief danger ; for the muscular
tendons generally restrain the parts from going further
than they ought to go in the plane of their motion. Inthe
knee, which is a joint of this form and of great importance,
there are superadded to the common provisions for the
stability of the joint, two strong ligaments which cross
each other, and cross each other in such a manner, as to
secure the joint from being displaced in any assignable di-
rection, [Plate XI. fig. 2,3,4.] ‘I think,” says Che-
selden, ‘‘ that the knee cannot be completely dislocated
without breaking the cross ligaments.”* We can hardly
help comparing this with the binding up of a fracture,

*Ches, Anat. ed. 7th, p. 45.

68 OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT

/

where the fillet is almost always strapped across, for the
sake of giving firmness and strength to the bandage.

Another no less important joint, and that also of the gin-
glymus sort, is the ankle; yet, though important, (in order
perhaps, to preserve the symmetry and lightness of the
limb) small, and on that account, more liable to injury.
(Pl. XI. fig. 4.) Now this joint is strengthened, i. e. is
defended from dislocation, by two remarkable processes or
prolongations of the bones of the leg, which processes form
the protuberances that we call the inner and outer ankle.
It is part of each bone going down lower than the other
part, and thereby overlapping the joint; so that, if the
joint be in danger of slipping outward, it is curbed by the
inner projection, 1. e. that of the tibia; if inward, by the
outer projection, i. e. that of the fibula. Between both, it
is locked in its position. I know no account that can be
given of this structure except its utility. Why -should the
tibia terminate at its lower extremity with a double end,
and the fibula the same, but to barricade the joint on both
sides by a continuation of part of ‘the thickness of the bone
over it ?*

* The most obvious proof of contrivance is the junction of the foot to
the bones of the Jeg at the anklejoint. The two bones of the leg,
called the tibia and the fibula, receive the great articulating bone
of the foot (the astragalus) betwixt them. And the extremities
of these bones of the leg project so as to form the outer and in-
ner ankle. Now, when we step forward, and whilst the foot is raised,
it rolls easily upon the ends of these bones, so that the toe may be di-
rected according to the inequalities of the ground we are to tread upon ;
but when the foot is planted, and the body is carried forward perpen-
dicularly over the foot, the joint of the leg and foot becomes fixed, and
we have a steady base to rest upon. We next observe, that, in walk-
ing, the heel first touches the ground. If the bones of the leg were
perpendicular over the part which first touches the ground, we should
come down with a sudden jolt, instead of which we descend in a semi-
eircle, the centre of.which is the point of the heel.

And when the toes have come to the ground we are far from losing
the advantages of the structure of the foot, since we stand upon'an
elastic arch, the hinder extremity of which is the heel, and the anterior
the balls of the toes. A finely formed foot should be high in the in-
step. The walk of opera dancers is neither natural nor beautiful ; but
the surprising exercises which they perform give to the joints of the
foot a freedom of motion almost like that of the hand. We have seen
the dancers, in their morning exercises, stand for twenty minutes on
the extremities of their toes, after which the effort is to bend the in-
ner ankle down to the floor, in preparation for the Bolero step. By
such unnatural postures and exercises the foot is made unfit for walk-
ing, as may be observed in any of the retired dancers and old figur-
antes. By standing so much upon the toes, the human foot is convert-

IN THE HUMAN FRAME. 69

The joint at the shoulder compared with the joint at the
dip, though both ball and socket joints discover a differ-
ence in their form and proportions, well suited to the dif-
ferent offices which the limbs have to execute. The cup
or socket at the shoulder is much shallower and flatter
than it is at the hip, and is also in part formed of cartilage
set round the rim of the cup. The socket, into which the
head of the thigh bone is inserted, is deeper, and made
of more solid materials.* This agrees with the duties as-
signed to each part. The arm is an instrument of motion,
principally, if not solely. Accordingly the shallowness of
the socket at the shoulder, and the yieldingness of the car-

ed to something more resembling that of a quadruped, where the heel
never reaches the ground, and where the paw is nothing more than
the phalanges of the toes.

This arch of the foot, from the heel to the toe, has the astragalus,
resembling the keystone of an arch; but, instead of being fixed, as in
masonry, it plays freely betwixt two bones, and from these two bones,
a strong elastic ligament is extended, on which the bone rests, sinking
or rising as the weight of the body bears upon it, or is taken off, and
this it is enabled to do by the action of the ligament which runs under
it,

This is the same elastic ligament which runs extensively along the
back of the horse’s hind leg and foot, and gives the fine spring to it,
but which is sometimes ruptured by the exertion of the animal ina
leap, producing irrecoverable lameness.

Having understood that the arch of the foot is perfect from the heel
to the toe, we have next to observe, that there is an arch from side to
side; for when a transverse section is made of the bones of the foot,
the exposed surface presents a perfect arch of wedges, regularly form-
_ ed like the stones of an arch in masonry. If we look down upon the
bones of the foot, we shall see that they form a complete circle hori-
zontally, leaving a space in their centre. These bones thus form three
different arches—forward ; across; and horizontally: they are wedged
together, and bound by ligaments, and this is what we alluded to when
we said that the foundations of the Eddystone were not laid on a better
principle; but our admiration is more excited in observing, that the
bones of the foot are not only wedged together, like the courses of
stone for resistance, but that solidity is combined with elasticity and
lightness.

Notwithstanding the mobility of the foot in some positions, yet when
the weight of the body bears directly over it, it becomes immoveable,
and the bones of the leg must be fractured before the foot yields.

Bell’s Treatise on Animal Mechanics.

* The socket for the head of the thigh-bone is indeed deeper than
that at the shoulder, but the “materials” which form the concavities
are the same ; both are solid bone covered by cartilage, and both have
arim of a strong fibro-cartilaginous texture, not only for the purpose
of rendering the socket deeper, but for preventing fractures of the
rim in robust exercises, to which, were it bony, it would be very li-
able. : Paxton.

G 2

(

70 OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT.

tilaginous substance with which its hook is set round, and
which in fact composes a considerable part of its concavi+
ty, are excellently adapted for the allowance of a freer mo-
tion and a wider range; both which the arm wants.

Whereas the lower limb, forming a part of the column of
the body; having to support the body, as well as to be the
means of its locomotion; firmness was to be consulted as
well as action. With a capacity for motion, in all direc-
tions indeed, as at the shoulder, but not in any direction ,
to the same extent as in the arm, was to be united stabili-

ty, or resistance to dislocation. Hence the deeper excava-

tion of the socket, and the presence of a less aig Soames

of cartilage upon the edge.

The suppleness and pliability of the joints we every
moment experience; and the firmness of animal articu-
lation, the property we have hitherto been considering,
may be judged of from this single observation, that, at
any given moment of time, there are millions of animal
joints in complete repair and use, for one that is dislo-
cated; and this, notwithstanding the contortions and
wrenches to which the limbs of animals are continually
subject.

II. The joints, or rather, the ends of the bones ‘which
form them, display also, in their configuration, another use.
The nerves, blood vessels, and tendons, which are neces-
sary to the life, or for the motion, of the limbs, must, it is
evident, in their way from the trunk of the body to the
place of their destination, travel over the moveable joints ;
and it is no less evident, that, in this part of their course,
they will have, from sudden motions and from abrupt
changes of curvature, to encounter the danger of compres-
sion, attrition, or laceration. ‘To guard fibres so tender
against consequences so injurious, their path is in those
parts protected with peculiar care: and that by a provision
in the figure of the bones themselves. ‘The nerves which
supply the fore-arm, especially the inferior cubital nerves,
are at the elbow conducted, by a kind of covered way, be-
tween the condyls, or rather under the inner. exinbe rains
of the bone, which composes the upper part of the arm.*
At the knee the extremity of the thigh-bone is ,divided by a
sinus or cliff into two heads or protuberances; and these
heads on the back part stand out beyond the cylimder of
the bone. Through the hollow, which hes between the

*Ches. An. p. 255, ed. 7th.

IN THE HUMAN FRAME, 71

hind parts of these ive? heads, that is to say, under the
ham, between the hamstrings, and within the concave re-
cess of the bone formed by the extuberances on each side ;
in a word, along a defile, between rocks, pass the great vessels
and nerves which go the leg.* Who ed these vessels bya
road so defended and so secured? In the joint at the shoul-
der, in the edge of the cup which receives the head of the
bone, is a notch which is joined or covered at the top with a
ligament. Through this hole, thus guarded, the blood-ves-
sels ‘steal to their’destination in the arm, instead of mount-
ing over the edge of the concavity.t

TIL. In all joints, the end of the bones, which work
against each other, are tipped with gristle. In the ball
and socket joint, the cup is lined, and the ball capped with
it. ‘The smooth surface, the elastic and unfriable nature
of cartilage, render it of all substances the properest for
the place and purpose. I should therefore have pointed
this out amongst the foremost of the provisions which have
been made in the joints for the facilitating of their action,
had it not been alleged, that cartilage in truth is only
nascent or imperfect bone; and that the bone in these
places is kept soft and imperfect, in consequence of a more
complete and rigid ossification being prevented from taking
place by the continual ‘motion and rubbing of the surfaces.
Which being so, what we represent as a designed advan-
tage, is an unavoidable effect. I am far from being con-
vinced that this is a true account of the fact; or that, if it
were so, it answers the argument. ‘'T’o me, the surmount.
ing of the ends of the bones with gristle, looks more like a
plating with a different metal, than like the same metal kept
in’ a different state by the action to which it is exposed.
At all events we havea great particular benefit, though
arising from a general constitution ; but this last not being
quite what my argument requires, lest I should seem by
applying the instance, to overrate its value, I have thought
it fair to state the question which attends it.

IV. In some joints, very particularly in the knees, there
are loose cartilages or gristles between the bones, and with-
in the joint, so that the ends of the bones instead of work-
ing upon one another, work upon the intermediate cartila-
ges. Chesselden has observed »t that the contrivance of
a loose ring is practised by mechanics, where the fric-
tion of the joints of any of their machines is great; as be-

* Ches. no p- 35. tIb. 30. f Ib. p. 13.

"2 OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT

tween the parts of crooked hinges of large gates, or under
the head of the male screw of large vices. ‘The cartilages
of which we speak have very much of the form of these
rings. The comparison moreover shows the reason why
we find them in the knees rather than in other joints. It
is an expedient, we ‘have seen, which a mechanic resorts
to, only when some strong and heavy work is to be done.
So here the thigh bone has to achieve its motion at the
knee, with the whole weight of the body pressing upon it,
and often, as in rising from our seat, with the whole
weight of the body to lift. It should seem also from Ches-
selden’s account, that the slipping and sliding of the loose
cartilages, though it be probably a small and obscure
change, humoured the motion of the end of the thigh bone
under the particular configuration which was necessary to
be given to it for the commodious action of the tendons ;
and which configuration requires what he calls a variable
socket, that is, a concavity, the lines of which assume a
different curvature in different inclinations of the bones.

V. We have now done with the configuration ; but
there is also in the joints, and that common to them all,
another exquisite provision, manifestly adapted to their use, —
and concerning which, there can, I think, be no dispute ;
namely, the regular supply of a mucilage, more emollient
and slippery than oil itself, which is constantly softening
and lubricating the parts that rub upon each other, and
thereby diminishing the effect of attrition in the highest
possible degree.* For the continual secretion of this im-
portant linament, and for the feeding of the cavities of the
joint with it, glands are fixed near each joint; the excre-
tory ducts of which glands, dripping with their balsamic
contents, hang loose like fringes within the cavity of the
joints. A late improvement in what are called friction
wheels, which consists of a mechanism so ordered, as to be
regularly dropping oil into a box, which encloses the axis,
the nave, and certain balls upon which the nave revolves,
may be said, in some sort, to represent the contrivance in
the animal joint; with this superiority, however, on the
port of the joints, viz. that here, the oil is not only dropped, -
but made. t | pips.

* This mucilage is termed synovia; yulgarly called joint oil, but it
has no property of oil. It is very viscid, and at the same time smooth
and slippery to the touch; and therefore better adapted than any oil to

lubricate the interior of the joints and prevent ill effects from friction.
Parton.

t A joint then consists of the union of two bones, of such a form as to
permit the necessary motion; but they are not in contact ; each artic-

‘

IN THE HUMAN FRAME. 73

/

In considering the joints, there is nothing, perhaps, which
‘ought to move our gratitude more than the reflection, how
well they wear. <A limb shall swing upon its hinge, or
play in its socket, many hundred times in an hour, for six-
ty years together, without diminution of its agility; which
is a long time for any thing to last; for any thing so much
worked and exercised as the joints are. This durability I
should attribute, in part, to the provision which is made for
the preventing of wear and tear, first, by the polish of the
cartilaginous surfaces, secondly, by the healing lubrication
of the mucilage ; and, in part, to that astonishing property
of animal constitutions, assimilation, by which, in every
portion of the body, let it consist of what it will, substance:
is restored, and waste repaired. *

ulating surface is covered with cartilage, to prevent the jar which
would result from the contact of the bones. This cartilage is elastic,
and the celebrated Dr. Hunter discovered that the elasticity was in
consequence of a number of filaments closely compacted, and extend-
ing from the surface of the bone, so that each filament is perpendicu-
lar to the pressure made upon it. The surface of the articulating car-
tilage is perfectly smooth, and is lubricated by a fluid called synoviay.
signifying a mucilage, a viscous or thick liquor. This is vulgarly
called joint oil, but it has no property of oil, although it is better cai-
culated than any oil tolubricate the interlor of the joint.

~ When inflammation comes upon a joint, this fluid is not supplied, and
the joint is stiff, and the surfaces creak upon one another like a hinge
without oil. A delicate membrane extends from bone to bone, confin-.
ing this lubricating fluid, and forming the boundary of what is termed.
the cavity of the joint, although, in fact, there is no unoccupied space..
External to this capsule of the joint, there are strong ligaments going
from point to point of the bones, and so ordered as to bind them to-.
gether without preventing their proper motions. From this description
of a single joint, we can easily conceive what a spring or elasticity is
given to the foot, where thirty-six bones are joined together.

. Bell’s Treatise on Animal Mechanics.

_ “If the ingenious author’s mind had been professionally called to
contemplate this subject, he would have found another explanation.
There is no resemblance betwixt the provisions against the wear and
tear of machinery and those for the preservation of a living part. As
the structure of the parts is originally perfected by the action of the
vessels, the function or operation of the part is made the stimulus to
those vessels. The cuticle on the hands wears away like a glove;
but the pressure stimulates the living surface to force successive lay-
ers of skin under that which is wearing, or, as the Anatomists call it,
desquamating ; by which they mean, that the cuticle does not change
at once, but comes off in sguame, or scales. The teeth are subject to
pressure in chewing or masticating, and they would, by this action, have
been driven deeper in the jaw, and rendered useless, had there not
been a provision against this mechanical effect. This provision is a
disposition to grow, or rather to shoot out of their sockets ; and this dis-
position to project, balances the pressure which they sustain; and
when one tooth is lost, its opposite rises, and is in danger of being lost
also, for want of that very opposition. Ibid.

74 OF THE MUSCLES.

~ Moveable joints, I think, compose the curiosity of bones ;
but their union, even where no motion is intended or want-
ed carries marks of mechanism and of mechanical wis-
dom. The teeth, especially the front teeth, are one
bone fixed in another like a peg driven into a board. The
sutures of the skull are like the edges of two saws clapp-
ed together, in such a manner as that the teeth of one
enter the intervals of the other.* We have sometimes one
bone lapping over another, and planed down at the edges;
sometimes also the thin lamella of one bone received imto
a narrow furrow of another. In all which varieties we
seem to discover the same design, viz. firmness of juncture,
without clumsiness in the seam. Nath nt rie as

or @OO«--
CHAP. IX.

OF THE MUSCLES. Magi

ADF ehyipe
Musctes, with their tendons, are the instruments by
which animal motion is performed. It will be our business
io point out instances in which, and properties with respect
to which, the disposition of these muscles is as strictly

mechanical, as that of the wires and strings of a puppet.t

_ * Most of the bones of the skull are composed of two plates or tab- |

lets, with an intermediate spongy, vascular substance; the outer tablet
is fibrous, having the edges curiously indented and united by a. dove-
tailed suture; the inner from its brittleness is called vitreous, and
therefore merely joined together in a straight line; this mode of union
is not accidental—not the result of chance, but design. The author of
the treatise on “Animal Mechanics” gives the following admirable il-
lustration of the structure :— eer i ait
‘‘Suppose a carpenter employed upon his own material—he would
join a box with regular indentations by dove-tailing, because he knows
that the material on which he works, from its softness and toughness,

admits of such adjustment of its edges. The processes of bone shoot

into the opposite cavities with am exact resemblance to, the fox-tail
wedge of the carpenter. |. Pychenis dP Hei

“‘ But if a workman in glass or marble were to join these materials,
he would smooth the edges and unite them by cement; for if he could
succeed in indenting the line of union, he knows that his material
would chip off on the slightest vibration. ‘

« Now apply this principle to the skull; the outer table, which re-
sembles wood, is indented and dove-tailed; the inner glassy table has
its edges simply laid in contact.”’ ; Vi | Paton

~ | Muscles are the fleshy parts of the body which surround the bones,
having a fibrous texture; a muscle being composed of a number of

OF THE MUSCLES. rc)

I. We may observe, what I believe is’ universal, an ex-
act relation between the joint and the muscles which move
it. Whatever motion, the joint by its mechanical construc-
tion, is capable of performing, that motion, the annexed
muscles, by their position, are capable of producing... For
example ; if there be, as at the knee and elbow, a hinge
joint, ‘capable of motion only in the same plane, the lead-
ers, as they are called, i.e. the muscular tendons, are
placed i in directions parallel to the bone, so as, by. the con-
traction or relaxation of the muscles to which ‘they belong,
to produce that motion and no other. If these joints were
capable of a freer motion there are no muscles to produce
it. Whereas at the shoulder and the hip, where the ball
and socket joint allows by its construction of rotatory or
sweeping motion, tendons are placed in such a position,
and pull in such a direction, as to produce the motion of
which the joint admits. For instance, the sartorius or
tailor’s muscle, arising from the spine, running diagonally
across the thigh, and taking hold of the inside of the main
bone of the leg a little below the knee, enables us, by its
contraction, to throw one leg and thigh over the ‘other ;
giving effect, at the same time, to the ball and socket joint
at the hip, and the hinge joint at the knee. (Pl. XII. fig. 1.)

There is, as we have seen, a specific mechanism in the
bones for the rotatory motions of the head and hands; there
is also in the oblique direction of the muscles belonging to
them, a specific provision for the putting of this mechanism
of the bones into action. (Pl. XII. fig..2.) And mark the
consent of uses. ‘The oblique muscles would have been
inefficient without the articulation; the articulation would
have been lost, without the oblique muscles. It may be
proper however to observe with respect to the head, al-
though I think it does not vary the case, that its oblique
motions and inclination are often motions in a diagonal,
produced by the joint action of muscles lying in straight
directions. But, whether the pull be single or combined ;
the articulation is always such, as to be capable of obeying
the action of the muscles. The oblique muscles attached

muscular faciculi, which are composed of fibres still smaller; these
result from fibres of a less volume, until by successive division we ar-
rive at very small fibres no longer divisible. These muscular fibres
are longer or shorter according to the muscles to which they be-
long 3. and every fibre is fixed by its two extremities to tendon or
a@poneurosis, which are the ‘‘ wires and strings’? which conduct the
muscular power when they contract. Paxton.
/

76 OF THE MUSCLES.

to the head, are likewise so disposed, as to be capable of
steadying the globe, as well as of moving it. The head of
a new-born infant is often obliged to be filletted up. After
death the head drops and rolls in every direction. So that
it is by the equilibre of the muscles, by the aid of a consid-
erable and equipollent muscular force in constant exertion,
that the head maintains its erect posture. The muscles
here supply, what would otherwise be a great defect in the
articulation ; for the joint in the neck, although admirably
adapted to the motion of the head, is insufficient for its
support. It is not only by the means of a most curious
structure of the bones that a man turns his head, but b
virtue of an adjusted muscular power, that he even holds
it up.
it another example of what we are illustrating, viz. con-
formity of use between the bones and the muscles, it has
been observed of the different vertebre, that their proces-
ses are exactly proportioned to the quantity of motion which
the other bones allow of, and which the respective muscles
are capable of producing. ; |
II. A muscle acts only by contraction. Its force is ex-

erted in no other way. When the exertion ceases it relax-
es itself; that is, it returns by relaxation to its former state,
but without energy. This is the nature of the muscular
fibre ; and being so, it is evident that the reciprocal ener-
getic motion of the limbs, by which we mean motion with
force in opposite directions can only be preduced by the
instrumentality of opposite or antagonist muscles ; of flexors
and extensors answering to each other. For instance, the
biceps and brachizus internus muscles placed in the front
part of the upper arm, by their contraction, bend the elbow ;
and with such degree of force, as the case requires, or the
strength admits of. (Pl. XIII. fig. 1.) The relaxation of
these muscles, after the effort, would merely let the fore-
arm drop down. For the back stroke, therefore, and that
the arm may not only bend at the elbow, but also extend and
straighten itself with ferce, other muscles, the longus and
brevis brachizus ezternus, and the anconeus, placed on
the hinder part of the arm, by their contractile twitch fetch
back the fore-arm into a straight line with the cubit, with
no less force than that with which it was bent out of it.
The same thing obtains in all the limbs, and in every move-
able part of the body. A finger is not bent and straighten-
ed, without the contraction of two muscles taking place. It
is evident, therefore, that the animal functions require that

OF THE MUSCLES, V7

particular disposition of the muscles which we describe by
the name of antagonist muscles. And they are according-
ay so disposed. Hvery muscle is provided with an adversa-
ry. They act like two sawers in a pit by an opposite pull;
and nothing surely can more strongly indicate design and
attention to an-end than their being thus stationed; than
this collocation. The nature of the muscular fibre being
what it is, the purposes of the animal could be answered by
no other. And not only the capacity for motion, but the
aspect and symmetry of the body is preserved by the mus-
cles bemg marshalled according to this order, e.g. the
mouth is held in the middle of the face, and its angles
kept in a state of exact correspondency, by two muscles
drawing against, and balancing, each other. In a hemi-
plegia, when the muscle on one side is weakened, the muss
cle on the other side draws the mouth awry. |
ILI. Another property of the muscles, which could only
be the result of care, is their being almost universally so
disposed, as not to obstruct or interfere with one another’s ac+
tion. I know but one instance in which this impediment
ws perceived. We cannot easily swallow whilst we gape.
- This, I understand, is owing to the muscles employed in
the act of deglutition, being so implicated with the muscles
of the lower jaw, that whilst these last are contracted, the
former cannot act with freedom. The obstruction is, in
this instance, attended with little inconveniency ; but it
shows what the effect is, where it does exist; and what
loss of faculty there would be, if it were more frequent.
Now when we reflect upon the number of muscles, not fewer
than four hundred and forty-six in the human body, known
and named,* how contiguous they lie to each other, in lay-
ers, as it were, over one another, crossing one another,
sometimes embedded in one another, sometimes perforating
one another, an arrangement, which leaves to each its liberty
and its full play, must necessarily require :meditation and
counsel, «=
AV. The following is oftentimes the case with the mus-
cles. Their action is wanted where their situation would
be inconvenient. In which case the body of the muscle is
placed in some commodious position at a distance, and
made to communicate with the point of action, by slender
strings or wires. If the muscles, which move the fingers,
had been placed in the palm or back of the hand, they

* Keill’s Anat. p. 295, edit. 3. There are, however, five hundred and
twenty-seven muscles described by more modern anatomists. Paxton.

!

78 OF THE MUSCLES.

would have swelled that part to an awkward and clumsy
thickness. ‘The beauty, the proportions of the part, woald
have been destroyed. ‘They are therefore disposed im the
arm, and even up to the elbow; and act by long tendons,
_ strapped down at the wrist, and passing under the ligament
to the fingers, and to the joints of the fingers, which they
are severally to move. (Pl. XIII. fig. 1, 2.) In like man-
ner, the muscles which move the toes, and many of the
joints of the foot, how gracefully are they disposed in the
calf of the leg, instead of forming an unwieldly tumefaction
in the foot itself? The observation may be repeated of the
muscle which draws the nictitating membrane over the eye.
Its office is in the front of the eye; but its body is lodged
in the back part of the globe, where it lies safe, and where
it encumbers nothing.* ,

V. The great mechanical variety in the figure of the
.muscles may be thus stated. It appears to be a fixed law,
that the contraction of a muscle shall be towards its centre.
Therefore the subject for mechanism on each .occasion is,
so to modify the figure, and adjust the position, of the mus-
cle, as to produce the motion required agreeably with this
law. ‘This can only be done by giving to different muscles,
a diversity of configuration, suited to their several offices,
‘and to their situation with respect to the work which they
have to perform. On which account we find them under
a multiplicity of forms and attitudes; sometimes with
double, sometimes with treble tendons, sometimes with
‘none; sometimes one tendon to several muscles, at other
times one muscle to several tendons. ‘The shape of the
‘organ is susceptible of an incalculable variety, whilst the
original property of the muscle, the law and line of its con-
traction, remains the same; and is simple. Herein the
muscular system may be said to bear a perfect resemblance
to our works of art. An artist does not alter the native
quality of his materials, or their laws of action. He takes

* The convenience and beauty of the tendons seem only an ulterior
object, their necessity and utility principally claim our attention. The
force which a muscle possesses is as the number of the muscular fi-
bres; but a limited number of fibres only can be fixed to any certain
point of bone destined to be moved, therefore the contrivance is, to
attach them to a cord, called a sinew or tendon, which can be conve-
niently conducted and fixed to the bone. If we are desirous of moy-
ing a heavy weight, we tie a strong cord to it, that a greater number
of men may apply their streneth. ‘Thus a similar effect is produced—
the muscular fibres are the moving powers, the tendons are the cords
attached to the point to be moved. ; ; Paxton.

|

OF THE MUSCLES. oe a

these as he finds them. His skill and ingenuity are em-
ployed in turning them, such as they are to his account,
by giving to the parts of his machine a form and relation,
in which these unalterable properties may operate to the
production of the effects intended.

VI. The ejaculations can never too often be repeated.
How many things must go right for us to be an hour at
ease! How many more, to be vigorous and active! Yet
vigour and activity are, in a vast plurality of instances, pre-
served in human bodies, notwithstanding that they depend
upon so great a number of instruments of motion, and not-
withstanding that the defect or disorder sometimes of a very
small instrument, of a single pair, for instance, out of the
four hundred and forty-six muscles which are employed,
may be attended with grievous inconveniency. There is
piety and good sense in the following observation taken
out of the Religious Philosopher, ‘“‘ With much compas-
sion,” says this writer, ‘‘as well as astonishment at the
goodness of our loving Creator, have I considered the sad
state of a certain gentleman, who, as to the rest, was in
pretty good health, but only wanted the use of these two
little muscles that serve to lift up the eyelids, (Pl. XIV. fig.
1, 2.) and so had almost lost the use of his sight; being
forced as long as this defect lasted, to shove up his eyelids
every moment with his own hands!’ In general we may
remark how little those, who enjoy the perfect use of their
organs, know the: comprehensiveness of the blessing, the
variety of their obligation. They perceive a result, but
they think little of the multitude of concurrences and rec-
titudes which go to form it.

Besides these observations, which belong to the muscu-
lar organ as such, we may notice some advantages of struc-
ture which are more conspicuous in muscles of a certain
elass“or description than in others. Thus,

The variety, quickness, and precision, of which mus-
cular motion is capable, are seen, I think, in no part
so remarkable as in the tongue. It is worth any man’s
while to watch the agility of his tongue; the wonderful
promptitude with which it executes changes of position, and
the perfect exactness. Each syllable of articulated sound
requires for its utterance a specific action of the tongue,
and of the parts adjacent to it. The disposition and con-
figuration of the mouth, appertaining to evefy letter and
word, is not only peculiar, but, if nicely and accurately
attended to, perceptible to the sight ; insomuch that curious ~

80 OF THE MUSCLES.

persons have availed themselves of this circemstance te
teach the deaf to speak, and to understand what is said. by
others. In the some person, and after his habit of speak-
ing is formed, one, and only one, position of the parts, will
produce a given articulate sound correctly. How instan-
taneously are these positions assumed and dismissed;
how numerous are the permutations, how various, yet how
infallible! Arbitrary and antic variety is not the thing we
admire; but variety obeying arule, conducing to an effect,
and commensurate with exigences infinitely diversified. © 'g
believe also that the anatomy of the tongue corresponds
with these observations upon its activity. The muscles of
the tongue are so numerous and so implicated with one
another, that they cannot be traced by the. nicest dissec-
tion ; nevertheless, which is a great perfection of the organ,
neither the number, nor the complexity, nor what might
seem to be, the entanglement of its fibres, in any wise im-
pedes its motion, or renders the determination or success ve
its efforts uncertain.

I here entreat the reader’s permission to step a little out
of my way to consider the parts of the mouth in some of
their other properties. It has been said, and that by an
eminent physiologist, that, whenever nature attempts to
work two or more purposes by one instrument, she does
both or all imperfectly. Is this true of the tongue, regard-
ed as an instrument of speech, and of taste; or regarded
as an instrument of speech, of taste and of deglutition ?
So much otherwise, that many persons, that is to say, nine
hundred and ninety-nine persons out of a thousand, by the
instrumentality of this one organ, talk, and taste, and swakk
low, very well. In fact the constant warmth and moisture
of the tongue, the thinness of the skin, the papille upon
its surface, qualify this organ for its office of tasting, as
much as its inextricable multiplicity of fibres do for the
rapid movements which are necessary tospeech. Animals
which feed upon grass, have their tongues covered with a
perforated skin so as to admit the dissolved food to the pa-
pille underneath, which, in the mean time, remain defend-
ed from the rough action of the unbruised spicule.*

* Papille are small bodies situated on the surface and sides of the
‘tongue ; they are furnished by the extreme filaments of the gustatory
nerve, through which medium we acquire the sense of tasting, In

OF THE MUSCLES. | 8.

“There are brought together within the cavity of the
mouth more distinct uses, and parts executing more dis-
tinct offices, than I think can be found lying so near to
one another, or within the same compass, in any other por-
tion of the body: viz. teeth of different shape,* first for
cutting, secondly for grinding: muscles, most artificially
disposed for carrying on the compound motion of the low-
er jaw, half lateral and half vertical, by which the mill is
worked ; fountains of saliva, springing up in different parts
of the cavity for the moistening of the food, whilst the
mastication is going on: glands to feed the fountains: a
muscular constriction of a very peculiar kind in the back
part of the cavity, for the guiding of the prepared aliment
into its passage towards the stomach, and in many cases
for carrying it along that passage: for, although we may
imagine this to be done simply by the weight of the food
itself, it in truth is not so, even in the upright posture of the
human neck; and most evidently is not the case with
quadrupeds, with a horse, for instance, in which when
pasturing, the food is thrust upward by muscular strength,
instead of descending of its own accord. |

In the meantime, and within the same cavity, is going
on another business, altogether different from what is here -
described, that of respiration and speech. In addition,
therefore, to all that has been mentioned, we have a pas-
sage opened, from this cavity to the lungs, for the admis-
sion of air, exclusively of every other substance: we have
muscles, some in the larnyx, and without number in the’

‘tongue, for the purpose of modulating that air in its passage,

herbivorous animals the papille are sharp pointed and directed back-°
wards to assist in laying hold of the grass. Inthe eat kind there is.
a horny or: prickly set covering the tongue, rendering it rough, and.
enabling it to take firmer hold of the prey. Birds also have a similar
contrivance. In fish the tongue is covered by a number of teeth, serv-
ing the same purpose. Paxton.

* In each jaw there are four incisores, or cutting teeth, two canine
which may be ranked with the former, only more pointed; four small
molar, and six large molar or grinding teeth. And as the teeth of an--
imals indicate the food on which they are destined to subsist, so from,
analogy we may infer that man is called to use either animal or vege-
table aliments, or both, i. e. keeps a mean between graminivorous and
carnivorous animals, in the structure and complication of his digestive’
apparatus, without deserving on that account to be called omnivorous:
for it is known, that, a great number of the substances upon which
animals feed are of no use in the support of man. Paxton.

82 OF THE MUSCLES.

with a variety, a compass, and precision, of which no other
musical instrument is capable. And, lastly, which in my
opinion crowns the whole as a piece of machinery, we have
a specific contrivance for dividing the pneumatic part from
the mechanical, and for preventing one set of actions in-
terfering with the other. . Where various functions are
united, the difficulty is to guard against the inconvenien-

cies of a too great complexity. In no apparatus put togeth-
er by art, and for the purposes of art, do I know such mul-.

tifarious uses so aptly combined, as in the natural organi-
zation of the human mouth; or where the structure, com-
pared with the uses, is so simple. The mouth, with all
these intentions to serve, isa single cavity; 1s one machine;
with its parts neither crowded nor confused, and each un-
embarrassed by the rest; each at least at liberty in a de-
gree sufficient for the end to be attained. If-we cannot
eat and sing at the same moment, we can eat one moment
ait sing the next; the respiration proceeding freely all the
while. , mt

There is one case, however, of this double office, and
that of the earliest necessity, which the mouth alone could
not perform ; and that is, carrying on together the two ac-
tions of sucking and breathing. Another rout, therefore,
is opened for the air, namely, through the nose, which lets
the breath pass backward and forward, whilst the lips, in
the act of sucking, are necessarily shut close upon the
body, from which the nutriment is drawn. This is a cir-
cumstance, which always appeared to me worthy of notice.
The nose would have been necessary, although it had not
been the organ of smelling. The making it the seat of a
sense, was superadding a new use to a part already wanted :
was taking a wise advantage of an antecedent and a con-
stitutional necessity.

But to return to that which is the proper subject of the
present section, the celerity and precision of muscular mo-
tion. ‘These qualities may be particularly observed in the
execution of many species of instrumental music, in which
the changes produced by the hand of the musician, are ex-
ceedingly rapid; are exactly measured, even when most
minute ; and display, on the part of the muscles, an obedi-

ence of action, alike wonderful for its quickness and its

correctness.

‘

OF THE MUSCLES, 83

- Or let a person only observe his own hand whilst he is
writing ; the number of muscles, which are brought to
bear upon the pen ; how the joint and adjusted operation .
of several tendons is concerned in every stroke, yet that
five hundred such strokes, are drawn in a minute. Not a
letter can be turned without more than one or two or three

‘tendinous contractions, definite, both as to the choice of

the tendon and as to the space through which the con-
traction moves, yet how currently does the work proceed!
and when we look at it, how faithful have the muscles.
been to their duty, how true to the order which endeavour
or habit hath inculcated! For let it be remembered, that,
whilst a man’s hand writing is the same, an exactitude of
order is preserved whether he write well or ill. These
two instances of music and writing, show not only the
quickness and precision of muscular action, but the do-
cility.

IL. Regarding the particular configuration of muscles,
sphincter or circular muscles appear to me admirable pieces
of mechanism. (Pl. XIV. fig. 3.) It is the muscular pow-
er most happily applied ; the same quality of the muscular
substance, but under a new modification. The circular
disposition of the fibres is strictly mechanical ; but, though
the most mechanical, is not the only thing in sphincters
which deserves our notice. The regulated degree of con-
tractile force with which they are endowed, sufficient for
retention, yet vincible when requisite ; together with their
ordinary state of actual contraction, by means of which
their dependence upon the will is not constant but occasion-
al, gives to them a constitution of which the conveniency
is inestimable. This their semi-voluntary character, is ex-

aetly such as suits with the wants and functions of the ani-

mal.

III. We may also, upon the subject of muscles, observe,
that many of our most important actions are achieved by
the combined help of different muscles. Frequently, a
diagonal motion is produced, by the contraction of tendons,
pulling in the direction of the sides of the parallelogram.
This is the case, as hath been already noticed, with some
of the oblique nutations of the head. " Sometimes the num-
ber of Go-operating muscles is very great. Dr. Nieuentyt,
in the Leipzic Transactions, reckons up a hundred muscles,
that are employed every time we breathe ;_ yet we take in,
or let out, our breath, without reflecting what a work is
thereby performed ; what an apparatus is laid in of instru-

84 OF THE MUSCLES.

ments for the service, and how many such contribute their

assistance to the effect. Breathing with ease is a blessing’

of every moment; yet,.of all others, it is that which we
possess with the least consciousness. A man in an asthma
is the only man who knows how to estimate it. —

IV. Mr. Home has observed,* that the most important
and the most delicate actions are performed in the body
by the smallest muscles ; and he mentions, as his examples,
the muscles which have been discovered in the iris of the
eye and the drum of the ear. The tenuity of these mus-
cles is astonishing. ‘They are microscopic hairs; must
be magnified to be visible; yet are they real effective mus
cles ; and not only such, but the grandest and most pre-
cious of our faculties, sight and hearing, depend ‘upon their
health and action.

~V. The muscles act in the limbs with what is éalted a
mechanical disadvantage. 'The muscle at the shoulder, by”
which the arm is raised, is fixed nearly in the same manner,
as the load is fixed upon a steelyard, within a few decimals,
we will say, of an inch, from the centre upon which the
steelyardturns. In this situation, we find that a very heavy
draught is no more than sufficient to countervail the force
of a small lead plummet, placed upon the long arm of the
steelyard, at the distance of perhaps fifteen or twenty inches
from the centre, and on the other side of it. And this is
the disadvantage, which is meant. And an absolute dis-
advantage, no doubt, it would be, if the object were to
spare the force of muscular contraction. But observe how
conducive is this constitution to animal conveniency. Me-
chanism has always in view one or other of these two pur-
poses; either to move a great weight slowly, and through
a small space; or to move a light weight rapidly, through
a considerable sweep. For the former of these purposes,
a different species of lever, and a different collocation of
the muscles, might be better than the present ; but for the
second, the present structure is the true one. Now, so it
happens, that the second, and not the first, is that which
the occasions of animal life principally call for. In what
concerns the human body, it is of much more consequence
to any man to be able to carry his hand to his head with
due expedition, than it would be’ to have the power of rais-
ing from the ground a heavier load (of two or three more
hundred weight, we will suppose,) than he can lift at pre-

* Phil. Trans. part 1. 1800. p. 8.

OF THE MUSCLES. 85
sent. This last is a faculty, which, upon some extraordi-
nary occasions, he may desire to possess; but the other is
what he wants and uses every hour and minute. In like
manner, a husbandman or a gardener will do more execu-

#

tion, by being able to carry his scythe, his rake or his flail,

with a sufficient despatch through a sufficient space, than
if, with greater strength, his motions were proportionably
more confined and slow. Itis the same with a mechanic in
the use of his tools. It is the same also with other animals
in the use of their limbs. In general, the vivacity of their
motions would be ill exchanged for greater force under a
clumsier structure.

We have offered our observations upon the structure of
muscles in general; we have also noticed certain species
of muscles; but there are also single muscles, which bear
marks of mechanical contrivance, appropriate as well as
particular, Out of many instances of this kind we select
the following :—

I. Of muscular actions, even of those which are well
understood, some of the most curious are incapable of pop-
ular explanation ; ; atleast without the aid of plates and
figures.* This is in a great measure the case, with a very
familiar, but, at the same time, a very complicated motion,
that of the lower j jaw; and with the muscular structure by
which it is produced. One of the muscles concerned, may,
however, be described in such a manner, as to be, I think,
sufficiently comprehended for our present purpose. The
problem is to pull the lower jaw down. 'The obvious method
should seem to be, to place a straight muscle, viz. to fix a
string from the chin to the breast, the contraction of which
would open the mouth, and produce the motion required at
once. But it is evident that the form and liberty of the
neck forbid a muscle being laid in such a position; and
that, consistently with the preservation of this form, the
motion which we want, must be effectuated, by some muscu-
lar mechanism disposed further back in the jaw. The ne
chanism adopted is as follows: (PI. XV. fig. 1, 2.)
certain muscle called the digastric ris¢s on the side of ue
face, considerably above the insertion of the lower jaw;
and comes down, being converted in its progress into a
around tendon. Now it is evident, that the tendon, whilst
it pursues a direction descending towards the jaw, must,
by its contraction, pull the jaw up, instead of down. What

*The want of the aid of plates and figures, which the author here
expresses, is now supplied in this Boston editjon,

86 OF THE MUSCLES.

then was to be done? This, we find, is done. The de-
scending tendon, when it is got low enough, is passed
through a loop, or ring, or pulley, in the os-hyoides, and
then made to ascend ; and, having thus changed its line of
direction, is inserted into the inner part of the chin; by
which device, viz. the turn at the loop, the action of the
muscle (which i in all muscles is contraction) that before
would have pulled the jaw up, now as necessarily draws it
down. ‘“ The mouth,” saith Heister, ‘‘ is opened by means
of this trochlea in a most wonderful and elegant manner.”’

II. What contrivance can be more mechanical than
the following, viz. a slit in one tendon to let: another ten-
don pass through it? This structure is found in the ten-
dons which move the toes and fingers. The long tendon,
as it is called, in the foot, which bends the first joint of the
toe, passes ie the short tendon which bends the sec-
ond joint; which course allows te the sinew more liberty
and amore commodious action than it would otherwise
- ‘have been capable of exerting.* (PL XVI. fig. 1, 2.) There
is nothing, I believe, in a silk or cotton-mill ; in the belts,
or straps, or ropes, by which motion is communicated from
one part of the machine to another, that is more artificial,
or more evidently so, than this perforation.

III. The next circumstance which I shall mention, un-
der this head of muscular arrangement, Is so decisive a
mark of intention, that it always appeared to me, to super-
sede, in some measure, the necessity of seeking for any
ether observation upon ‘the subject ; and that circumstance
is, the tendons, which pass from the leg to the foot being
bound bown by a ligament at the ankle. (PI. XVI. fig. 3.):
The foot is placed at a considerable angle with the leg.
It is manifest, therefore, that flexible strings, passing along
the interior of the angle, if left to themselves, would, when
stretched, start from it. ‘The obvious preventive is to tie
them down. And this is done in fact. Across the instep,
or rather just above it, the anatomist finds a eeene liga-
ment; under which the tendons pass to the foot... ‘The ef-.
fect of the ligament as a bandage, can be made evidugh to
the senses; for if it be cut, the tendons start up. The
simplicity, yet the clearness of this contrivance, its exact
resemblance to established resources of art, place it amongst
the most indubitable manifestations of design ajabg which
we are acquainted.

* Ches. Anat. p. 94, 119, :

OF THE MUSCLES. 87

_ There is also a further use to be made of the present
example, and that is, as it precisely contradicts the opin-
ion; that the parts of animals may have been all formed
by what is called appetency, 1. e. endeavour, perpetuated,
and imperceptibly working its effect, through an incalcu-
lable series of generations. We have here no endeavour,
but the reverse of it; a constant renitency and reluctance.
The endeavour is all the other way. The pressure of the
ligament constrains the tendons; the tendons re-act upon
the pressure of the ligament. It is impossible that the lig-
ament should ever have been generated by the exercise of
the tendon, or in the course of that exercise, forasmuch as
the force of the tendon perpendicularly resists the fibre
which confines it, and is constantly endeavouring, not to
form, but to rupture and displace, the threads of which the
ligament i is composed.

- Keill has reckoned up, in the human body, four hundred
and forty-six muscles, [See note, p. 77,] dissectible and de-
scriable ; and hathassigned an use to every one of the num-
ber. This cannot be all imagination. |

Bishop Wilkins hath observed from Galen that there are,
at least, ten several qualifications to be attended to in each
particular muscle, viz. its proper figure, its just magni-
tude, its fulcrum, its point of action supposing the figure to
be fixed, its collocation with respect to its two ends, the
upper and the lower, the place, the position of the whole
muscle, the introduction into it of nerves, arteries, veins.
How are things, including so many adjustments, to be made;
or when made, how are they to be put together, without
intelligence ?

I have sometimes wondered, why we are not struck
with mechanism in animal bodies, as readily and as strong-
ly as we are struck with it, at first sight, in a watch or a
mill. One reason of the ‘difference may be that animal
bodies are, in a great measure, made up of soft, flabby,
substances, such as muscles and membranes ; whereas we
have been ‘accustomed to trace mechanism in sharp lines,
in the configuration of hard materials, in the moulding,
chiseling, and filing into shapes, such articles as metals or
wood. There is something, therefore, of habit in the case;
but it is sufficiently evident, that there can be no proper
reason for any distinction of the sort. Mechanism may be
displayed in the one kind of substance, as well as in the
other,

‘

88 : OF THE MUSCLES.

Although the few instances we have selected, even as —
they stand in our description, are nothing short, perhaps,
of logical proofs of design, yet it must not be forgotten, |
that, in every part of anatomy, description is a poor sub-
stitute for inspection. It was well said by an abie anato-
mist,* and said in reference to the very part of the sub-
ject which we have been treating of, “ Imperfecta hee
musculorum descriptio, non minus arida est legentibus,
quam inspectantibus fuerit jucunda eorundem preparatio.
Elegantissima enim mecanices artificia, creberrime in
illis obvia, verbis nonnisi obscure exprimuntur ; carnium
autem ductu, tendinum colore, insertionum proportione,
et trochlearium distributione, occulis exposita, omnem. su-
perant admirationem.”’ |

The following remarks upon the structure'of the tendons, from the An-
imal Mechanics already quoted, will form an instructive addition to the
foregoing Chapter, to the subject of which they bearanearrelation. Ed.

Of the Cordage of the Tendons.

Where nature has provided a perfect system of columns
and levers, and pullies, we may anticipate that the cords by
which the force of the muscles is concentrated on the movea-
ble bones, must be constructed with as curious a provision
ah their offices. In this surmise we shall not be disappoint-
ed.

To understand what is necessary to the strength of a rope
or a cable, we must learn what has been the object of the im-
provements and patents in this manufacture. The first pro-—
cess in rope-making, is hatchelling the hemp: that is, combing
out the short fibres, and placing the long ones parallel to one
another. The second is, spinning the hemp into yarns. And
here the principle must be attended to, which goes through
the whole process in forming a cable; which is that the fibres
of the hemp shall bear an equal strain: and the difficulty may
be easily conceived, since the twisting must derange the par-
alle] position of the fibres. Each fibre, as it is twisted, ties
the other fibres together, so as to form a continued line, and
it bears, at the same time, a certain portion of the strain, and
so each fibre alternately. The third step of the process is
making the yarns. Warping the yarns, is stretching them to
a certain length; and for the same reason, that so much at-
tention has been paid to the arrangement of the fibres for
the yarns, the same care is taken in the management of the
yarns for the strands. The fourth step of the process is to

* Sterno in Blas. Anat. Animal. p. 2. c. 4, :

OF THE MUSCLES. 89

form the lathandls into ropes. The difficulty of the art has
_ been to make them bear alike, especially in great cables, and
this has been the objectof patent machinery. The hardening,
by twisting, is also an essential part of the process of rope-
making: for without this, it would be little better than ex-
tended parallel fibres of hemp. In this twisting, first of the
yarns, and then of the strands, those which are on the outer
surface must be more stretched than those near the centre;
consequently, when there is a strain upon the rope, the outer
fibres will break first, and the others in succession. It is to
avoid this, that each yarn and each strand, as it is twisted or
hardened, shall be itself revolving, so that when drawn into
the cable, the whole component parts may, as nearly as possi-
ble, resist the strain in an equal degree; but the process is
not perfect, and this we must conclude from observing how
different the construction of a tendon is from that of a rope.
A tendon consists of a strong cord, apparently fibrous; but
which, by the art of the anatomist, may be separated into
lesser cords, and these, by maceration, can be shown to con-
sist of cellular membrane, the common tissue that gives firm-
ness to all the textures of the animal body. ‘The peculiarity
here results merely from its remarkable condensation. But the
cords of which the larger tendon consists, do not lie parallel
to each other, nor are they simply twisted like the strands of
a rope; they are, on the contrary, plaited or interwoven to-
\ gether.

Ifthe strong tendon of the heel, or Achilles tendon, be
taken as an example, on first inspection, it appears to consist
of parallel fibres, but by maceration, these fibres are found
to be a web of twisted cellular texture. If you take your
handkerchief, and, slightly twisting it, draw it out like a
rope, it will seem to consist of parallel cords; such is, in fact,
so far the structure of a tendon. But, as we have stated,
there is something more admirable than this, for the tendon
consists of subdivisions, which are like the strands of a rope ;
but instead of being twisted simply as by the process of hard-
ening, they are plaited or interwoven in a way that could not
be imitated in cordage by the turning of a wheel. Here
then is the difference—by the twisting of a rope, the strands
cannot resist the strain equally, whilst we see that this is pro-
vided for in the tendon by the regular interweaving of the
yarn, if we may so express it, 80 “that every fibre deviates
from the parallel line in the same degree, and, consequently,
receives the same strain when the tendon is pulled. If we
seek for examples illustrative of this structure of the tendons,
we must turn to the subject of ship-rigging, and see there how
the seaman contrives, by undoing the strands and yarns of
a rope, and twisting them anew, to make his splicing strong-
er than the original cordage. A sailor opens the ends of two’

90 OF THE. MUSCLEs.

ropes, and places the strand of one opposite and between the
strand of another, and so interlaces them. And this explains
why a hawser-rope,a sort of small cable, is spun of three
Strands ; for as they are necessary for many operations in the
rigging of a ship, they must be formed in a way that admits
of being cut and spliced, for the separation of three strands,
at least, is necessary for knotting, splicing, whipping, mail-
ing, &c., which are a few of the many curious contrivances
for joining the ends of ropes, and for strengthening them by
filling up the interstices to preserve them from being cut or
frayed. As these methods of splicing and plaiting in the
subdivisions of the rope make an intertexture stronger than
the original rope, it is an additional demonstration, if any
were wanted, to show the perfection of the cordage of an
animal machine, since the tendons are so interwoven; and
until the yarns of one strand be separated and interwoven with
the yarns of another strand, and this done with regular ex-
change, the most approved patent ropes must be inferior to
the corresponding part of the animal machinery.

_.A piece of cord of a new patent has been shown to us,
which is said to be many times stronger than any other cord
of the same diameter.. It is so far upon the principle here
stated, that the strands are plaited instead of being twisted ;
but the tendon has still its superiority, for the lesser yarns of
each strand in it are interwoyen with those of other strands.
It however, gratifies us to see, that the principle we draw
from the animal body is here confirmed. It may be asked,
do not the tendons of the human body sometimes break ?
They do; but in circumstances which only add to the interest
of the subject. By the exercise of the tendons, (and their
exercise is the act of being pulled upon by the muscles, or
having a strain made on them, they become firmer and strong-
er; but in the failure of muscular activity, they become less
capable of resisting the tug made upon them, and if, after a
long confinement, a man has some powerful excitement to
muscular exertion, then the tendon breaks. An old gen-
tleman, whose habits have been long staid and sedentary,
and who is very guarded i in his walk, is upon an annual festi-
yal tempted to jom the young people in a dance; then he
breaks his tendo Achillis. Or a sick person, long confined
to bed, is, on rising, subject to a rupture or hernia, because
the tendinous expansions guarding against protrusion of the
internal parts, have become. weak from disuse.

Such circumstances remind us that we are speaking of a —
living body, and that, in estimating the properties of the ma-
chinery, we ought not to. forget the influence of life, and that
the natural exercise of the parts, whether they be active or
passive, is the stimulus to the circulation through them, and
to their growth and perfection.

OF THE VESSELS, fc. - 91
CHAP. “¢ ;
| ‘OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES.

Tue circulation of the blood, through the bodies of men
and quadrupeds, and the apparatus by which it is carried
on, compose a system, and testify a contrivance, perhaps
the best understood of any part of the animal frame. .The
lymphatic vessels, or the nervous system, may be more sub-
tile and intricate ; nay, it is possible that in their structure
they may be even more artificial than the sanguiferous ;
but we do not know so much about them.

The utility of the circulation of the blood, I assume as
an acknowledged point. One gtand purpose is plainly
answered by it; the distributing to every part, every ex-
tremity, every nook and corner of the body, the nourish-

-ment which is received into it by one aperture. What en-

ters at the mouth finds its way to the fingers’ end. A more
difficult mechanical problem could hardly I think be pro-
posed, than to discover a method of constantly repairing
the waste, and of supplying an accession of substance to
every part of a complicated machine at the same time.

This system presents itself under two views: ‘first, the
disposition of the blood-vessels, i. e. the laying of the pipes;
and, secondly, the construction of the engine at the centre,
viz. the heart, for driving the blood through them.

I. The disposition of the blood-vessels, as far as regards
the supply of the body, is like that of the water pipes in a
city, viz. large and main trunks branching off by smaller
pipes (and these again by still narrower tubes,) in every
direction, and towards every part, in which the fluid, which
they convey, can be wanted. So far the water pipes,
which serve a town, may represent the vessels, which carry
the blood from the heart. But there is another thing
necessary to the blood, which is not wanted for the water;
and that is, the carrying of it back again to its source.
For this office a reversed system of vessels is prepared,
which uniting at their extremities with the extremities of
the first system, collects the divided and subdivided
streamlets, first by capillary ramifications into larger branch-
es, secondly, by these |branches into trunks; and thus re-
turns the blood (almost exactly inverting the order in which
it went out) to the fountain from whence its motion pro-
ceeded. All which is evident mechanism.

9% OF THE VESSELS

The body, therefore, contains two systems of blood-ves-
sels, arteries and veins. Between the constitution of the
systems there are also two differences, suited to the func-
tions which the systems have to execute. The blood, in
going out, passing always from wider into narrower tubes ;
and, in. coming back, from narrower into wider; it is evi-
dent, that the impulse and pressure upon the sides of the
blood-vessels, will be much greater in one case than the
other. Accordingly, the arteries which carry out the blood,
are formed with much tougher and stronger coats, than the
veins which bring it back. ‘That is one difference; the
other is still more artificial, or, if I may so speak, indicates,
still more clearly, the care and anxiety of the artificer.
Forasmuch as in the arteries, by reason of the greater force
with which the blood is urged along them, a wound or rup-
ture would be more dangerous, than in the veins; these
vessels are defended from injury, not only by their texture,
but by their situation ; and by every advantage of situation
which can be given to them. They are buried in sinuses,
or they creep along grooves, made for them, in the bones;
for instance, the under edge of the ribs is sloped and fur-
rowed solely for the passage of these vessels. Sometimes
they proceed in channels, protected by stout parapets on
each side; -which last description is remarkable in the
bones of the fingers, these being hollowed out, on the un-
der side, like a scoop, and with such a concavity that the
finger may be cut across to the bone without hurting the
artery which runs along it. At other times, the arteries
pass in canals wrought in the substance, and in the very
middle of the substance, of the bone; this takes place in
the lower jaw, and is found where there would, otherwise,
be danger of compression by sudden curvature. All this
care is wonderful, yet not more than what the importance
of the case required. T'o those, who venture their lives
in a ship, it has been often said, that there is only an inch’
board between them and death; but in the body itself, es-.
pecially in the arterial system, there is, in many parts, only
a membrane, a skin, a thread. - For which reason this sys-
tem lies deep under the integuments; whereas the veins, in
which the mischief that ensues from injuring the coats is
much less, lie in general above the arteries, come nearer
to the surface, are more exposed. :

It may be further observed concerning the two systems
taken together, that, though the arterial, with its trunks
and branches and small twigs, may be imagined to issue or

OF ANIMAL RODiES. 93

proceed, in other words to grow from the heart, like a plant
from its root, or the fibres of a leaf from its foot-stalkc, (which,
however, were it so, would be only to resolve one mechanism
into another, ) yet the venal, the returning system, can never
be formed in this manner. The arteries might go on shoot-
ing out from their extremities, i. e. lengthening and sub-
dividing indefinitely ; but an inverted system, continually
uniting its streams, instead of dividing, and thus carrying
back what the other system carried out, could not be refer-
red to the same process.

II. The next thing to be considered is the engine which
works this machinery, viz. the heart. (Pl. XVII. fig. 1.)
For our purpose it is unnecessary to ascertain the principle
upon which the heart acts. Whether it be irritation excited
by the contact of the blood, by the influx of the nervous
fluid, or whatever else be the cause of its motion, it is some-
thing, which is capable of producing, in a living muscular
fibre, reciprocal contraction and relaxation. This is the
power we have to work with; and the inquiry is, how this
power is applied in the instance before us. ‘There is pro-
vided in the central part of the body, a hollow muscle, in-
vested with spiral fibres, running in both directions, the
layers intersecting one another; in some animals, however,
appearing to be semi-circular rather than spiral. By the
contraction of these fibres, the sides of the muscular cavities
are necessarily squeezed together, so as to force out from
them any fluid which they may at that time contain; by
the relaxation of the same fibres, the cavities are in their
turn dilated; and, of course, prepared to admit every fluid
which may be poured into them. Into these cavities are
inserted the great trunks, both of the arteries which carry
out the blood, and of the veins which bring it back. This
is a general account of the apparatus; and the simplest idea
of its action is, that, by each contraction, a portion of blood
is forced as by a syringe into the arteries; and, at each
dilation, an equal portion is received from the veins. This
produces, at each pulse, a motion and change in the mass
of blood, to the amount of what the cavity contains, which,
ina full’ grown human heart, I understand, is about an
ounce, or two table-spoons full. How quickly these changes
succeed one another, and by this succession, how sufficient
they are to support a stream or circulation throughout the
system, may be understood by the following computation,
ayeged from Keill’s toy, p. 117. ed. 3. “ Each ven-

D) |

94 OF THE VESSELS

tricle will at least contain one ounce of blood. The heart
contracts four thousand times in one hour; from which it
follows, that there passes through the heart, every hour,

four thousand ounces, or three hundred and fifty pounds of |
blood. Now the whole mass of blood'is said to be about
twenty-five pounds, so that a quantity of blood equal to the
whole mass of blood passes through the heart fourteen times
in one hour; which is about once every four minutes.”
Consider what an affair this is, when we come to very large
animals. The aorta of a whale is larger in the bore than
the main pipe of the water works at London Bridge; and
the water roaring in its passage through that pipe, 1s in-
ferior, in impetus and velocity, to the blood gushing from
the whale’s heart. Hear Dr. Hunter’s account of the dis-
section ofa whale. ‘The aorta measured a foot in diame-
ter. ‘Ten or fifteen gallons of blood is thrown out of the
heart at a stroke, with an immense velocity, through a tube
of afoot diameter. The whole idea fills the mind with

wonder.”’*

The account which we have here stated, of the injec-
tion of blood into the arteries by the contraction, and of
the corresponding reception of it from the veins by the di-
lation of the cavities of the heart, and of the circulation
being thereby maintained through the blood-vessels of the
body, is true, but imperfect. The heart performs this of-
fice, but it is in conjunction with another of equal curiosi-
ty and importance. It was necessary that the blood should
be successively brought into contact, or contiguity, or prox-
imity with the a7. Ido not know that the chemical rea-
son, upon which this necessity is founded, has been yet
sufficiently explored. It seems to be made to appear, that
the atmosphere which we breathe is a mixture of two kinds
of air; one pure and vital, the other, for the purposes of
life, effete, foul, and noxious: that when we have drawn
in our breath, the blood in the lungs imbibes from the air,
thus brought in contiguity with it, a portion of its pure in-
gredient; and, at the same time, gives out the effete or
corrupt air which it contained, and which is carried away, _
along with the halitus, every time we respire. At least,
by comparing the air which is breathed from the lungs,
with the air before it enters the lungs, it is found to have
lost some of its pure part, and to have brought away with
it an addition of its impure part. Whether these experiments

* Dr. Hunter’s account of the dissection of a whale. Phil. Trans.

OF ANIMAL BODIES. 95

satisfy the question, as to the need which the blood stands
in, of being visited by continual accesses of air,.is not for
us to inquire into; nor material to our argument: it is suf-
ficient to know, that, in the constitution of most animals
such a necessity exists, and that the air, by some means or
other, must be introduced into a near communication with
the blood. The lungs of animals are constructed for this
purpose. They consist of blood-vessels and air-vessels ly-
ing close to each other; and wherever there is a branch
of the trachea or windpipe, there is a branch accompanying
it of the vein and artery, and the air-vessel is always in the
middle between the blood-vessels.* The internal surface
of ‘these vessels, upon which the application of the air to
the blood depends, would, if collected and expanded, be,
in a man, equal to a superfices of fifteen feet square. Now
in order to give the blood in its course, the benefit of this
organization, (and this is the part of the subject with which
we are chiefly concerned,) the following operation takes
place. As soon as the blood is received by'the heart
from the veins of the body, and before that it is sent out
again into its arteries, it is carried, by the force of the
contraction of the heart, and by means of a separate and
supplementary artery, to the lungs, and made to enter
the vessels of the lungs; from which, after it has under-
gone the action, whatever it be, of that viscus, it is
brought back by a large vein once more to the heart, in
order, when thus concocted and prepared, to be from
thence distributed anew into the system. This assigns to
the heart’a double office. The pulmonary circulation is a
system within a system; and one action of the heart is the
origin of both.

For this complicated function, four cavities become ne-

cessary ; and four are accordingly provided : two, call- -

ed ventricles, which send out the blood, viz. one into the
Jungs, in the first instance; the other into the mass, after
it has returned from the lungs: two others also, called
auricles, which receive the blood from the veins; viz. one,
as it comes immediately from the body; the other, as the
same blood comes a second time after its circulation
through the lungs. So that there are two receiving cavi-
ties, and two forcing cavities. ‘The structure of the heart
has reference to the lungs, for without the lungs one of
each would have been sufficient. The translation of the

* Keill’s Anat. p, 121.

96 OF THE VESSELS

blood in the heart itself is after this manner, The receiv-
ing cavities respectively communicate with the forcing cav-
ities, and, by their contraction, unload the received blood
into them. The forcing cavities, when it is their turn to
contract, compel the same blood into the mouths of the ar-
teries. | |

The account here given will not convey to a reader ig-
rant of anatomy, any thing like an accurate notion of the
form, action, or use of the parts, (nor can any short and
popular account do this,) but it is abundantly sufh-
cient to testify contrivance; and, although imperfect,
being true as far as it goes, may be relied upon for the
only purpose for which we offer it, the purpose of this con-
clusion.

“The wisdom of the Creator,” saith Hamburgher, ‘is
in nothing seen more gloriously than in the heart.” And
how well doth it execute its office! An anatomist, who
understood the structure of the heart, might say before-
hand that it would play: but he would expect, I think,
from the complexity of its mechanism, and the delicacy
of many of its parts, that it should always be liable to de-
rangement, or that it would soon work itself out. Yet
shall this wonderful machine go, night and day, for eighty
years together, at the rate of a hundred thousand strokes
every twenty-four hours, having, at every stroke, a great
resistance to overcome; and shall continue this action for
this length of time, without disorder, and without weari-
ness.

But further; from the account, which has been given of
the mechanism of the heart, it is evident that it must re- |
quire the interposition of valves; that the success indeed
of its action must depend upon these, for when any one of
its cavities contracts, the necessary tendency of the force
will be to drive the enclosed blood, not only into the mouth
of the artery where it ought to go, but also back again in-
to the mouth of the vein from which it flowed. — In like
manner, when by the relaxation of the fibres the same cav-
ity is dilated, the blood would not only run into it from the -
vein, which was the course intended, but back from the ar-
tery, through which it ought to be moving forward. The
way of preventing a reflux of the fluid, in both these cases,
is to fix valves; which, like flood-gates, may open a way to
the stream in one direction, and shut up the passage against
it in another. (PI. X VIL. fig. 2, 3, 4.) The heart, constitut-
ed as it is, can no more work without valves than a pump

we
}

OF ANIMAL BODIES. 97

can. When the piston descends in a pump, if it were not
for the stoppage by the valve beneath, the motion would
only thrust down the water, which it had before drawn up.
A similar consequence would frustrate the action of the
heart. Valves, therefore, properly disposed, i. e. properly
with respect to the course of the blood which it is neces-
sary'to promote, are essential to the contrivance. And
valves so disposed are, accordingly, provided. A valve is
. placed in the communication between each auricle and its
‘ ventricle, lest when the venticle contracts, part of the blood
should get back again into the auricle, instead of the whole
entering, as it ought to do, the mouth of the artery. A valve
is also fixed at the mouth ofeach of the great arteries which
take the blood from the heart; leaving the passage free, so
long as the blood holds its proper course forward; closing
it, whenever the blood, in consequence of the relaxation of
the ‘ventricle, would attempt to flow back. There is some
variety in the construction of these valves, though all the
valves of the body act nearly upon the same principle, and
are destined to the same use. In general they consist of
a thin membrane, lying close to the side of the vessel, and
consequently allowing an open passage whilst the stream
runs one way, but thrust out from the side by the fluid get-.
ting behind it, and opposing the passage of the blood,
when it would flow the other way. here more than one
membrane is employed, the different membranes only com-
pose one valve. ‘Their joint action fulfils the office of a
valve: for instance; over the entrance of the right auricle
of the heart into the right ventricle, three of these skins
or membranes are fixed, of a triangular figure; the bases
of the triangles fastened to the flesh; the sides and sum-
mits loose; but, though loose, connected by threads of a
determinate length with certain small fleshy prominences.
adjoining. The effect of this construction is, that, when
the ventricle contracts, the blood endeavouring to escape
in all directions, and amongst other directions pressing up-
wards, gets between these membranes and the sides of the
passage; and thereby forces them up into. such a. position,
as that, together, they constitute, when raised, a hollow
cone (the strings before spoken of, hindering them from.
proceeding or separating further;) which cone, entirely’
occupying the passage, prevents the’return of the blood in-.
to the auricle. A shorter account of the matter may be
this. So long as the blood proceeds in its proper course,
the membranes which compose the valve are pressed close

98 OF THE VESSELS

to the side of the vessel, and occasion no impedient to the
circulation; when the blood would regurgitate, they are
raised from the side of the vessel, and meeting in the middle
of its cavity, shut up the channel. Can any one doubt
of contrivance here; or is it possible to shut our eyes
against the proof of it?

This valve, also, is not more curious in its structure,
than it is important in its office. Upon the play of the
valve, even upon the proportioned length of the strings or
fibres which check the ascent of the membranes, depends, as
it should seem, nothing less than the life itself of the animal.
We may here likewise repeat, what we before observed
concerning some of the ligaments of the body, that they
could not be formed by any action of the parts themselves.
There are cases, in which, although good uses appear to
arise from the shape or configuration of a part, yet that
shape and configuration itself may seem to be produced by
the action of the part, or by the action or pressure of adjoin-
ing parts. Thus the bend, and the internal smooth con-
cavity of the ribs, may be attributed to the equal pressure
of the soft bowels; the particular shape of some bones and
joints, to the traction of the annexed muscles, or to the
position of contiguous muscles. But valves could not be
so formed. Action and pressure are all against them. ‘The
blood, in its proper course, has no tendency to produce
such things; and, in its improper or reflected current, has
a tendency to prevent their production. Whilst we see
therefore the use and necessity of this machinery, we can
look to no other account of its origin or formation than the
intending mind of a Creator. Nor can we without admi-
ration reflect, that such thin membranes, such weak and
tender instruments, as these valves are, should be able to
hold out for seventy or eighty years.

Here also we cannot consider but with gratitude, how
happy it is that our vital motions are involuntary. We
should have enough to do, if we had to keep our hearts
beating, and our stomachs at work. Did these things de-
pend, we will not say upon our effort, but upon our bidding,
our care, or our attention, they would leave us leisure for
nothing else. We must have been continually upon the
watch, and continually in fear; nor would this constitution
have allowed of sleep. °

It might perhaps be expected, that an organ so precious,
of such central and primary importance, as the heart is,
should be defended by a case. The fact is, that a mem~

OF ANIMAL BODIES. 99
branous purse or bag, made of strong tough materials, is
provided for it; holding the heart within its cavity ; sitting
loosely and easily about it; guarding its substance, without
confining its motion; and containing likewise a spoonful
or two of water, just sufficient to keep the surface of the
heart in a state of suppleness and moisture. How should
such a loose covering be generated by the action of the
heart? Does not the enclosing of it in a sack, answering
no other purpose but that of enclosure, show the care that
has been taken of its preservation ?

One use of the circulation of the blood (probably amongst
other uses) is to distribute nourishment to the different
parts of the body. How minute and multiplied the ramifi-
cations of the blood-vessels, for that purpose, are; and
how thickly spread, over at least the superfices of the body,
is proved by the single observation, that we cannot prick
the point of a pin into the flesh, without drawing blood,
1. e. without finding a blood-vessel. Nor, internally, is their
diffusion less universal. Blood-vessels run along the sur-
face of membranes, pervade the substance of muscles, pen-
etrate the bones. Even into every tooth, we trace, through
a small hole in the root, an artery to feed the bone, as well
as a vein to bring back the spare blood from it ; both which,
with the addition of an accompanying nerve, form a thread
only a little thicker than a horse-hair.

Wherefore, when the nourishment taken in at the mouth,
has once reached, and mixed itself with the blood, every
part of the body is in the way of being supplied with it.
And this introduces another grand topic, namely, the man-
ner in which the aliment gets into the blood; which isa
subject distinct from the preceding, and brings us to the
consideration of another entire system of vessels.

I. For this necessary part of the animal economy an
apparatus is provided, in a great measure, capable of being,
what anatomist call, demonstrated, that is, shown in the
dead body; and a line or course. of conveyance, which we
can pursue by our examinations.

First, The food descends by wide passages into the in-
testines, undergoing two great preparations on its way,
one, in the mouth by mastication and moisture, (can it be
doubted with what design the teeth were placed in the
toad to the stomach, or that there was choice in fixing them
in this situation?) The other by digestion in the stomach
itself, Of this last surprising dissolution I say nothing ;
because it is chemistry, and 1 am endeavouring to display

100 OF THE VESSELS °

mechanism. ‘The figure and position of the stomach, (I
speak all along with a reference to the human organ) are
calculated for detaining the food long enough for the action
of its digestive juice. (Pl. XVIII. fig. 1.) It has the shape
of the pouch of a bag-pipe ; lies across the body; and the
pylorus, or passage by which the food leaves it, is somewhat
higher in the body, than the cardia or orifice by which it
enters; so that it is by the contraction of the muscular
coat of the stomach, that the contents, after having under-
gone the application of the gastric menstruum, are gradually
pressed out. In dogs and cats, this action of the coats of
the stomach has been displayed to the eye. It is a slow
and gentle undulation, propagated. from one orifice of the
stomach to the other. For the same reason that I omitted,
for the present, offering any observation upon the digestive
fluid, I shall say nothing concerning the bile -or the pan-
creatic juice, further than to observe upon the mechanism,
viz. that from the glands in which those secretions are
elaborated, pipes are laid into the first of these intestines,
through which pipes the product of each gland flows into
that bowel, and is there mixed with the aliment, as soon
almost as it passes the stomach ; adding also as a remark;
how grievously this same bile offends the stomach itself, yet
cherishes the vessel that lies next to it.

Secondly, We have now the aliment in the intestines,
converted into pulp, and, though lately consisting of per-
haps ten different viands, reduced to nearly an uniform sub-
stance, and to a state fitted for yielding its‘essence, which
is called chyle, but which is milk, or more nearly resem-
bling milk than any other liquor with which it can be com-
pared. . For the straining off of this fluid from the digested
aliment in.the course of its long progress through the body,
myriads of capillary tubes, i.e. pipes as small as hairs, open
their orifices into the cavity of every part of the intestines.
(Pl. XIX.) These tubes, which are’so fine and slender as
not to be visible unless when distended with chyle, soon
unite into larger branches. ‘The pipes, formed by this
union, terminate in glands, from which other pipes of a still
larger diameter arising, carry the chyle, from all parts into
a common reservoir or receptacle. This receptacle is a
bag, large enough to hold about two table spoons full; and
frem this vessel a duct or main pipe proceeds, climbing up
the back part of the chest,:and then creeping along the
gullet till itreach theneck. Here it meets theriver. Here
it discharges itself into a large vein, which soon conveys

OF ANIMAL BODIRS. 101

the chyle, now flowing along with the old blood, to the
heart. This whole route can be exhibited to the eye.
Nothing is left to be supplied by imagination or conjec-
‘ture. Now, beside the subserviency of this whole. struc-
ture toa manifest and necessary purpose, we may remark,
two or three separate particulars in it, which show, not on-
ly the contrivance, butthe perfection of it. We may remark,
first, the length of the intestines, which, in the human
subject, is six times that of the body. Simply for a pas-
sage, these voluminous bowels, this prolixity of gut,’seems
in no wise necessary ; but, in order to allow time and space
for the successive extraction of the chyle from the digested
aliment, namely, that the chyle, which escapes the lacteals
of one part of the guts, may be taken up by those of some
other part, the length of the canal is of evident use and
conduciveness. Secondly, We must also remark their peristal-
tic motion; which is made up of contractions, following
one another like waves upon the surface of a fluid, and not
_ unlike what we observe in the body of an earthworm crawl-

ing along the ground; and which is effected by the joint

action of longitudinal and of spiral, or rather perhaps of a
' great number of separate semi-circular fibres. . This cu-
rious action pushes forward the grosser part of the aliment,
at the same time that the more subtile parts, which we call
chyle, are, by a series of gentle compression, squeezed in-
to the narrow orifices of the lacteal veins. Thirdly, It
was necessary that these tubes, which we denominate lac-
teals, or their mouths at least, should be made as narrow
as possible, in order to deny admission into the blood to
any particle, which is of size enough to make a lodgement
afterwards in the small arteries, and thereby to obstruct
‘the circulation: and it was also necessary that this extreme
tenuity should be compensated by multitude; for a large
quantity of chyle (in ordinary constitutions, not less, it has
been computed, than two or three quartsin a day) is, by
some means or other, to be passed through them. Accord-
ingly, we find the number of the lacteals exceeding all
powers of computation; and their pipes so fine and slen-
der, as not to be visible, unless filled, to the naked eye;
and their orifices, which open into the intestines, so small,
as not to be discernible even by the best microscope.
Fourthly, The main pipe which carries the chyle from the
reservoir to the blood, viz. the thoracic duct, being fixed in
an almost upright position, and wanting that advantage of

| K |

102 OF THE VESSELS

propulsion which the arteries possess, 1s furnished with a
succession of valves to check the ascending fluid, when
once it has passed them, from falling back. These valves
look upwards, so as to leave the ascent free, but to prevent
the return of the chyle, if, for want of sufficient force to
push it on, its weight should at any time cause it to de-
scend. Fifthly, The chyle enters the blood in an odd place,
but perhaps the most commodious place possible, viz. at a
large vein in the neck, so situated with respect to the cir-
culation, as speedily to bring the mixture to the heart.
And this seems to be a circumstance of great moment; for
had the chyle entered the blood at an artery, or ata dis-
tant vein, the fluid, composed of the old and the new ma-
terials, must have performed a considerable part of the cir-
culation, before it received that churning in the lungs, which
is, probably, necessary for the intimate and perfect union of
the old blood with the recent chyle. Who could have
dreamt of a communication between the cavity of the in-
testines and the left great vein of the neck? Who could
have suspected that this communication should be the me-
dium through which all nourishment is derived to the body ;
or this the place, where, by a side inlet, the important junc-
tion is formed between the blood and the material which
feedsiit?)

Il. We postponed the consideration of digestion, lest it
should interrupt us in tracing the course of the food to the
blood; but, in treating of the alimentary system, so prin-
cipal a part of the process cannot be omitted.

Of the gastric juice, the immediate agent by which that
change which food undergoes in our stomachs is effected,
we shall take our account, from the numerous, careful, and
varied experiments of the Abbe Spallanzani.

1. Itis nota simple diluent, but a real solvent. A
quarter of an ounce of beef had scarcely touched the sto-
mach of a crow, when the solution began.

2. It has not the nature of saliva; it has not the nature
of bile; but is distinct from both. By experiments out of
the body it appears, that neither of these secretions act up-
on alimentary substances, in the same manner as the gas-
tric juice acts.

3. Digestion is not putrefaction; for the digesting fluid
resists putrefaction most pertinaciously; may, not only
checks its further progress, but restores putrid substances.

4. It is not a fermentative process: for ‘the solution
begins at the surface, and proceeds towards the centre,

‘

OF ANIMAL BODIES. 103

contrary to the order in which fermentation acts and
spreads.
§. It is not the digestion of heat; for the cold maw of
a cod or sturgeon will dissolve the shells of crabs and lob-
sters, harder than the sides of the stomach which contains
them.

In a word, animal digestion carries about it the marks of
being a power and a process, completely sui generis; dis-
tinct from every other; at least from every chemical pro-
cess with which we are acquainted. And the most wonder-
ful thing about it is, its appropriation, its subserviency to
the particular economy of each animal. The gastric juice
of an owl, falcon, or kite, will not touch grain: no, not
even to finish the macerated and half digested pulse, which
is left in the crops of the sparrows that the bird devours.
In poultry, the trituration of the gizzard, and the gastric
juice, conspire in the work of digestion. The gastric juice
will not dissolve the grain whilst it is whole. Grains of
barley inclosed in tubes or spherules are not affected by it.
But if the same grain be by any means broken or ground,
the gastric juice immediately lays hold of it. Here then is
wanted, and here we find, acombination of mechanism and
chemistry. For the preparatory grinding, the gizzard lends.
itsmill. And, asall mill work should be strong, its structure |
is so, beyond that of any other muscle belonging to the
animal, ‘The internal coat also, or lining of the gizzard,
is, for the same purpose, hard and cartilaginous. But, for-
asmuch as this is not the sort of animal substance suited
for the reception of glands, or for secretion, the gastric
juice, in this family, is not supplied, as in membranous
stomachs, by the stomach itself, but by the gullet, in which
the feeding glands are placed, and from which it trickles
down into the stomach.

In sheep, the gastric fluid has no effect in digesting
_ plants unless they have been previously masticated. It only
produces a slight maceration; nearly such as common wa-
ter would produce, in a degree of heat somewhat exceed-
ing the medium temperature of the atmosphere. But, pro-
vided that the plant has been reduced to pieces by chewing,
the gastric juice then proceeds with it, first by softening its
substance ; next by destroying its natural consistency ; and
lastly, by dissolving it so completely, as not even to spare
the toughest and most stringy parts, such as the nerves of
the leaves, —

‘

104 OF THE VESSELS

So far our accurate’and indefatigable Abbe. Dr. Ste-

vens, of Edinburgh, in 1777, found by experiments tried
with perforated balls, that the gastric juice of the sheep and
the ox speedily dissolved vegetables, but made no impres-
sion upon beef, mutton, and other animal bodies. Dr. Hun-
ter discovered a property of this fluid, of a most curious
kind ; viz. that, in the stomachs of animals which feed up-
on flesh, irresistibly as this fluid acts upon animal substan-
ces, it is only upon the dead substance, that it operates at
all. The living fibre suffers no injury from lying in con-
tact with it. Worms and insects are found alive in the
stomachs of such animals. Thecoats of the human stomach
in a healthy state, are insensible to its presence; yet, in
cases of sudden death, (wherein the gastric juice, not having
been weakened by disease, retains its activity,) it has
been known to eat a hole through the bowel which contains
it.* How nice is this discrimination of action, yet how
necessary !

But to return to our hydraulics.

III. The gall ‘bladder is a very remarkable contrivance.
It is the reservoir of a canal. (Pl. XVIII. fig. 1,2.) It
does not form the channel itself, 1. e. the direct communi-
eation between the liver and the intestines, which is by an-

other passage, viz. the ductus hepaticus, continued, under:
the name of the ductus communis; but it lies adjacent to

this channel, joining it by a duct of its own, the ductus
cysticus; by which structure it is enabled, as occasions
may require, to add its contents to, and increase, the flow
of bile into the duodenum. And the position of the gall
bladder is such as to apply this structure to the best advan-
tage. In its natural situation it touches the exterior sur-
face of the stomach, and consequently is compressed by the
distension of that vessel: the effect of which compression
is, to force out from the bag, and send into the duodenum,
an extraordinary quantity of bile, to meet the extraordinary
demand which the repletion of the stomach by food is about
to occasion.t Cheselden describesf the gall bladder as seated
against the duodenum, and thereby liable to have its fluid
pressed out, by the passage of the aliment through that cav~
ity; which likewise will have the effect of causing it to be
received into the intestine, at a right time, and in a due
proportion. -

* Phil. Trans. vol. xii. p, 447. t Keill’s Anat. p. 64, . |
¢ Anat, p, 164,

OF ANIMAL BODIES, 105

There may be other purposes answered by this contri-

vance; and it is probable, that there are. ‘I'he contents of
the gall bladder are not exactly of the same kind as what

_ passes from the liver through the direct passage.* It is
possible that the gall may be changed, and, for some purpo-
ses, meliorated by keeping.

The entrance of the gall duct into the duodenum furnish--
es another observation. Whenever either smaller tubes
are inserted into larger tubes, or tubes into vessels and cavi-
ties, such receiving tubes, vessels, or cavities, being
subject to muscular constriction, we always find a con-
trivance to prevent regurgitation. In some cases,
valves are used ; in other cases, amongst which is that now
before us, a different expedient is resorted to: which may
be thus described. The gall duct enters the duodenum
obliquely: after it has pierced the first coat, it runs near
two fingers breadth between the coats, before it opens into
the cavity of the intestine.t The same contrivance is used
In another part, where there is exactly the same occasion
for it, viz. in the insertion of the ureters into the bladder.
These enter the bladder near its neck, running obliquely
for the space of an inch between its coats. It is, in
both cases, sufficiently evident, that this structure has a
necessary mechanical tendency to resist regurgitation; for
whatever force acts in such a direction as to urge the fluid
back into the orifices of the tubes, must, at the same time,
stretch the coats of the vessels, and thereby compress that
part of the tube, which is included between them.

UIV. Amongst the vessels of the human body, the pipe
which conveys the saliva from the place where it is made,
to the place where it is wanted, deserves to be reckoned
amongst the most intelligible pieces of mechanism with
which we are acquainted. (PI. XX. fig. 1,2.) The saliva,
we all know, is used in the mouth; but much of it is
manufactured on the outside of the cheek, by the parotid
gland, which lies between the ear and the angle of the low-
er jaw. In order to carry the secreted juice ‘to its destina-
tion, there is laid from the gland on the outside, a pipe,
about the thickness of a wheat straw, and about ‘three fin-
gers breadth in length; which, after riding over the masse-
ter muscle, bores for itself a hole through the very middle

* Keill’s from Malpighius, p. 62, tKeill’s Anat, p. 62
t Ches. Anat. p. 260.

106 OF THE VESSELS

of the cheek ; enters by that hole, which is a complete per-
foration of the buccinator muscle, into the mouth ; and there
discharges its fluid very copiously. .
V. Another exquisite structure, differing indeed from
the four preceding instances, in that it does not relate to
the conveyance of fluids, but still belonging, like these, to
the class of pipes or conduits of the body, is seen in the
larynz. (PI. XXI. fig. 1,2.) We all know, that there go
down the throat two pipes, one leading to the stomach, the
other to the lungs; the one being the passage for the food.
the other for the breath and voice: we know also that both
these passages open into the bottom of the mouth; the gullet,
necessarily, for the conveyance of the food; and the wind-
pipe, for the speech and the modulation of sound, not much
less so: therefore, the difficulty was, the passages being so
contiguous, to prevent the food, especially the liquids, which
we swallow into the stomach, from entering the wind-pipe,
i. e. the road to the lungs; the consequence of which er-
ror, when it does happen, is perceived by the convulsive
throes that are instantly produced. This business, which
is very nice, is managed in this manner. The gullet (the
passage for food) opens into the mouth like the cone or
upper part of a funnel, the capacity of which forms indeed
the bottom of the mouth. Into the side of this funnel, at
the part which lies the lowest, enters the wind-pipe, by a
chink or slit, with a lid \or flap, like a little tongue, accu-
rately fitted to the orifice. The solids or liquids which we
swallow, pass over this lid or flap, as they descend by the
funnel into the gullet. Both the weight of the food, and
the action of the muscles concerned in swallowing, con-
tribute to keep the lid close down upon the aperture, whilst
any thing is passing ; whereas, by means of its natural car-
tilaginous spring, it raises itself a little, as soon as the food.
is passed, thereby allowing a free inlet and outlet for the
respiration of air by the lungs. And we may here remark
the almost complete success of the expedient, viz. how sel-
dom it fails of its purpose, compared with the number of in-
stances in which it fulfils it. Reflect, how frequently we
swallow, how constantly we breathe. In a city feast, for
example, what deglutition, what anhelation! yet does this
little cartilage, the epiglottis, so effectually interpose its of-
fice, so securely guard the entrance of the wind-pipe, that,
whilst morsel after morsel, draught after draught, are cours-
ing one another over it, an accident of a crumb or a drop
slipping into this passage, (which nevertheless must be

OF ANIMAL BODIES. 107

opened for the breath every second of time,) excites, in the
whole company, not only alarm by its danger, but surprise
by its novelty. Not two guests are choked in a century.*

There is no room for pretending, that the action of the
parts may have gradually formed the epiglottis: I do not
mean in the same individual, but in a succession of genera-
tions. Not only the action of the parts, has no such ten-
dency, but the animal could not live, nor consequently the |
parts act, either without it, or with it, in a half formed state.
The species was not to wait for the gradual formation or
expansion of a part, which was, from the first, necessary to
the life of the individual.

Not only is the larynx curious, but the whole wind-pipe
possesses a structure, adapted to its peculiar office. It is
made up, (as any one may perceive by putting his fingers
to his throat)—of stout cartilaginous ringlets, placed at
small and equal distances from one another. Now this is
not the case with any other of the numerous conduits of
the body. The use of these cartilages is to keep the pas-
sage for the air constantly open; which they do mechanic-
ally. A pipe with soft membranous coats, liable to col-
Japse and close when empty, would not have answered here ;
although this be the general vascular structure, and a
structure which serves very well for those tubes; which are
kept in a state of perpetual distension by the fluid they in-
close, or which afford a passage to solid and protruding
substances. |

Nevertheless, (which is another particularity well worthy
of notice,) these rings are not complete, that is, are not car-
tilaginous and stiff all round; but their hinder part, which
is contiguous to the gullet, is membranous and soft, easily
yielding to the distensions of that organ occasioned by the
descent of solid food. ‘The same rings are also bevelled off

*The same general structure of these parts is found in all other
animals of the same class with mankind, but there is a singular varia-
tion from itin the elephant, by which, if possible, the influence of a de-
riving intelligence is more wonderfully exemplified than in the ordi-
nary structure. It is well known that this animal drinks by sucking
up the liquid into its trunk, and then after thursting the end of it into
its mouth, blowing the liquid into its throat. In this case, the act of

blowing through the trunk and swallowing, must be both going on at the
same instant, and not in successive instants as in man. The liquid
must be passing down the throat, while the epiglottis is open and the
air issuing. In order to provide againstinterference, a channel is pro-
vided on each side of the epiglottis, along which the drink passes
quietly on, without running into the wind pipe. Ed.

108 OF THE VESSELS

2t the upper and lower edges, the better to close upon one
another, when the trachea is compressed or shortened.

The constitution of the trachea may suggest likewise an-
other reflection. The membrane which lines its inside, is,
perhaps, the most sensible, irritable, membrane of the body.
It rejects the touch of a crumb of bread, or a drop of water,
with a spasm which convulses the whole frame; yet, left to
itself, and its proper office, the intromission of air alone,
nothing can beso quiet. It does not even make itself felt ;
a man does not know that he has a trachea. This capaci-
ty of perceiving with such acuteness; this impatience of
offence, yet perfect rest and ease when let alone ; are pro-
perties, one would have thought, not likely to reside in the
same subject. It is to the junction, however, of these al-
most inconsistent qualities, in this as well as in some other
delicate parts of the body, that we owe our safety and our
comfort; our safety to their sensibility, our comfort to their
repose.

The larynx, or rather the whole wind-pipe taken together,
(for the larynx is only the upper part of the wind-pipe,) be-
sides its other uses, is also a musical instrument, that is to
say, it is mechanism expressly adapted to the modulation of »
sound ; for it has been found upon trial, that, by relaxing
or tightening the tendinous bands at the extremity of the
wind-pipe, and blowing in at the other end, all the cries
and notes might be produced of which the living animal
was capable. It can be sounded, just as a pipe or flute is
sounded. Birds, says Bonnet, have, at the lower end of
the wind-pipe, a conformation like the reed of a hautboy,
for the modulation of their notes. A tuneful bird is a ven-_
triloquist. The seat of the song isin the breast. (PI.
XXI. fig. 3.)

The use of the lungs in the system has been said to be
obscure; one use however is plain, though, in some sense,
external to the system, and that is, the formation, in con-
junction with the larynx, of voice and speech. ‘They are, to
animal utterance, what the bellows are to the organ.

For the sake of method, we have considered animal bo-
dies under three divisions, their bones, their muscles, and
their vessels; and we have stated our observations upon
these parts separately. But this isto diminish the strength
of the argument. ‘The wisdom of the Creator is seen, not

OF’ ANIMAL BODIES. 109

‘
ld

in their separate but their collective action; in their mutual
subserviency and dependence : in their contributing togeth-
er to one effect, and oneuse. It has been said, that a man
cannot lift his hand to his head without finding enough to
convince him of the existence of a God. And. it is well
said ; for he has only to reflect, familiar as this action is,
and simple as it seems to be, how many things are requisite
for the performing of it: how many things which we un-
derstand, to say nothing of many more, probably, which we
do not; viz. first, a long, hard, strong cylinder, in order
to give to the arm its firmness and tension; but which,
being rigid, and im its substance, inflexible, can only turn
upon joints ; secondly, therefore, joints for this purpose, one
at the shoulder to raise the arm, another at the elbow to
bend it; these joints continually fed with a soft mucilage
to make the parts slip easily upon one another, and held
together by strong braces to keep them in their position :
then, thirdly, strings and wires, i. e. muscles and tendons,
artificially inserted for the purpose of drawing the bones in
the directions in which the joints allow them to move.
Hitherto we seem to understand the mechanism pretty well ;
and understanding this, we possess enough for our conclu-
sion; nevertheless, we have hitherto only a machine stand-
ing still, a dead organization, an apparatus. ‘Fo put the
system in a state of activity (to set it at work) a further,
provision is necessary, viz. a communication with the brain
by means of nerves. We know the existence of this com-
munication, because we can see the communicating threads,
and can trace them to the brain; its necessity we also
know, because, if the thread be cut, if the communication
be intercepted, the muscle becomes paralytic ; but beyond
this we know little; the organization being too minute and
subtile for our inspection,

To what has been enumerated, as officiating in the single
act of a man’s raising his hand to his head, must be added,
likewise,’ all that is necessary, and all that contributes, to the
growth, nourishment, and sustentation of the limb, the re-
pair of its waste, the preservation of its health; such as the
circulation of the blood through every part of it; its lym-
phatics, exhalants, absorbents;, its excretions and integu-
ments. All these share in the result; join in the effect;
and how all these, or any of them come together without a
designing, disposing intelligence, it is impossible to con+
OLIVE, —

110 OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE
CHAP: XI. /
OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE REGARDED AS A MASS.

CoNTEMPLATING an animal body in its collective ca-
pacity, we cannot forget to notice, what a number of in-
struments are brought together, and often within how small
a compass. In a Canary bird, for instance, and in the
ounce of matter which composes its body, (but which seems
to be all employed,) we have instruments for eating, for
digesting, for nourishment, for breathing, for generation,
for running, for flying, for seeing, for hearing, for smelling ;
each appropriate,each entirely different from all the rest.

The human, or indeed the animal frame, considered as
a mass or assemblage, exhibits in its composition three
properties, which have long struck my mind, as indubita-
ble evidences, not only of design, but of a great deal of at-
tention and accuracy in prosecuting the design.

I. The first is, the exact correspondency of the two
sides of the same animal; the right hand answering to the
left, leg to leg, eye or eye, one side of the countenance to
the other ; and with a precision, to imitate which in any
tolerable degree, forms one of the difficulties of statuary, and
requires, on the part of the -artist;a constant attention to
this property of his work, distinct from every other.

- Utisthe most difficult thing that can be to get a wig
made even; yet how seldom is the face awry? And what
care is taken that it should not be so, the anatomy of its
bones demonstrates. ‘The upper part of the face is com-
posed of thirteen bones, six on each side, answering each
to each, and the thirteenth, without a fellow, in the mid-
dle; the lower part of the face is in like manner composed
of six bones, three on each side, respectively corresponding,
and the lower jaw in the centre. In building an arch, could
more be done in order to make the curve true? i. e. the
parts equidistant from the middle, alike in figure and po-
sition.

The exact resemblance of the eyes, considering how .
compound this organ is in its structure, how various and
how delicate are the shades of colour with which its iris is
tinged, how differently, as to effect upon appearance, the
eye may be mounted in its socket, and how differently in
different heads eyes actually are set, is a property of ani-
mal bodies much to be admired. Often thousand eyes, I
do not know that it would be possible to match one, except

REGARDED AS A MASS. | 111

with its own fellow ; or to distribute them into suitable pairs
by any other selection than that which obtains.

This regularity of the animal structure is rendered more
remarkable by the three following considerations. First,
the limbs, separately taken, have not this correlation of
parts; but the contrary of it. A knife drawn down the
chine cuts the human body into two parts, externally equal
and alike; you cannot draw a straight line which will di-
vide a hand, a foot, the leg, the thigh, the cheek, the eye,
the ear, into two parts equal andalike. Those parts which |
are placed upon the middle or partition line of the body, or
which traverse that line, as the nose, the tongue, the lips,
may be so divided, or, more properly speaking, are double
organs ; but other parts cannot. This shows that the cor-
respondency which we have been describing, does not
arise by any necessity in the nature of the subject; for, if.
necessary, it would be universal, whereas it is observed only
in the system or assemblage; it is not true of the separate
parts ; that is to say, it is found where it conduces to beau-
ty or utility ; it is not found, where it would subsist at the
expense of both. The two wings of a bird always corres-
pond; the two sides of a feather frequently donot. In cen-
tipedes, millepedes, and the whole tribe of insects, no two
legs on the same side are alike; yet there is the most exact
parity between the legs opposite to one another.

-2, The next circumstance to be remarked, is, that, whilst
the cavities of the body are so configurated, as ezternally,
to exhibit the most exact correspondency of the opposite
sides, the contents of these cavities have no such corres-
pondency. A line drawn down the middle of the breast
divides the thorax into two sides exactly similar; yet these
two sides enclose very different contents. ‘The heart lies
on the left side ; a lobe of the lungs on the right; balancing
each other, neither in size nor shape. ‘The same thing
holds of the abdomen. ‘The liver lies on the right side,
without any similar viscus opposed to it on the left. The
spleen indeed is situated over against the liver; but agree-
ing with the liver, neither in bulk nor form. ‘There is no
equipollency between these. The stomach isa vessel, both
irregular in its shape, and oblique in its position. The fold-
ings and doublings of the intestines do not present a parity
of sides. Yet that symmetry which depends upon the cor-
relation of the sides, is externally preserved throughout the
whole trunk; and is the more remarkable in the lower parts of
it, as the integuiaents are soft; and the shape, consequent-

112 OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE

ly, is not, as the thorax is by its ribs, reduced by natural
stays. It is evident, therefore, that the external proportion
does not arise from any equality i in the shape or pressure
of the internal contents. What is it indeed but a correc-
tion of inequalities? an adjustment, by mutual compensa-
tion of anomalous forms into a regular congeries? the ef-
fect, in a word, of artful, and, if we might be permitted so
to speak, of studied collocation ?

3. Similar also to this, is the third observation; that,
an, internal inequality in the feeding vessels is so managed,
as to produce no inequality in parts which were intended
to correspond. ‘The right arm answers accurately to the
left, both im size and shape; but the arterial branches,
which supply the two arms, do not go off from their trunk,
in a pair, in the same manner, at the same place, or at the
same angle. Under which want of similitude, it is very
difficult to conceive how the same quantity of blood should
be pushed through each artery; yet the result is right:
the two limbs, which are nourished by them, percéive
no difference of supply, no effects of excess or deficien-
cy. ‘

Concerning the difference of manner, in which the sub-
clavian and carotid arteries, upon the different sides of
the body, separate themselves from the aorta, Chesselden
seems to have thought, that the advantage which the left
gain by going off at a much acuter angle than the right,
is made up to the right by their going off together in one
branch.* It is very possible that this may be the compen-
sating contrivance: and, if it be so, how curious, how hy-
drostatical !

II. Another perfection of the animal mass is the pack-
age. Iknow nothing which is so surprising. Examine
the contents of the trunk of any large animal. Take no-
tice how soft, how tender, how intricate they are; how
constantly in action, how necessary to life. Reflect upon
the danger of any injury to their substance, any derange-
ment of their position, any obstruction to their office. Ob-
serve the heart pumping at the centre, at the rate of eighty -
strokes in a minute : one set of pipes carrying the stream
away from it, another set, bringing, in its course, the fluid
back to it again: the lungs performing their elaborate of-
fice, viz. distending and contracting their many thousand
vesicles, by a reciprocation which cannot cease for a min-

*Ches. Anat. p. 184. ed. 7

*

REGARDED AS A MASS, 113

ute: the stomach exercising its powerfui chemistry: the
bowels silently propelling the changed aliment ; collecting
from it, as it proceeds, and transmitting to the blood an
incessant ‘supply of prepared and assimilated nourishment ;

that blood pursuing its course; the liver, the kidneys, the
pancreas, the parotid, with many other known and dis-
tinguishable glands, drawing off from it, all the while,
their proper secretions. ‘These several operations, togeth-
er with others more subtile but less capable of being inves-
tigated, are going on within us, at one and the same time.
Think of this; and then observe how the body itself, the
case which holds this machinery, is rolled, and jolted, and
tossed about, the mechanism remaining unhurt, and with very
little molestation even of its nicest motions. Observe a rope
dancer, a tumbler, or a monkey ; the sudden inversions and
contortions which the internal parts sustain by the postures
into which their bodies are thrown; or rather observe the
shocks, which these parts, even in ordinary subjects, some-
times receive from falls and bruises, or by abrupt jerks and
twists, without sensible, or with soon recovered damage.
Observe this, and then reflect how firmly every part must
be secured, how carefully surrounded, how well tied down
and packed together.

This property of animal bodies has never, I think, been
considered under a distinct head, or so fully as it deserves.
I may be allowed, therefore, in order to verify my observa-
tion concerning it, to set forth a short anatomical detail,
though it oblige me to use more technical language, than I
should wish to introduce into a work of this kind.

1, The heart (such care is taken of the centre of life)
is placed between two soft lobes of the lungs: is tzed to the
mediastinum and to the pericardium, which pericardium is
not only itself an exceedingly strong membrane, but adheres
fmly to the duplicature of the mediastinum, and, by its
point, to the middle tendon of the diaphragm. ‘The heart
is also sustained in its. place by the great blood-vessels which
issue from it.*

2. The lungs are tied to the sternum by the mediasti-
num, before ; to the vertebre by the pleura, behind. It
seems indeed to be the very use of the mediastinum (which
is a membrane that goes straight through the middle of the
_ thorax, from the breast to the back) to keep the contents

.* Keill’s Anat. p. 107, ed. 3.
L

114 OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE

of the thorax in their places; in particular to hinder. one
lobe of the lungs from incommoding another, or the parts
of the lungs from pressing upon each other when we lie on
one side.”

3. The hver is fastened in the body by two ligaments ;
the first, which is large and strong, comes from the cover-
ing of the diaphragm, and penetrates the substance of the
liver ;. the second is the umbilical vein, which, after birth,
degenerates into a ligament. ‘The first, which is the prin-
cipal, fixes the liver in its situation, whilst the body holds
an erect posture; the second prevents it from pressing up-
on the diaphragm when we lie down; and both together
sling or suspend the liver when we lie upon our backs, so
that it may not compress or obstruct the ascending vena
cava,t to which belongs the important office-of returning
the blood from the body to the heart.

4, The bladder is tied to the navel by the urachus trans-
formed into a ligament; thus what was a passage for the
urine to the foetus, becomes after birth, a support or stay
to the bladder. ‘The peritoneum also keeps the-viscera
from confounding themselves with, or pressing irregularly
upon the bladder ; for the kidneys and bladder are contain-
ed in a distinct duplicature of that membrane, being there-
by partitioned off from the other contents of the abdomen.

5. The kidneys are lodged in a bed of fat.

6. The pancreas or sweetbread is strongly tied to the
peritoneum, which is the great wrapping sheet, that en-
closes all the bowels contained in the lower belly.¢

7. The spleen also is confined to its place by an adhe-
sion to the peritoneum and diaphragm, and by a connexion
with the omentum.{ It is possible, in my opinion, that
the spleen may be merely a stuffing, a soft cushion, to fill
up a vacancy or hollow, which, unless occupied, would
leave the package loose and unsteady; for supposing that
it answers no other purpose than this, it must be vascular,
and admit of a circulation through it, in order to be kept
alive, or be a part of a living body.

8. ‘The omentum, epiploon, or caul, is an apron, tuck-
ed up, or doubling upon itself, at its lowest part. The up-
per edge is tied to the bottom of the stomach, to the spleen,
as hath already been observed, and to part of the duode-
num, The reflected edge also, after forming a doubling,

* Keill’s Anat. p.119.ed.3. Ches. Anat. p. 162.
( £Keill’s Anat. p. 57. § Ches. Anat. p. 167.

REGARDED AS A MASS. 115

comes up behind the front flap, and is tied to the colon and
adjoining viscera.*

9. The septa of the brain, probably, prevent one part
of that organ from pressing with too great a weight upon
another part. The processes of the dura mater divide the
cavity of the scull, like so many inner partition walls; and
thereby confine each hemisphere and lobe of the brain to
the chamber which is assigned to it, without its being liable
to rest upon, or intermix with, the neighbouring parts. The
great art and caution of packing i is to prevent one thing
hurting another. This, in the head, the chest, and the
abdomen, of an animal body, is, amongst other. methods,
provided for, by membranous partitions and wrappings,
which keep the parts separate.

The above may serve as a short account of the manner
in which the principal viscera are sustained in their places.
But, of the provisions for this purpose, by far, in my opin-
ion, the most curious, and where also such a provision was
most wanted, is in the guts. It is pretty evident, that a
long narrow tube (in man about five times the length of
the body) laid from side to side in folds upon one another,
winding in oblique and circuitous directions, composed al-
so of a soft and yielding substance, must, without some ex-
traordinary precaution for its safety, be continually displac-
ed by the various, sudden, and abrupt motions of the body
which contains it. I should expect, that, if not bruised or
wounded by every fall, or leap, or twist, it would be entan-
gled, or be involved with itself: or, at the least, slipped and
shaken out of the order in which it is disposed, and which
order is necessary to be preserved for the carrying on of
the important functions, which it has to execute in the ani-
mal economy. Let us see therefore how a danger so seri-
ous, and yet so natural to the length, narrowness, and tubu-
lar form of the part, is provided against, The expedient
is admirable, and it is this. The intestinal canal, through-
out its whole process, is knit to the edge of a broad fat
membrane, called the mesentery. It forms the margin of
this mesentery, being stitched and fastened to it like the
edging of a ruffle; being four times as long as the mesen-
tery itself, it is, what a sempstress would call, ‘‘ gathered
on” to it. This is the nature of the connexion of the gut
with the mesentery: and being thus joined to, or rather
made a part of the mesentery, it is folded and wrapped up

* Ches, Anat, p, 149,

-

116 OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE

together with it. Now the mesentery, having a considera~
ble dimension in breadth, being in its substance withal,
both thick and suety, is capable of a close and safe folding,
in comparison of what the intestinal tube would admit of,
if it had remained loose. ‘The mesentery likewise not only
keeps the intestinal canal in its proper place and position
under all the turns and windings of its course, but sustains
the numberless small vessels, the arteries, the veins, the
lympheducts, and, above all, the lacteals, which lead from
or to almost every point of its coats and cavity. This
membrane, which appears to be the great support and se-
curity of the alimentary apparatus, is itself strongly tied to
the first three vertebre of the loins.*

III. A third general property of animal forms is beauty.
I do not mean relative beauty, or that of one individual
above another of the same species, or of one species com-
pared with another species; but I mean generally, the pro-
vision which is made in the body of almost every animal,
to adapt its appearance to the perception of the animals
with which it converses. In our own species, for example,
only consider what the parts and materials are, of which
the fairest body is composed; and no further observation
will be necessary to show, how well these things are wrap-
ped up so as to form a mass, which shall be capable of
symmetry in its proportion, and of beauty in its aspect ; how
the bones are covered, the bowels concealed, the rough-
nesses of the muscles smoothed and softened; and how:
over the whole is drawn an integument which converts the
disgusting materials of a dissecting-room into an object of
attraction to the sight, or one, upon which it rests, at least,
with ease and satisfaction. Much of this effect is to be at-
tributed to the intervention of the cellular or adipose mem-
brane, which lies immediately under the skin; is a kind
of lining to it; is moist, soft, slippery, and compressible ;
every where filling up the interstices of the muscles, and
forming <nereby their roundness and flowing line, as well
as the evenness and polish of the whole surface.

All which seems to be a strong indication of design, and

' of a design studiously directed to this purpose. And it be-

ing once allowed, that such a purpose existed with respect
to any of the productions of nature, we may refer, with a
considerable degree of probability, other particulars to the
same intention; such as the tints of flowers, the plumage

* Keill’s Anat. p. 45. -

' REGARDED AS A MASS. 117

of birds, the furs of beasts, the bright scales of fishes, the
painted wings of butterflies and beetles, the rich colours and
spotted lustre of many tribes of insects.

There are parts also of animals ornamental, and the
properties by which they are so, not subservient, that we
know of, to any other purpose. ‘I'he zrides of most ani-
Mals are very beautiful, without conducing at all, by their
beauty, to the perfection of vision; and nature’could inno
part have employed her pencil to so much advantage, be-
cause no part presents itself so conspicuously to the ob-
server, Or communicates so great an effect to the whole as-
pect.

In plants, especially in the flowers of plants, the princi-
ple of beauty holds a still more considerable place in their
composition; is still more confessed than in animals. Why,
for one instance out of a thousand, does the corolla of
the tulip when advanced to its size and maturity, change
its-colour? ‘The purposes, so far as we can see, of vegeta-
ble nutrition, might have been carried on as well by con-
tinuing green. Or, if this could not be, consistently with
the progress of vegetable life, why break into such a varie-
ty of colours? This is no proper effect of age, or of declen-
sion in the ascent of the sap; for that, like the autumnal
tints, would have produced one colour in one leaf, with
marks of fading and withering. It seems a lame account
to call it, as it has been called, a disease of the plant. Is
it not more probable, that this property, which is indepen-
dent, as it should seem, of the wants and utilities of the
plant, was calculated for beauty, intended for display ?

A ground, I know, of objection, has been taken against
this whole topic of argument, namely, that there is no 9 such
thing as beauty at all: in other words, that whatever is
useful and familiar comes of course to be thought beauti-
ful; and that things appear to be so, only by their alliance
with these qualities. Our idea of beauty i is capable of be-
ing so modified by habit, by fashion, by the experience of
advantage or pleasure, and by associations arising out of
that experience, that a question has been made whether it
be not altogether generated by these causes, or would have
any proper existence without them. It seems, however a
carrying of the conclusion too far, to deny the existence of
the principle, viz. a native capacity of perceiving beauty,
on account of the influence, or the varieties proceeding
from that influence, to which it is subject; seeing that prin-

2

\

118 OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE

ciples the most acknowledged, are liable to be affected in
the same manner. I should rather argue thus; the ques-
tion respects objects of sight. Now every other sense hath
its distinction of agreeable and disagreeable. Some tastes
offend the palate, others gratify it. In brutes and insects,
this distinction is stronger, and more regular, than in man.
Every horse, ox, sheep, swine, when at liberty to choose,
and when in a natural state, that is, when not vitiated by
habits forced upon it, eats and rejects the same plants.
Many insects which feed upon particular plants, will rather
die than change their appropriate leaf. All this looks like
a determination in the sense itself to particular tastes. In |
like manner, smells affect the nose with sensations pleasur-
able or disgusting. Some sounds, or compositions of sound,
delight the ear, others torture it. Habit can do much in
all these cases, (and it is well for us that it can; for it is
this power which reconciles us to many necessities,) but has
the distinction, in the mean time, of agreeable and disa-
greeable, no foundation in the sense itself? What is true of
the other senses, is most probably true of the eye, (the anal-
ogy is irresistible) viz. that there belongs to it an original
constitution, fitted to receive pleasure from some impres-
sions, and pain from others.

I do not however know that the argument which al-
leges beauty as a final cause, rests upon this concession.
We possess a sense of beauty, however we come by it. It
in fact exists. Things are not indifferent to this sense;
all objects do not suit it; many, which we see, are agree-
able to it, many others disagreeable. It is certainly not
the effect of habit upon the particular object, because the
most agreeable objects are often the most rare; many,
which are very common, continue to be offensive. If they
be made supportable by habit, it is all which habit can do;
they never become agreeable. If this sense, therefore, be
acquired, it is a result; the produce of numerous and com-
plicated actions of external objects upon the senses, and of
the mind upon its sensations. With this result there
must be a certain congruity to enable any particular ob-
ject to please; and that congruity, we contend, is con-
sulted in the aspect which is given to animal and vegetable
bodies.

IV. The skin and covering of animals is that upon
which their appearance chiefly depends, and.it is that part
which, perhaps, in all animals is most decorated ; and most
free from impurities. But were beauty, or agreeableness

REGARDED AS A MASS. 119

of aspect, entirely out of the question, there is. another
purpose answered by this integument, and by the colloca-
tion of the parts of the body beneath it, which is of still
greater importance ; and that purpose is concealment.
Were it possible to view through the skin the mechanism
of our bodies, the sight would frighten us out of our wits.
“Durst we make a single movement, ” asks a lively French
writer, ‘‘ or stir a step from the place we were in, if we saw
our blood circulating, the tendons pulling, the lungs blow-
ing, the humours filtrating, and all the incomprehensible
assemblage of fibres, tubes, pumps, valves, currents, piv-
ots, which sustain an existence, at once so frail and so pre-
sumptuous Uy

V. Of animal bodies, considered as masses, there is
another property, more curious than it is generally thought
to be; which is the faculty of standing; and it is more
remarkable in two-legged animals than in quadrupeds, and
most of all, as being the tallest, and resting upon the small-
est base, in man.* ‘There is more, I think, in the matter,
than we are aware of. he statue of a man, placed loose
upon its pedestal, would not be secure of standing half an
hour. You are obliged to fix its feet to the block by bolts
and solder, or the first shake, the first gust of wind, is sure
to throw it down. Yet this statue shall express all the
mechanical proportions of a living model. It is not there-
fore the mere figure, or merely placing the centre of grav-
ity within the base, that is sufficient. Hither the law of
gravitation is suspended in favour of living substances, or
something more is done for them, in order to enable them
to uphold their posture. There is no reason whatever to
doubt, but that their parts descend by gravitation in the
same manner as those of dead matter. The gift there-
fore appears to me to consist, in a faculty of perpetually
shifting the centre of gravity, by a set of obscure indeed,
but of quick, balancing actions, so as to keep the line
of direction, which is a line drawn from that centre to the

* Anatomy Leising the mode in which the weight of the body is
transmitted to the feet; the muscles which prevent the head from fall-
ing forward in standing, have their fixed point in the neck; those
which perform the same office with regard to the vertebral column,
have theirs inthe pelvis; those which preserve the pelvis in equi-
librium are attached to the thighs, or to the bones of the legs; those
which prevent the thighs from falling backward are inserted into
the tibia; and lastly, those that preserve the tibia in their verti-

. eal position have their fixed point in the feet; these preserve us firm in
a standing position. Paxton,

4

120 — OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE |
ground, within its prescribed limits. Of these actions it
may be observed, first, that they in part constitute what we
call strength. The dead body drops down. The mere
adjustment, therefore, of weight and pressure, which may
be the same the moment after death as the moment before,
does not support the column. In cases also of extreme
weakness the patient cannot stand upright. Secondly ;
that these actions are only ina small degree voluntary. A —
man is seldom conscious of his voluntary powers in keep-
ing himself upon his legs. A child learning to walk is the
greatest posture-master in the world ; but art, if it may be
so called, sinks into habit; and he is soon able to poise
himself in a great variety of attitudes without being sen-
sible either of caution or effort. But still there must be
an aptitude of parts upon which habit can thus attach; a
previous capacity of motion which the animal.is thus taught
to exercise, and the facility with which this exercise
is acquired, forms one object of our admiration. What
parts are principally employed, or in what manner each
contributes its office is, as hath already been confessed,
difficult to explain. Perhaps the obscure motion of the
bones of the feet may have their share in this effect.
They are put in action by every slip or vacillation of the
body, and seem to assist in restoring its balance. Certain
it is, that this circumstance in the structure of the foot,
viz. its being composed of many small bones, applied to,
and articulating with one another, by diversely shaped sur-
faces, instead of being made of one piece, like the last of
a shoe, is very remarkable.* I suppose also that it would
be difficult to stand firm upon stilts or wooden legs, though
their base exactly imitated the figure and dimensions
of the sole of the foot. The alternation of the joints,

* There is no part of the human frame which is more wonderfully con-
structed than the foot. It has the requisite strength to support the weight
of the body, and often an additional burden; flexibility, that it may be
adapted to the inequalities of the surface on which we tread ; and elas-
ticity, to assist in walking, running, and springing from the ground.
This advantage we possess from the number of joints, the arch of the
foot being composed of twenty-six bones. These bones have a con-
siderable play on each other; and as each articulating surface is cover-
ed with cartilage, the essential property of which is elasticity, the
jarring is thus prevented which would result from a contact of the
bones.

“The first question which naturally arises, is, Why there should be
so many bones? The answer is—In order that there may be so many
joints; for the structure of a joint not only permits motion, but bestows
elasticity.” Paxton.

REGARDED -AS A MASS. 121

the knee joint bending backward, the hip joint forward ;
the flexibility, in every direction, of the spine, especially
in the loins and neck, appear to be of great moment in
preserving the equilibrium of the body. With respect to this
last circumstance it is observable, that the vertebre are so
confined by ligaments as to allow no more slipping upon their
bases, than what is just sufficient to break the shock which
any violent motion may occasion tothe bedy. A certain
degree also of tension of the sinews appears to be essential
to an erect posture; for it is by the loss of this, that the
dead or paralytic body drops down. The whole is a won-
derful result of combined powers, and of very complicated
operations.

We have said that this property is the most worthy of
observation in the human body: but a bird, resting upon -
its perch, or hopping upon a spray, affords no mean speci-
men of the same faculty. A chicken runs off as soon as it -
is hatched from the egg; yet a chicken, considered geo-
metrically, and with relation to its centre of gravity, its
line of direction, and its equilibrium, is a very irregular
solid. %s this gift, therefore, or instruction? May it not
be said to be with great attention, that nature hath balanc-
ed the body upon its pivots ?

I observe also in the same bird a piece of useful me-
chanism ofthis kind. In the trussing of a fowl, upon bend-
ing the legs and thighs up towards the body, the cook finds
that the claws close of their own accord. Now let it be
remembered, that this is the position of the limbs, in which
the bird rests upon it perch. And in this position it sleeps
in safety ; for the claws do their office in keeping hold of
the support, not by any exertion of voluntary power, which
sleep might suspend, but by the traction of the tendons, in
consequence of the attitude which the legs and thighs take
by the bird sitting down, and to which the mere weight of
the body gives the force that is necessary.

VI. Regarding the human body as a mass; regarding
the general conformations which obtain in it; regarding,
also, particular parts in respect to those conformations; we
shall be led to observe what I call ‘‘ interrupted analogies.”
The following are examples of what I mean by these terms :
-and I do not know how such critical deviations can, by
any possible hypothesis, be accounted for, without design.

1. All the bones of the body are covered with a peri-
osteum, except the teeth; where it ceases, and an enamel
of ivory, which saws and files will hardly touch, comes into.

122 OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE, &c.

its place. Noone can doubt of the use and propriety of
this difference ; of the'“ analogy” being thus “ interrupted ;”
of the rule, which belongs to the conformation of the bones,
stopping where it does stop; for, had so exquisitely sensi-
ble a membrane as the periosteum, invested the teeth, as it
invests every other bone of the body, their action, necessa-
ry exposure, and irritation, would have subjected the ani-
mal to continual pain. General as it is, it was not the sort
of integument which suited the teeth. What they stood in
need of, was a strong, hard, insensible, defensive coat ; and
exactly such a covering is given to them, in the ivory en- -
amel which adheres to their surface.

2. The scarf-skin, which clothes all the rest of the body,
gives way, at the extremities of the toes and fingers, to nazls.
A man has only to look at his hand, to observe with what
nicety and precision, that covering, which extends over
every other part, is here superseded by a different sub-
stance, and a different texture. Now, if either the rule
had been necessary, or the deviation from it accidental,
this effect would not be seen. When I speak of the rule
being necessary, I mean the formation of the skin upon the
surface being produced by a set of causes constituted with-
out design, and acting, as all ignorant causes must act, by a
general operation. Were this the case, no account could
be given of the operation being suspended at the finger’s
ends, or on the back part of the fingers, and not on the
fore part. On the other hand; if the deviation were acci-
dental, an error, an anomalism; were it any thing else than
settled by intention; we should meet with nails upon other
parts of the body. ‘They would be scattered over the sur-
face, like warts or pimples.

3. Alkthe great cavities of the body are enclosed by
membranes except the skull. Why should not the brain be
content with the same covering as that which serves for the
other principal organs of the body? The heart, the lungs,
the liver, the stomach, the bowels, have all soft integuments,
and nothing else. The muscular coats are all soft and
membranous. I can see a reason for this distinction in the |
final cause, but in no other. ‘The importance of the brain
to life, (which experience proves to be immediate,) and the
extreme tenderness of its substance, make a solid case
more necessary for it, than for any other part; and such a
case the hardness of the skull supplies. When the small-
est portion of this natural casquet is lost, how carefully, yet
how imperfectly is it replaced by a plate of metal? If an

COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. _ 123

anatomist should say, that this bony protection is not con-
fined to the brain, but is extended along the course of the
spine, I answer, that he adds strength to the argument. If
he remark, that the chest also is fortified by bones, I reply,
that I should have alleged this instance myself, if the ribs
had not appeared subservient to the purpose of motion, as
as well as of defence. What distinguishes the skull from
every other cavity is, that the bony covering completely
surrounds its contents, and is calculated, not for motion,
but solely for defence. ‘Those hollows likewise, and ine-
qualities, which we observe in the inside of the skull, and
which exactly fit the folds of the brain, answer the impor-
tant design of keeping the substance of the brain steady,
and of guarding it against concussions.

>>> GO ««--
CHAP. XII.
COMPARATIVE ANATOMY.

‘Waennver we find a general plan pursued, yet with
such variations in it, as are, in each case required by the
particular exigency of the subject to which it is applied, we
possess, in such plan and such adaptation, the strongest evi-
dence, that can be afforded, of intelligence and design; an
evidence, which most completely excludes every other
hypothesis. If the general plan proceeded from any fixed
necessity in the nature of things, how could it accommodate
itself to the various wants and uses which it had to serve
under different circumstances, and on different occasions?
Arkwright’s mill was invented for the spinning of cotton.
We see it employed for the spinning of wool, flax, and
hemp, with such modifications of the original principle,
such variety in the same plan, as the texture of those dif-
ferent materials rendered necessary. Of the machine’s
being put together with design, if it were possible to doubt,
whilst we saw it only under one mode, and in one form;
when we came to observe it in its different applications,
with such changes of structure, such additions, and supple-
ments, as the special and particular use in each case de-
manded, we could not refuse any longer our assent to the
Proposition, “that intelligence, properly and_ strictly’ so
called, (including under that name, foresight, consideration,
reference to utility) had been employed, as well in the

124 COMPARATIVE ANATOMY.

‘primitive plan, as in the several changes and accommoda- | —

tions which it is made to undergo.” .

Very much of this reasoning is applicable to what. has
‘been called Comparative Anatomy. In their general econ-
omy, in the outlines of the plan, in the construction as well
as offices of their principal parts, there exists, between all
large terrestrial animals, a close resemblance. In all life is
sustained, and the. body nourished, by nearly the same ap-
paratus. The heart, the lungs, the stomach, the liver, the
kidneys, are much alike in all. The same fiuid (for no
distinction of blood has been observed) circulates through
their vessels, and nearly in the same order. ‘The same
cause, therefore, whatever that cause was, has been con-
cerned in the origin; has governed the production of these
different animal forms.

When we pass on to smaller animals, or to the inhabi-
tants of a different element, the resemblance becomes more
distant and more obscure, but still the plan accompanies
us. |
And, what we can never enough commend, and which it
is our business at present to exemplify, the plan is attend-
ed through all its varieties and deflections by subservien-
cies to special occasions and utilities.

I. The covering of different animals (though whether I
am correct in classing this under their anatomy I don’t
know) is the first thing which presents itself to our observa-
tion; and is, in truth, both for its variety, and its suitable-
~ ness to their several natures, as much to be admired as any
part of their structure. We have bristles, hair, wool, furs,
feathers, quills, prickles, scales; yet in this diversity. both
of material and form, we cannot change one animal’s coat
for another, without evidently changing it for the worse ;
taking care however to remark, that these coverings are. in
many cases armour as well as clothing ; intended for pro-
tection as well as warmth.

The human animal is the only one which is naked, and the
only one that can clothe itself. This is one of the proper-

ties which renders him an animal of all climates, and of |

all seasons. He can adapt the warmth or lightness of his.
covering to the temperature of his habitation. Had he
been born with a fleece upon his back, although he might
have been comforted by its warmth in high latitudes, it
would have oppressed him by its weight and heat as the
species spread towards the equator. He

|

|

COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. — 125

What art, however, does for men, nature has, in many
instances, done for those animals which are incapable of
art. Their clothing, of its own accord, changes with
their necessities. This is particularly the case with that
large tribe of quadrupeds which are covered with furs.
Every dealer in hare-skins, and rabbit-skins, knows how
_ much the fur is thickened by the approach of winter. It
_ seems to be a part of the same constitution and the same
design, that wool, in hot countries, degenerates, as it
is called, but in truth (most happily for the animal’s ease)
passes into hair; whilst, on the contrary, that hair, in the
dogs of the polar regions, is turned into wool, or some-
thing very like it. To which may be referred, what natural-
ists have remarked, that bears, wolves, foxes, hares, which
do not take the water, have the fur much thicker on the
back than the belly : whereas in the beaver it is the thick-
est upon the belly; as are the feathers in waterfowl.
We know the final cause of all this; and we know no
other.

The covering of birds cannot escape the most vulgar ob-
servation. Its lightness, its smoothness, its warmth: the
disposition of the feathers all inclined backward, the down
about their stem, the overlapping of their tips, their differ-
ent configuration in different parts, not to mention the va-
riety of their colours, constitute a vestment for the body,
so beautiful, and so appropriate to the life which the animal
is to lead, as that, I think, we should have had no concep-
tion of any thing equally perfect, if we had never seen it
or can now imagine any thing more so. Let us suppose
(what is possible only in supposition) a person who had
never seen a bird, to be presented with a plucked pheasant,
and bid to set his wits to work, how to contrive for it a
covering which shall unite the qualities of warmth, levity,
and least resistance to the air, and the highest degree of
each; giving it also as much of beauty and ornament as
he could afford. He is the person to behold the work of
the Deity, in this part of his creation, with the sentiments
which are due to it.

The commendation, which the general aspect of the
feathered world seldom fails of exciting, will be increased
by further examination. It is one of those cases in which
the philosopher has more to admire, than the common ob-
server. Every feather is a mechanical wonder. If we
look at the quill, ae properties not easily brought

126 COMPARATIVE ANATOMY.

together, strength and lightness. I know few things
more remarkable, than the strength and lightness of the
very pen, with which I am writing. If we cast our eye
to the upper part of the stem, we see a material, made for’
the purpose, used in no other class of animals, and in no
other part of birds; tough, light, pliant, elastic. The
pith, also, which feeds the feathers, is amongst animal
substances, sui generis; neither bone, flesh, membrane,

nor tendon.

But the artificial part of a feather is a beard, or, as it
is sometimes, I believe, called, the vane. By the beards
are meant, what are fastened on each side of the stem, and
what constitute the breadth of the feather; what we usual-
ly strip off, from one side or both, when we make a pen.
The separate pieces, or lamine, of which the beard is
composed, are called threads, sometimes filaments, or rays.
Now the first thing which an attentive observer will remark
is, how much stronger the beard of the feather shows it-
self to be, when pressed in a direction perpendicular to its
plane, than when rubbed, either up or down, in the line of
the stem; and he will soon discover the structure which
occasions this difference, viz. that the lamine whereof
these beards are composed, are flat, and placed with their
flat sides towards each other; by which means, whilst they
easily bend for the approaching of each other, as any one
may perceive by drawing his finger ever so lightly upwards,
they are much harder to bend out of their plane, which is
the direction in which they have to encounter the impulse
and pressure of the air; and in which their strength is
wanted, and put to the trial.

This is one particularity in the structure of a feather :
a second is still more extraordinary. Whoever examines
a feather, cannot help taking notice, that the threads or la-
mine of which we have been speaking, in their natural
state unite; that their union is something more than the
mete apposition of loose surfaces; that they are not part-
ed asunder without some degree of force; that nevertheless
there is no glutinous cohesion between them: that, there-
fore, by some mechanical means or other, they catch or
clasp among themselves, thereby giving to the beard or
vane its closeness and compactness of texture. Nor is this
all: when two lamine, which have been separated by acci-
dent or force, are brought together again, they immediately
reclasp: the connexion, whatever it was, is perfectly re-
covered, and the beard of the feather becomes as smooth

COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 127

and firm bs if nothing had happened to it. Draw your fin-
ger down the feather, which is against the grain, and you
break, probably, the junction of some of the contiguous
threads; draw your finger up the feather, and you restore
all things to their former state. ‘T'his is no common con-
trivance ; and now for the mechanism by which it is ef-
fected. "The threads or lamine above mentioned are inter-
laced with one another; and the interlacing is perform-
ed by means of a vast number of fibres or teeth, which
the laminz shoot forth on each side, and which hook and
grapple together. A friend of mine counted fifty of these
fibres in one twentieth of an inch. These fibres are crook-
ed; but curved after a different manner; for those, which
proceed from the thread on the side towards the extremity
of the feather, are longer, more flexible, and bent down-
ward: whereas those which proceed from the side towards
the beginning or quill end of the feather are shorter, firm-
er, and turn upwards. ‘The process then which takes
place is as follows. When two lamine are pressed togeth-
er, so that these long fibres are forced far enough over the
short ones, their crooked parts fall into the cavity made by
the crooked parts of the others; just as the latch that is
fastened to a door, enters imtu the cavity of the catch
fixed to the door post, and, there hooking itself, fastens the
door ; for it is properly in this manner, that one thread of
a feather is fastened to the other.

This admirable structure of the feather, which it is easy
to see with the microscope, succeeds perfectly for the use
to which nature has designed it, which use was, not only
that the lamine might be united, but that when one thread
or lamina has been separated from another by some exter-
nal violence, it might be reclasped with sufficient facility
and expedition. 5 :

In the ostrich, this apparatus of crotchets and fibres of
hooks and teeth, ‘is wanting; and we see the consequence
of the want. The filaments hang loose and separate from
one another, forming only a kind of down ;_ which consti-
tution of the feathers, however it may fit them for the flow-
ing honours of a lady’s head-dress, may be reckoned an
imperfection in the bird, inasmuch as wings, composed of
these feathers, although ‘they may greatly assist it in run-
Hi do not serve for flight.

*The above ‘account is taken from Memoirs for a Natural History of
Animals by the Royal Academy of Paris, published 1701, ah 219,

128 COMPARATIVE ANATOMY.

But under the present division of our subject, our busi-
ness with feathers is, as they are the covering of the bird.
And herein a singular circumstance occurs. In the small
order of birds which winter with us, from a snipe down-
wards, let the external colour of the feathers be what it
will, their Creator has universally given them a bed of
black down next their bodies. Black, we know, is the
warmest colour: and the purpose’ here is, to keep in the
heat, arising from the heart and circulation of the blood.
It is further likewise remarkable, that this is not found in
larger birds; for which there is also a reason. Small birds
are much more exposed to the cold than large ones; foras-
much as they present in proportion to their bulk, a much
larger surface to the air. If a turkey was divided into a
number of wrens, supposing the shape of the turkey and
the wren to be similar, the surface of all the wrens would
exceed the surface of the turkey, in the proportion of the
length, breadth, (or, of any homologous line) of a turkey
to that of a wren; which would be perhaps a proportion
of ten to one. It was necessary therefore that small
birds should be more warmly clad than large ones, and this
seems to be the expedient, by which that exigency is pro-
vided for. ) :

II. In comparing different animals, I know no part of
their structure which exhibits greater variety, or in that
variety, a nicer accommodation to their respective conve-
niency, than that which is seen in the different formations
of their mouths. Whether the purpose be the reception of
aliment merely, or the catching of prey, the picking up
of seeds, the cropping of herbage, the extraction of juices,
the suction of liquids, the breaking and grinding of food,
the taste of that food, together with the respiration of air,
and in conjunction with the utterance of sound; these
various offices are assigned to this one part, and, in differ-
ent species, provided for, as they are wanted, by its differ-
ent constitution. In the human species, forasmuch as
there are hands to convey the food to the mouth, the mouth
is flat, and by reason of its flatness fitted only for recep-
tion: whereas the projecting jaws, the wide rictus, the
pointed teeth, of the dog and his affinities, enable them to
apply their mouths to snatch and seize the objects of their
pursuit. The full lips, the rough tongue, the corrugated
cartilaginous palate, the broad cutting teeth of the ox, the
deer, the horse and the sheep, qualify this tribe for brows-
ing upon their pasture; either gathering large mouthfuls

COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 429

at once, where the grass is long, which is the case with
‘the ox in particular; or biting close, where it is short,
which the horse and the sheep are able to do, in a degree
that one could hardly expect. The retired under jaw of a
swine works in the ground, after the protruding snout, like
a prong or ploughshare, has made its way to the roots upon
which it feeds. A conformation, so happy, was not the
gift of chance.

In birds this organ assumes a new character ; new both
in substance and in form, but, in both, wonderfully adapted
to the wants and uses of a distinct mode of existence. We
have, no longer, the fleshy lips, the teeth of enamelled bone ;
but we have, in the place of these two parts, and to perform
the office of both, a hard substance (of the same nature
with that which composes the nails, claws and hoofs of
quadrupeds) cut out into proper shapes, and mechanically
suited to the actions which are wanted. ‘The sharp edge
and tempered point of the sparrow’s bill, picks almost every
kind of seed from its concealment in the plant; and not
only so, but hulls the grain, breaks and shatters the coats
of the seed, in order to get at the kernel. The hooked
beak of the hawk tribe, separates the flesh from the bones
of the animals which it feeds upon, almost with the cleanness
and precision of a dissector’s knife. The butcher bird,
transfixes its prey upon the spike of a thorn, whilst it picks
its bones. In some birds of this class, we have the cross
bill, i. e. both the upper and lower bill hooked, and their
tips crossing. The spoon bill, enables the goose to graze,
to collect its food from the bottom of pools, or to seek it
amidst the soft or liquid substances with which it is mixed.
The long tapering bill of the snipe and woodcock, pene-
trates still deeper into moist earth, which is the bed in which

‘the food of that species is lodged. This is exactly the in-
strument which the animal wanted. It did not want
strength in its bill, which was inconsistent with the slender
form of the animal’s neck, as well as unnecessary for the
kind of aliment upon which it subsists; but it wanted
length to reach its object.

But the species of bill which belongs to birds that live
by suction, deserves to be described in its particular rela-
tion to that office. They are what naturalists call serrated
or dentated bills; the inside of them, towards the edge,
being thickly set with parallel or concentric rows of short,
strong, sharp-pointed Ra These, though they should

2

130 ine COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. |

be called teeth, are not for the purpose of mastication, like
the teeth of quadrupeds ; nor yet, as in fish, for the seizing
and retaining of their prey; but for a quite different use.
They form a filter. The duck, by means of them, discusses
the mud; examining, with great accuracy, the puddle, the
brake, every mixture which is likely to contain her food.
‘The operation ‘is thus carried on. ‘The liquid or semi-liquid
substances, in which the animal has plunged her bill, she’
draws, by the action of her lungs, through the narrow in-
terstices which lie between these teeth; catching, as the
stream passes across her beak, whatever it may happen to
bring along with it, that proves agreeable to her choice,
and easily dismissing all the rest. Now suppose the pur-
pose to have been, out of a mass of confused and hetero-
geneous snbstances, to separate for the use of the animal,
or rather to enable the animal to separate for its own, those
few particles which suited its taste and digestion; what
more artificial, or more commodious instrument of selec-
tion, could have been given to it, than this natural filter ?*
It has been observed also, (what must enable the bird to
choose and distinguish with greater acuteness, as well,
probably, as what increases its gratification and its luxury,)
that the bills of this species are furnished with large nerves,
that they are covered with a skin, and that the nerves run
down to the very extremity. In the curlew, woodcock, and
snipe, there are three pairs of nerves, equal almost to the
optic nerve in thickness, which pass first along the roof of
the mouth, and then along the upper chap, down to the
point of the bill, long as the bill ts.

But to return to the train of our observations. ‘The sim-
ilitude between the bills of birds and the mouths of quad-
rupeds, is exactly such, as, for the sake of the argument,
might be wished for. It is near enough to show the con-
tinuation of the same plan; it is remote enough to exclude
the supposition of the difference being prodaced by action
or use. A more prominent contour, or a wider gape, might
be resolved into the effect of continued efforts on the part
of the species, to thurst out the mouth, or open it to the
stretch. But by what course of action; or exercise, or en-

{

* There is a remarkable contrivance of this kind in the genus balena,
or proper whale, Numerous parallel plates of the substance called
whalebone, cover the palatine surface of the upper iaw. and descend
vertically into the mouth; the lower edges are fringed by long fibres,
which serve the animal, when taking in the water, to retain the mol-
luscxz, with which the water abounds, and which constitute its food.

Paxton-

COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 131

‘deavour, shall we get rid of the lips, the gums, the teeth ;
and acquire, in the place of them, pincers of horn ? By
what habit shall we so completely change, not only the
shape of the part, but the substance of which it is compos-
ed? The truth is, if we had seen no other than the mouths
of quadrupeds, we should have thought no other could have
been formed ; little could we have supposed, that all the
purposes of a mouth, furnished with lips, and armed with
teeth, could be answered by an instrument which had none
of theses could be supplied, and that with many additional
advantages, by the hardness, and sharpness, and figure, of
the bills of birds.

Every thing about the animal mouth is mechanical. The
teeth of fish, have their points turned backwards, like the
teeth of a wool or cotton-card. ‘The teeth of lobsters, work
one against another, like the sides of a pair of shears. In
many insects, the mouth i is converted into a pump or sucker,
fitted at the end sometimes with a wimble, sometimes with
a forceps; by which double provision, viz. of the tube and
the penetrating form of the point, the insect’ first bores
through the integuments of its prey, and then extracts the
juices. And, what is most extraordinary of all, one sort of
mouth, as the occasion requires, shall be changed into an-
other sort. The caterpillar could not live without teeth;
- in several species, the butterfly formed from it, could not
use them. ‘The old teeth, therefore, are cast off with the
exuvie of the grub; a new and totally different apparatus as-
_sumes their place in the fly. Amidst these novelties of form,
we sometimes forget that it is, all the while, the animal’s
mouth; that whether it be lips, or teeth, or bill, or break,
or shears, or pump, it is the same part diversified; and it
is alsoremarkable, that under all the varieties of configura
tion with which we are acquainted, and which are very
great, the organs of taste and smelling are situated near
each other. ‘

Ii. To the mouth adjoins the gullet; in this part also,
comparative anatomy discovers a difference of structure ©
adapted to the different necessities of the animal. In
brutes, because the posture of their neck conduces little
to the passage of the aliment, the fibres of the gullet, which
act in this business, run in two close spiral lines, crossing
each other; in men, these fibres run only a little obliquely
from the upper end of. the cesophagus to the stomach, into
which, by a gentle contraction, they easily transmit the
descending morsels that is to say, for the more laborious

132 COMPARATIVE ANATOMY.

deglution of animals, which thrust their food up instead of
down, and also through a longer passage, a proportionably
more powerful apparatus of muscles is provided ; more pow-
erful, not merely by the strength of the fibres, which might
be attributed to the greater exercise of their force, but in
their collocation, which is a determinate circumstance, and
must have been original.

IV. The gullet leads to the intestines ; here, likewise,
as before, comparing quadrupeds with man, under a gener-
al similitude we meet with appropriate differences. The
valvule conniventes, or, as they are by some called, the
semilunar valves, found in the human intestine, are want-
ing in that of brutes. These are wrinkles or plaits of the
innermost coat of the guts, the effect of which, is to retard
the progress of the food through the alimentary canal. It
is easy to understand how much more necessary such a
provision may be to the body of an animal of an erect pos- '
ture, and in which, consequently, the weight of the food
is added to the action of the intestine, than in that of a
quadruped, in which the course of the food, from its en-
trance to its exit, is nearly horizontal ; but it is impossible
to assign any cause, except the final cause, for this distinc-
tion actually taking place.* So far as depends upon the
action of the part, this structure was more to be expected
in a quadruped than ina man. In truth, it must, in both,
have been formed, not by action, but in direct opposition
to action, and to pressure; but the opposition, which would
arise from pressure, is greater in the upright trunk than in °
any other. That theory, therefore, is pointedly contradict-
ed by the example before us. The structure is found, where
its generation, according to the method by which the theo-
rist would have it generated, is the most difficult ; but (ob-
serve) it is found, where its effect is most useful.

The different length of the intestines in carnivorous and
herbivorous animals has been noticed on a former occasion.
The shortest, I believe, is that of some birds of prey, in
which the intestinal canal is little more than a straight pas-

* It may be questioned, whether these extremely soft ruge or folds
of the villous coat of the intestine can in the least retard the passage of
the food through its canal; nor does the erect attitude of man require
them; for since there are as many of the convolutions of the intestines
ascending as there are descending, the weight of the food can have
no influence in the action of the intestine: it is certain, however, that
this arrangement of the internal coat, affords a more extensive surface
for the lacteals and secreting vessels ; and this appears to be the real
use of the valvule conniventes. Paxton.

COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 133

sage from the mouth to the vent. The longest is in the
deer kind. The intestines of a Canadian stag, four feet
high, measured ninety-six feet.* The intestine of a sheep,
unravelled, measures thirty times the length of the body.
The intestines of a wild ‘cat is only three times the length
of the body. Universally, where the substance upon which
the animal feeds, is of slow concoction, or yields its chyle
with more difficulty, there the passage is circuitous and
dilatory, that time and space may be allowed for the change
and the absorption which are necessary. Where the food
is soon dissolved, or already half assimilated, an unneces-
sary, or perhaps, hurtful detention is avoided, by giving to
it a shorter and a readier route.

V. In comparing the bones of different animals, we are
struck, in the bones of birds, with a propriety, which could
only proceed from the wisdom of an intelligent and design-
ing Creator, In the bones of an animal which is to fly, the
two qualities required, are strength and lightness. Where-
in, therefore, do the bones of birds (I speak of the cylindri-
cal bones) differ, in these respects, from the bones of quad-
rupeds? In three properties, first, their cavities are much
larger in proportion to the weight of the bone, than in those:
of quadrupeds ; secondly, these cavities are empty ; thirdly,
the shell is of a firmer texture, than is the substance of
other bones. It is easy to observe these particulars, even
-in picking the wing or leg of a chicken. Now, the weight
being the same, the diameter, it is evident, will be greater
in a hollow bone than in a solid one; and, with the diame-
ter, as every mathematician can prove, is increased, ceteris
paribus, the strength of the cylinder, or its resistance to
breaking. In a word; a bone of the same weight would
not have been so strong in any other form; and, to have
made it heavier, would have incommoded the animal’s
flight. Yet this form could not be acquired by use, or the
bone become hollow and tubular by exercise, What appe-
tency could excavate a bone?

VI. The lungs also of birds, as compared with the lungs
of quadrupeds, contain in them a provision, distinguishingly
calculated for this same purpose of levitation; namely, a
communication (not found in other kinds of animals) be-
tween the air-vessels of the lungs and the cavities of the
body; so that by the intromission of air from one to the
other, at the will, as it should seem, of the animal, its body

* Mem, of Acad, Paris, 1701, p, 170,

134 COMPARATIVE ANATOMY, |

can be occasionally puffed out, and its tendency to descend
in the air, or its specific gravity, made Jess. The bodies
of birds are blown up from their lungs, which no other ani-
mal bodies are; and thus rendered buoyant.

VIL All birds are oviparous. ‘This, likewise, carries
on the work of gestation, with as little increase as possible
of the weight of the body. A gravid uterus would have
been a troublesome burthen to a bird in its flight. ‘The ad-
vantage in this respect, of an oviparous procreation is, that,
whilst the whole brood are hatched together, the eggs aré
excluded singly, and at considerable intervals.- Ten, fif-
teen, or twenty young birds may be produced in one cletch
or covey, yet the parent bird have never been encumbered
by the load of more than one full grown egg at one time.

VIII. A principal topic of comparison between animals,
is in their instruments of motion. ‘These come before us
under three divisions, feet, wings, and fins. I desire any
man to say, which of the three is best fitted for its use;
or whether the same consummate art be not conspicuous
in them alJ. The constitution of the elements, in which
the motion is to be performed, is very different. The ani-
mal action must necessarily follow that constitution. The
Creator, therefore, if we might so speak, had to prepare for
ayiereat situations, for different difficulties: yet the pur-
pose is accomplished not less successfully, in one case
than in the other. And, as between wings and the corres-
ponding limbs of quadrupeds, it is accomplished without
deserting the general idea. The idea is modified, not de-
serted. Strip a wing of its feathers, and it bears no ob-
scure resemblance to the fore leg of a quadruped. ‘The
articulations at the shoulder and the cubitus are much
alike; and, what is a closer circumstance, in both cases
the upper part of the limb consists of a single bone, the
lower part, of two. |

. But, fitted up with its furniture of feathers and quills, it
becomes a wonderful instrument; more artificial than its
first appearance indicates, though that be very striking: at
least, the use which the bird makes of its wings in flying,
is more complicated, and more curious than is generally
known. One thing is certain; that, if the flapping of the
wings in flight were no more than the reciprocal motion of
the same surface in opposite directions, either upwards and
downwards, or estimated in any oblique line, the bird
would lose as much by one motion, as she gained by another.
‘The skylark could never ascend by such an action as this;

‘ ' j

COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 135
_ for, though the stroke upon the air by the underside of her
wing would carry her up, the stroke from the upper side,
when she raised her wing again, would bring her down.
In order, therefore, to account for the advantage which the
bird derives from her wing, it is necessary to suppose, that
the surface of the wing, measured upon the same plane, is
contracted, whilst the wing is drawn up; and let out to its
full expansion, when it descends upon the air for the pur-
pose of moving the body by the reaction of that element.
Now the form and structure of the wing, its external con-
vexity, the disposition, and particularly the overlapping, of
of its larger feathers, the action of the muscles* and joints
of the pinions, are all adapted to this alternate. adjustment
of its shape and dimensions. Such a twist, for instance,
or semirotatory motion, is given to the great feathers of the
wing, that they strike the air with their flat side, but rise
from the stroke slantwise. The turning of the oar in row-
ing, whilst the rower advances his hand for a new stroke,
is a similar operation to that of the feather, and takes its
name from the resemblance. I believe that this faculty is
not found in the great feathers of the tail. This is the
place also for observing, that the pinions are so set on up-
on the body, as to bring down the wings, not vertically,
but in a direction obliquely tending towards the tail; which
motion, by virtue of the common resolution of forces, does
two things at the same time; supports the body in the air,
and carries it forward.

The steerage of a bird in its flight is effected partly
by the wings, but, in a principal degree, by the tail. And
herein we meet with a circumstance not a little remarka-

ble. Birds with long legs have short tails; and, in their
flight, place their legs close to their bodies, at the same
time stretching them out backwards as far as they can.
In this position the legs extend beyond the rump, and be-
come the rudder; supplying that steerage which the tail
could not.

From the wings of birds, the transition is easy to the
jms of fish. They are both, to their respective tribes, the

*There are three powerful muscles (the fleshy part of the
breast) called pectoral muscles, which, with other smaller on the bones
of the wing which are analogous to the arm, press with vigour on the
air, the elasticity of which gives support. ‘‘And it is remarkable that
the general resemblance which the best form of windmill sails bears to
the feathers of the wings of birds is striking, and one of those beau-
tiful instances of truly mathematical pr inciples on which the works of
creation are constructed.” Paxton.

\

136 COMPARATIVE ANATOMY.

instruments of their motion ; but, in the work which they
have to do, there is a considerable difference, founded on
this circumstance. Fish, unlike birds, have very nearly
the same specific gravity with the element in which they
move. In the case of fish, therefore, there is little or no
weight to bear up; what is wanted is only an impulse, suffi-
cient to carry the body through a resisting medium, or to
maintain the posture, or to support or restore the balance
of the body, which is always the most unsteady where
there is no weight to sink it. For these offices the fins are
as large as necessary, though much smaller than wings,
their action mechanical, their position, and the muscles by
which they are moved, in the highest degree convenient.
The following short account of some experiments upon fish, ©
made for the purpose of ascertaining the use of their fins, will

be the best confirmation of what we assert. In most fish,
beside the great fin, the tail, we find two pairs of fins upon
the sides, two single fins upon the back, and one upon the
belly, or rather between the belly and the tail. The bal-
ancing use of these organs is proved in this manner. Of
the large-headed fish, if you cut off the pectoral fins, 1. e.
the pair which lie close behind the gills, the head falls
prone to the bottom: if the right pectoral fin only be cut
off, the fish leans to that side; if the ventral fin on the
same side be cut away, then it loses its equilibrium entire-
ly ; if the dorsal and ventral fins be cut off, the fish reels
to the right and left. When the fish dies, that is, when
the fins cease to play, the belly turns upwards. The use
of the same parts for motion is seen in the following obser-
vations upon them when put in action. ‘The pectoral, and
more particularly the ventral fins, serve to razse and depress
the fish: when the fish desires to have a retrograde motion,
a stroke forward with the pectoral fin effectually produces
it: if the fish desire to turn either way, a single blow with
the tail the opposite way, sends it round at once: if the
tail strike both ways, the motion produced by the double
lash is progressive; and enables the fish to dart forward
with an astonishing velocity.* The result is, not only, in -
some cases, the most rapid, but, in all cases, the most gen-
tle, pliant, easy animal motion, with which we are acquaint-
ed. However, when the tail is cut off, the fish loses all

* Goldsmith’s History of Animated Nature, vol. iv. p. 154. The
velocity with which fish swim from one part of the globe to another
is astonishing ; when a ship is sailing at the rate of fourteen miles an
hour, the porpoises will pass it with as much ease as when at anchor.

Paxton.

COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 137

motion, and gives itself up to where the water impels it.

The rest of the fins, therefore, so far as respects motion,

seem to be merely subsidiary » this. In their mechanical
use, the anal fin may be reckoned the keel; the ventral
fins, out-riggers; the pectoral muscles, the oars: and if
there be any similitude between these parts of a boat and
a fish, observe, that it is not the resemblance of imitation,

but the likeness which arises from applying similar me-
chanical means to the same purpose.

_ We have seen that the éai/ in the fish is the great in-
strument of motion. Now, in cetaceous or warm-blooded
fish, which are obliged to rise every two or three minutes
to the surface to take breath, the tail, unlike what it is in
other fish, is horizontal; its stroke, consequently perpen-
dicular to the horizon, which is the right direction for
sending the fish to the top, or carrying it Sabi to the bot-
tom.

Regarding animals in their instruments of motion, we
have only followed the comparison through the first oreat
division of animals into beasts, birds, and fish. If it were
our intention to pursue the consideration further, I should
take in that generic distinction amongst birds, the web
foot of water fowl. It is an Santen which may ‘be point-
ed out toachild. The utility of the web to water fowl,
the inutility to land fowl, are so obvious, that it seems im-
possible to notice the difference without acknowledging
the design. J am at a loss to know how those who deny
the agency of an intelligent Creator, dispose of this exam-
ple. There is nothing in the action of swimming, as car-
ried on by a bird upon the surface of the water, that should
generate a membrane between the toes. As to that mem-
brane, it is an exercise of constant resistance. The only
supposition I can think of is, that all birds have been orig-
inally water fowl, and web footed; that sparrows, hawks,
linnets, &&c. which frequent the land, have, in process
of time, and in the course of many generations, had this
part worn away by treading upon hard ground. ‘To such
evasive assumptions must atheism always have recourse ;
and, after all, it confesses that the structure of the feet
of birds, in their original form, was critically adapted
to their original destination. The web feet of amphibious
_ quadrupeds, seals, otters, duc. fall under the same observa-
tion, —

N

188 COMPARATIVE ANATOMY.

IX. The jive senses are common to most large ani-
mals: nor have we much difference to remark in their con-
stitution ; or much, however, which is referrible to mech-
anism.

The superior sagacity of animals which hunt their prey,
and which, consequently, depend for their livelihood upon
their nose, is well known in its use; but not at all known
in the organization which produces it.

The external ears of beasts of prey, of lions, tigers,
wolves, have their trumpet part or concavity standing for-
wards, to seize the sounds which are before them, viz. the
sounds of the animals which they pursue or watch. ‘The
ears of animals of flight are turned backward, to give no-
tice of the approach of their enemy from behind, whence he
may steal upon them unseen. This is a critical distinc-
tion; and is mechanical: but it may be suggested, and, I
think, not without probability, that it is. the effect of con-
tinued habit.

The eyes of animals which follow their prey by night,
as cats, owls, duc. possess a faculty, not given to those of
other species; namely, of closing the pupil entirely. The
final cause of which seems to be this. It was necessary
for such animals to be able to descry objects with very
small degrees of light. This capacity depended upon the
superior sensibility of the retina; that is, upon its being
affected by the most feeble impulses. But that tenderness
of structure, which rendered the membrane thus exquisite-
ly sensible, rendered it also liable to be offended by the
access of stronger degrees of light. 'The contractile range
therefore of the pupil is increased in these animals, so as
to enable them to close the aperture entirely; which in-
cludes the power of diminishing it in every degree; where-
by at all times such portions, and only such portions of
light are admitted, as may be received without injury to
the sense.

There appears to be also in the figure, and in some prop-
erties of the pupil of the eye, an appropriate relation to
the wants of different animals. In horses, oxen, goats,
sheep, the pupil of the eye is elliptical; the transverse
axis being horizontal; by which structure, although the
eye be placed on the side of the head, the anterior elon-
gation of the pupil catches the forward rays, or those
which come from objects immediately in front of the ani-
mal’s face.

PECULIAR ORGANIZATIONS, 139

CHAP. XIII.

PECULIAR ORGANIZATIONS.

‘J setieve that all the instances which I shall collect
under this title, might, consistently enough with technical
language, have been placed under the head of Comparative
Anatomy. But there appears to me an impropriety in the
use which that term hath obtained; it being in some sort
absurd to call that a case of Comparative Anatomy, in
which there is nothing to ‘“‘compare;” in which a confor-
mation is found in one animal, which hath nothing proper-
ly answering to it in another.* Of this kind are the exam-
ples which I have to propose in the present chapter; and
the reader will see that, though some of them be the strong- |
est, perhaps, he will meet with under any division of our
subject, they must necessarily be of an unconnected and
miscellaneous nature. To dispose them, however, into
some sort of order, we will notice, first, particularities of
structure which belong to quadrupeds, birds, and fish, as

such, or to many of the kinds included in these classes of
animals; and then, such particularities as are confined to
one or two species.

J. Along each side of the neck of large quadrupeds,
runs a stiff robust cartilage, which butchers call the
pax wax. No person can carve the upper end of a crop of
beef without driving his knife against it. It is a tough,
strong, tendinous substance, braced from the head to the
middle of the back ; its office is to assist in supporting the
weight of the head. It isa mechanical provision, of which
this is the undisputed use; and it is sufficient, and not
more than sufficient, for the purpose which it has to exe-

*The objection here made to the use of the term, Comparative An-
atomy, does not seem well founded. As commonly employed, it is in-
tended to designate the anatomy of animals compared with that of men
and of one another. It is only by comparison that the use of parts can
be discovered. Generally, conformations found in one animal have
something corresponding to them in other animals; but even where
this is not the case, a comparison is not the less necessary to discover
the use of the conformation. Thus, particularly, in the first instance
mentioned by the author, he points out the function of the pax wax
by the very process which he affirms cannothave place. Itis by com-
paring the neck of large quadrupeds in which this provision 7s found,
with that of man in which it is not found, and by comparing the po-
sition maintained by man with that maintained by quadrupeds, that he
illustrates the object for which this provision is made, Ed,

\

140 PECULIAR ORGANIZATIONS.

cute. The head of an ox or a horse is a heavy weight,
acting at the end of a long lever, (consequently with a great
purchase,) and in a direction nearly perpendicular to the
joints of the supporting neck. From such a force, so advan-
tageously applied, the bones of the neck would be in constant
danger of dislocation, if they were not fortified by this strong
tape. No such organ is found in the human subject, be-
cause, from the erect position of the head, (the pressure of
it acting nearly in the direction of the spine,) the junction
of the vertebre appears to be sufficiently secure without it.
The care of the Creator is seen where it is wanted, This
cautionary expedient is limited to quadrupeds.

II. The oil with which birds prune their feathers, and
the organ which supplies it, is a specific provision for the
winged creation. On each side of the rump of birds is ob-
served a small nipple, yielding upon pressure a butter-like
substance, which the bird extracts by pinching the pap with
its bill. With this oil or ointment, thus procured, the bird
dresses its coat; and repeats the action as often as its own
sensations teach it that it is in any part wanted, or as the ex-
cretion may be sufficient for the expense. ‘The gland, the
pap, the nature and quality of the excreted substance, the
manner of obtaining it from its lodgment in the body, the
application of it when obtained, form, collectively, an evi-
dence of intention, which it is not easy to withstand. Nothing
similar to it is found in unfeathered animals. What blind
conatus of nature should produce it in birds; should not
produce it in beasts ?

III. The air bladder also of a fish, [PI. XXIII. fig. 3.] af-
fords a plain and direct instance, not only of contrivance, but
strictly of that species of contrivance, which we denominate
mechanical. It is a philosophical apparatus in the body of an
_ animal. The principle of the contrivance is clear; the ap-
plication of the principle is also clear. ‘The use of the organ
to sustain, and, at will, also to elevate, the body of the fish in
the water, is proved by observing, what has been tried, that,

when the bladder is burst, the fish grovels at the bottom ;

and also, that flounders, soles, skaits, which are without
the air bladder, seldom rise in the water, and that, with
effort. The manner in which the purpose is attained, and
the suitableness of the means to the end, are not difficult
to be apprehended. The rising and sinking ofa fish in
water, so far as it is independent of the stroke of the fins
and tail, can only be regulated by the specific gravity of
the body. When the bladder contained in the body of

PECULIAR ORGANIZATIONS. 141

the fish, is contracted, which the fish probably possesses a
muscular power of doing, the bulk of the fish is contracted
along with it; whereby since the absolute weight remains
the same, the specific gravity, which is the sinking force,
is increased, and the fish descends ; on the contrary, when
in consequence of the relaxation of the muscles, the elasti-
city of the enclosed, and now compressed air, restores the
dimensions of the bladder, the tendency downwards be-
comes proportionably less than it was before, or is turned
into a contrary tendency. These are known properties of
bodies immersed in a fluid. The enamelled figures, or
little glass bubbles, in a jar of water, are made to rise and
full by the same artifice. A diving machine might be
made to ascend and descend upon the like principle; name-
ly, by introducing into the inside of it an air vessel, which
by its contraction would diminish, and by its distension en-
large, the bulk of the machine itself, and thus render it
specifically heavier, or specifically lighter, than the water
which surrounds it. Suppose this to be done; and the ar-
tist to solicit a patent for his invention. ‘The inspectors of
the model, whatever they might think of the use or value
of the contrivance, could, by no possibility, entertain a
question in their minds, whether it were a contrivance or
not. No reason has ever been assigned, no reason can be
assigned, why the conclusion is not as certain in the fish,
as in the machine; why the argument is not as firm, in one
case as the other. | we

It would be very worthy of inquiry, if it were possible to
discover, by what method an animal, which lives constantly
in water, is able to supply arepository of air. The ex-
pedient, whatever it be, forms a part, and perhaps the most
curious part, of the provision.* Nothing similar to the air
bladder, is found in land animals: and a life in the water
hhas no natural tendency to produce a bag of air. Nothing
can be further from an acquired organization than this is.

*Much obscurity still exists concerning the exact purpose which
the air bag is intended to perform. But with regard to the manner in
which it is supplied with air, there seems no reason to doubt that it is
effected by a secretion from the blood. It is an established fact in
physiology, that many of the internal surfaces of the body have the
power of producing gases in this way. In the air-bag of many fishes
a very vascular organ is found which has been called the air-gland ;
and in some species vessels have been discovered conveying the air
from this gland into the cavity of the bag. Even where this gland does
not exist, it is probable that the internal surface of the bag may per-
form the same office. fd.

N 2

5

j42 PECULIAR ORGANIZATIONS,

These examples mark the attention of the Creator to
three great kingdoms of his animal creation, and to their
constitution as such. The example which stands next in
point of generality, belonging to a large tribe of animals, or
rather to various species of that tribe, is the poisonous tooth
of serpents.

I. The fang of a viper is a clear and curious example
of mechanical contrivance. (Pl. XXIII. fig.4,5.) It isa per-
forated tooth, loose at the root; in its quiet state lying down
flat upon the jaw, but furnished with a muscle, which, with
a jerk, and by the pluck as it were of a string, suddenly
erects it. Under the tooth, close to its root, and commu-
nicating with the perforation, lies a small bag containing
the venom. When the fang is raised, the closing of the
jaw presses its root against the bag underneath; and the
force of this compression sends out the fluid, with a con-
siderable impetus, through the tube in the middle of the

_ tooth. What more unequivocal or effectual apparatus could

be devised, for the double purpose of at once inflicting the
wound and injecting the poison? Yet, though lodged in
the mouth, it is so constituted, as, in its inoffensive and
quiescent state, not to interfere with the animal’s ordinary
office of receiving its food. It has been observed, also,
that none of the harmless serpents, the black snake, the
blind worm, &c. have these fangs, but teeth of an equal
size, not moveable, as this is, but fixed into the jaw.

II. In being the property of several different species,
the preceding example is resembled by that which I shall
next mention, which is the bag of the opossum. (Pl. XXIV.
fig. 1,2,3.) This isa mechanical contrivance, most properly
so called. ‘The simplicity of the expedient renders the
contrivance more obvious than many others; and by no
means less certain. A false skin under the belly of the
animal, forms a pouch, into which the young litter are re-
ceived at their birth: where they have an easy and constant
access to the teats; in which they are transported by the
dam from place to place ; where they are at liberty to run
in and out, and where they find a refuge from surprise and
danger. It is their cradle, their conveyance, and their

asylum. Can the use of this structure be doubted of? Nor

is it a mere doubling of the skin, but it is a new organ,
furnished with bones and muscles of its own... Two bones
are placed before the os pubis, and joined to that bone as
their base. ‘These support and give a fixture to the mus-
cles, which serve to open the bag. ‘To these muscles there

PECULIAR ORGANIZATIONS. | 145

are antagonists, which serve in the same manner to shut it ;
and this office they perform so exactly, that, in the living
animal, the opening can scarcely be discerned, except when
the sides are forcibly drawn asunder.* Isthere any action
in this part of the animal, any process arising from that
action, by which these members could be formed? Any
account to be given of the formation, except design ?+

* Goldsmith’s Nat. Hist. vol. iv. p. 244.

1 There is a very considerable number of animals possessed of the
same structure which is here described as existing in the opossum, to
which the attention of naturalists has been more particularly called
since the first publication of this work. The animals of this kind are
called marsupial, from the pouch or marsupium which distinguishes
them. This provision also has a relation to circumstances in the re-
production of these animals to which Dr. Paley has not referred. He
appears merely to regard it as a place of refuge and deposit for the
young; somewhat in the same way as the wings of a hen are for its
brood. The fact is that the young of these animals are born prema-
turely, and in a very imperfect and unformed state; and the pouch of
the parent seems properly intended for a residence during the com-
pletion of the process of development. The Kangaroo is an instance
of this kind. When full grown it is six feet in extreme length, and
weighs an hundred and fifty pounds. When born it is only one inch
in length, and weighs but twenty grains. The fore legs are scarcely
distinguishable, and the hind ones, which in the adult state form half
the length of the body are marked only by slight projections at the
parts where they are afterwards to grow. In fact the Kangaroo at
birth is as imperfectly formed as the young of any other animal would
be when but a quarter part of the proper period of its growth within
its parent had elapsed.

It is remarkable that it has never yet been ascertained whether
these little embryos are conveyed by the parent animal, or whether
they find their own way, intothe pouch. Having scarce the exercise
of any of the senses, and being without limbs, it seems almost impossi-
ble they should make their way there by their own exertions. How-
ever this may be, they are found in the pouch closely attached, and
as it were glued to the nipples, by the mouth or rather by that aper-
ture which afterwards becomes a mouth. Here they remain, never
quitting their hold, until a sufficient period has elapsed for their growth
to be completed, and they have thus arrived in regard to form and struc-
ture upon an equality with other animals at the usual period of birth.
When this is accomplished, they undergo, as it were, a second birth,
and emerge from the pouch: but return occasionally for the purpose

of feeding, and for that of protection from danger.

No marsupial animal was known before the discovery. of America,
of which the opossum is a native; and this animal was at first almost
regarded as a sort of exception to the laws of nature; since the discov-
ery of New Holland, however, and the investigation of its Natural
History, it has been found that the marsupial animals, so far from

_ forming an exception to the general construction of animals on that
continent, constitute the prevailing model. With a very few excep-
tions, all the native animals of New Holland are of the marsupial tribe.

444 PECULIAR ORGANIZATIONS.

III. As a particularity, yet appertaining to more species
than one; and also as strictly mechanical; we may notice
a circumstance in the structure of the claws of certain
birds. ‘lhe middle claw of the heron and cormorant, is
toothed and notched like a saw. (Pl. XXV. fig. 1, 2.) -
These birds are great fishers, and these notches assist
them in holding their slippery prey. ‘The use is evident ;
but the structure such, as cannot at all be accounted for
by the effort of the animal, or the exercise of the part.
Some other fishing birds have these notches in their bed/s ;
and for the same purpose. ‘The gannet, or Soland goose,
has the side of its bill irregularly jagged, that it may hold
its prey the faster. Nor can the structure in this, more
than in the former case, arise from the manner of employ-
ing the part. The smooth surfaces, and soft flesh of fish,
were less likely to notch the bills of birds, than the hard
bodies upon which many other species feed.

We now come to particularities strictly so called, as be-
ing limited to a single species of animal. Of these I shall
take one from a quadruped and one from a bird.

I. The stomach of the camel is well known to retain
large quantities of water, and to retain it unchanged for a
considerable length of time. (Pl. XX VI.) This property
qualifies it for living in the desert. Let us see, therefore,
what is the internal organization, upon which a faculty, so
rare and so beneficial, depends. A number of distinct sacks,
or bags (in a dromedary thirty of these have been counted)
are observed to lie between the membranes of the second
stomach, and to open into the stomach near the top by
small square apertures. Through these orifices, after the
stomach is full, the annexed bags are filled from it. And
the water so deposited, is, in the first place, not liable to
pass into the intestines; in the second place, 1s kept separ-
ate from the solid aliment; and, in the third place, is out of
the reach of the digestive action of the stomach, or of mix-
ture with the gastric juice. It appears probable, or rather
certain, that the animal, by the conformation of its muscles,
possesses the power of squeezing back this water from the
adjacent bags into the stomach, whenever thirst excites it
to put this power in action.

II. The tongue of the woodpecker, is one of those sin-
gularities, which nature presents us with, when a singular
purpose is to be answered. (PI. XXVII. fig. 1 & 2.) It isa
particular instrument for a particular use; and what else

¥

' PECULIAR ‘ORGANIZATIONS. 145

but design ever produces such? The woodpecker lives
chiefly upon insects, lodged in the bodies of decayed or de-
caying trees. For the purpose of boring into the wood, it
is furnished with a bill, straight, hard, angular, and sharp.
When, by means of this piercer, it has reached the cells of
the insects, then comes the office of its tongue; which
tongue is first, of such a léngth that the bird can dart it out
three or four inches from the bill, in this respect differing
greatly from every other species of bird; in the second
place, it is tipped with a stiff, sharp, bony thorn; and, in
the third place, which appears to me the most remarkable
Siete of all, this tip is dentated on both sides, like the

eard of an arrow or the barb of a hook. The description
of the part declares its uses. The bird, having exposed the
retreats of the insects by the assistance of its bill, with a
motion inconceivably quick, launches out at them this long
tongue ; transfixes them upon the barbed needle at the end
of it; and thus draws its prey within its mouth. If this
be not mechanism, what is? Should it be said, that, by
continual endeavours to shoot out the tongue to the stretch,
the woodpecker species may by degrees have lengthened
_ the organ itself, beyond that of other birds, what account
can be given of its form; of its tip ? How, in particular, did
it get its barbs, its dentation? These. barbs, in my opinion,
wherever they occur, are decisive proofs ‘of mechanical
contrivance...

Ilt. I shall add one more example for the sake of its
novelty. It is always an agreeable discovery, when having
remarked in an animal an extraordinary structure, we come
at length to find out an unexpected use for it. The follow-
ing narrative, which Goldsmith has taken from Buffon, fur-
nishes an instance of this kind. The babyrouessa or In-
dian hog, a species of wild boar found in the East-Indies,
has two bent teeth, more than half a yard long, growing
upwards, and, which is the singularity, from the upper Jaw.
(Pl. XX VII. fig. 4.) These instruments are not wanted
for offence, that service being provided for by two tusks is-
‘suing from the under jaw, and resembling those of the com-
mon boar. Nor does the animal use them for defence.
They might seem, therefore, to be both a superfluity and
an encumbrance. But observe the event. The animal
hitches one of these bent upper teeth upon the branch of a
tree, and then suffers its whole body to swing from it. This
is its manner of taking repose, and of consulting for its

146 PROSPECTIVE CONYRIVANCES.

safety. It continues the: whole night suspended by its
tooth, beth easy in its posture, and secure; being out of
ithe reach of animals which hunt it for prey.* +

eS eed ‘ ry
CHAP. XIV.
PROSPECTIVE CONTRIVANCES.

I can hardly imagine to myself a more distinguishing
mark, and consequently a more certain proof of design,
than preparation, i. e. the providing of things beforehand,
which are not to be used until a considerable time after-
wards; for this implies a contemplation of the future,
which belongs only to intelligence. .

Of these prospective contrivances, the bodies of.animals
furnish various examples. |

I. The human teeth afford an instance, not only of pros-
pective contrivance, but of the completion of the contrivance

being designedly suspended, (P1.X XVIII. fig. 1&2.) They

* Goldsmith’s Natural History, vol. ili. p. 195.

+ There does not seem to be any sufficient authority for ascribing
this use to the tusks of this animal. Indeed one does not readily see
how it could in the way described swing itself clear of its enemies, ex-
cept by first climbing the tree; which is not pretended. The fact is
doubted, it is believed, by many naturalists, and the opinion probably
was in the first place founded upon mere conjecture. A modern and
distinguished traveller has these remarks, upon the subject. “ Phi-
losophers had long puzzled themselvesin conjectures what the design
of nature could be, as she does nothing without design, in giving to
this animal a pair of large, curved tusks, pointing inwards to the face
in such a manner as made it sufficiently clear they could not be used
either for attack or defence, for procuring food, or for assisting the mas-
tication of it when procured. At length it occurred, or was discovered,
‘by whom I do not recollect, that the animal is fond of sleeping in a
standing posture, and, that having a large, ponderous head, it finds a
conveniency in hanging it upon the branch of a tree or shrub within

» the reach of its tusks, which serve on such occasions for hooks. This
is at least an ingenious discovery, and may be true; but if sothe hab- -
its of the animal must vary according to local circumstances. The
same species, or one so like it that the difference is not distinguishable
by any description or drawing that I have seen, is common among the
rocks on the deserts of Southern Africa, where, within the distance of
a hundred miles, there is neither tree nor shrub, except a few stunted
heaths or shrivelled everlastings, thinly scattered over the barren sur-
face. In such situations, where I have hunted and taken them, it ©
would certainly be no easy matter for the babyrouessa to find a peg
to hang its head upon.”—Barrow’s Voyage to Cochin-China. Ed,

PROSPECTIVE CONTRIVANCES. 147

are formed within the gums, and there they stop: the fact
being, that their further advance to maturity would not only
be useless to the new-born animal, but extremely in its way;
as it is evident that the act of sucking, by which it is for some
time to be nourished, will be performed with more ease both
to the nurse and to the infant, whilst the inside of the mouth,,
and edges of the gums, are smooth. and soft, than if set
with hard pointed bones. By the time they are wanted,
the teeth are ready. ‘They have been lodged within the
gums for some months past, but detained, as it were, in
their sockets, so long as their further protrusion would in-
terfere with the office to which the mouth.is destined. Na-
ture, namely, that intelligence which was employed in cre-
ation, looked beyond the first year of the infant’s life; yet,
whilst she was providing for functions which were after
that term to become necessary, was careful not to incom-
mode those which preceded them. What renders it more
probable that this is the effect of design, is, that the teeth
are imperfect, whilst all other parts of the mouth are
perfect; the lips are perfect, the tongue is perfect; the
cheeks, the jaws, the palate, the pharynx, the larynx,
are all perfect. The teeth alone are notso. 'This is the
fact with respect to’ the human mouth: the fact also is,
that the parts above enumerated, are called into use from
the beginning; whereas the teeth would be only so many
obstacles and annoyances, if they were there. When 2
contrary order is necessary, a contrary order prevails. In
the worm of the beetle, as hatched from the egg, the teeth
are the first things which arrive at perfection. ‘he insect
begins to gnaw as soon as it escapes from the shell, though
its other parts be only gradually advancing to their matu-
rity.

What has been observed of the teeth, is true of the hi
of animals; and for the same reason. The horn of a calf
or a lamb does not bud, or at least does not sprout to any
considerable length, until the animal be capable of brows-
ing upon its pasture; because such a substance upon the
forehead of the young animal, would very much incommode
the teat of the dam in the office of giving suck.

But in the case of the teeth, of the human teeth at least,
the prospective contrivance leoks still further. A succession
of crops is provided, and provided from the beginning; a sec-
ond tier being originally formed beneath the first, which do
not come into use till several years afterwards. And this
double or suppletory provision meets a difficulty in the

:

148 PROSPECTIVE CONTRIVANCES.

mechanism of the mouth, which would have appeared al-
most insurmountable. The expansion of the jaw, (the
consequence of the proportionable growth of the animal,
and of its skull,) necessarily separates the teeth of the first
set, however compactly disposed, to a distance from one
another which would be very inconvenient. In due time,
therefore, i. e. when the jaw has attained a great part of its
dimensions, a new set of teeth springs up, (loosening and
pushing out the old ones before them,) more exactly fitted
to the space which they are to occupy, and rising also in
such close ranks, as to allow for any extension cf line

which the subsequent enlargement of the head may occa-

sion. :

" II. It is not very easy to conceive a more evidently pros-
pective contrivance, than that which, in all viviparous ani-
mals, is found in the milk of the female parent. At. the
moment the young animal enters the world, there is its
maintenance ready for it. ‘The particulars to be remarked
in this economy are neither few nor slight. We have first
the nutritious quality of the fluid, unlike, in this respect,
every other excretion of the body; and in which nature
hitherto remains unimitated, neither cookery nor chemistry
having been able to make milk out of grass: we have,
secondly, the organ for its reception and retention: we have,
thirdly, the excretory duct, annexed to it: and we have,
lastly, the determination of the milk to the breast, at the
particular juncture when it is about to be wanted. We
have all these properties in the subject before us; and
they are all indications of design. The last circumstance
is the strongest of any. If I had been to guess beforehand,
I should have conjectured, that, at the time when there
was an extraordinary demand for nourishment in one part
of the system, there would be the least likelihood of a re-
dundancy to.supply another part. The advanced preg-
nancy of the female has no intelligible tendency to fill the
breast with milk. The lacteal system is a constant won-
der: and it adds to other causes of our admiration, that
the number of the teats or paps in each species is found to
bear a proportion to the number of the young. In the sow,
the bitch, the rabbit, the cat, the rat, which have numerous
litters, the paps are numerous, and are disposed along the
whole length of the belly; in the cow and mare they are
few. The most simple account of this is to. refer it toa
designing Creator.

PROSPECTIVE CONTRIVANCES. | 149

_ But, in the argument before us, we are entitled to con-
sider not only animal bodies when framed, but the circum-
stances under which they are framed. And, in this view
of the subject, the constitution of many of their parts, is

‘most strictly prospective.

Til. The eye is of no use at the time when it is formed.
It is an optical instrument made in a dungeon ; construct.
ed for the refraction of light to a focus, and perfect for its
purpose, before a ray of light has had access to it; geo-
metrically adapted to the properties and action of an ele-
ment, with which it has no communication. It is about,
indeed, to enter into that communication; and this is pre-
cisely the thing which evidences intention. It is provid-
ing for the future in the closest sense which can be given
to these terms; for it is providing for a future change: not
for the then subsisting condition of the animal; not for
any gradual progress or advance in that same condition ;
but for a new state, the consequence of a great and sudden
alteration which the animal is to undergo at its birth. Is.
it to be believed that the eye was formed, or, which is the |
same thing, that the series of causes was fixed by which
the eye is formed, without a view to this change; without
a prospect of that condition, in which its fabric, of no use
at present, is about to be of the greatest; without a con-
sideration of the qualities of that element; hitherto entire-
ly excluded, but with which it was hereafter to hold so in-
timate a relation? A young man makes a pair of specta-
cles for himself against he grows old; for which spectacles
he has no want or use whatever at the time he makes them.
Could this be done without knowing and considering
the defect of vision to which advanced age is subject?
Would not the precise suitableness of the instrument to its
purpose, of the remedy to the defect, of the convex lens
to the flattened eye, establish the certainty of the conclu-
sion, that the case, afterwards to arise, had been consider-
ed beforehand, speculated upon, provided for? all which
are exclusively the acts of a reasoning mind. ‘The eye,
formed in one state, for use only in another state, and ina
different state, affords a proof no less clear of destination to
a future purpose; and a proof proportionably stronger, as
the machinery is more complicated, and the ria og
more exact.

IV. What has been said of the eye, holds equally true
of the lungs. Composed of air vessels, where there is no |

150 PROSPECTIVE: CONTRIVANCES.

air; elaborately constructed for the alternate admission and
exclusion of an elastic fluid, where no such fluid eXIsts ;
this great organ, with the whole apparatus belonging to it,
lies collapsed in the foetal thorax, yet in order, and in read-
iness for action, the first moment that the occasion requires
its service. This is having a machine locked up in store
for a future use ; which incontestibly proves that the case
was expected to occur, in which this use might be experi-
enced; but expectation is the proper act of intelligence.
Considering the state in which an animal exists before its
birth, I should Jook for nothing less im its body than a sys-
tem of lungs. It is like finding a pair of bellows in the
bottom of the sea; of no sort of use in the situation in
which they are found : formed for an action which was im-
possible to be exerted ; holding no relation or fitness to the
element which surrounds them, but both to another ele-
ment, in another place.

As part and parcel of the same plan ought to be men-
tioned, in speaking of the lungs, the provisionary contri-
vances of the foramen ovale and ductus arteriosus. (PI.
XXIX.) Inthe feetus, pipes are laid for the passage of the
blood through the lungs; but, until the lungs be inflated
by the inspiration of air, that passage is impervious, or in a
great degree obstructed. What then is to be done? What
would an artist, what would a master do upon the occasion?
He would endeavour, most probably, to provide a temporary
passage, which might carry on the communication requir-
ed, until the other was open. Now this is the thing which
is actually done in the heart. Instead of the circuitous
rout through the lungs, which the blood afterwards takes,
before it get from one auricle of the heart to the other ;
a portion of the blood passes immediately from the right
auricle to the left, through a_ hole, placed in the partition
which separates these cavities. This hole anatomists call
the foramen ovale. ‘There is likewise another cross cut, —
answering the same purpose, by what is called the ductus
arteriosus, lying between the pulmonary artery and the
aota, But both expedients are so strictly temporary, that,
after birth, the one passage is closed, and the tube which
forms the other shrivelled up into a ligament. If this be
not contrivance, what is?

But, forasmuch as the action of the air upon the blood
in the lungs, appears to be necessary to the perfecticoncoc-.
tion of that fluid, i. e. to the life and health of the animal,
(otherwise the shortest rout might still be the best,). how

RELATIONS. Pee es

comes it to pass that the foetus lives, and grows, and thrives
without it? The answer is, that the blood of the fcetus
is the mother’s; that it has undergone that action in her
habit; that one pair of lungs serves for both. “When the
animals are separated, a new necessity arises; and to meet
this necessity as soon as it occurs, an organization is pre-
pared. It is ready for its purpose; it only waits for the
atmosphere ; it_begins to play, the moment the air is admit-

ted to it.

> OO Ox
CHAP. XV.
RELATIONS.

Wuen several different parts contribute to one effect;
or, which is the same thing, when an effect is produced by
the joint action of different instruments; the fitness of such
parts or instruments to one another, for the purpose of pro-
ducing, by their united action, the effect, is what I call re-
gation; and wherever this is observed in the works of na-
ture or of man, it appears to me to carry along with it de-
cisive evidence of understanding, intention, art. In ex-
amining, for instance, the several parts of a watch, the
spring, the barrel, the’ chain, the fusee, the balance, the
wheels of various sizes, forms and positions, what is it
which would take the observer's attention, as most plainly
evincing a construction, directed, by thought, deliberation,
and contrivance? It is the suitableness of these parts to
one another, first, in the succession and order in which
they act; and, secondly, with a view to the effect finally
produced. “I'hus, referring the spring to the wheels, he
sees in it, that which originates and upholds ther mo-
tion ; in the chain, that which transmits the motion to the
fusee; in the fusee, that which communicates it to the
wheels; in the conical figure of the fusee, if he refer back
again to the spring, he sees that which corrects the ine-
quality of its force. Referring the wheels to one another,
he notices, first, their teeth, which would have been without
use or meaning, if there had been only one wheel, or if the
wheels had had no connexion between themselves, or com-
mon bearing upon some joint effect; secondly, the corres-

pondency of their position, so that the teeth of one wheel

catch into the teeth of another ; thirdly, the proportion ob-
served in the number of teeth of each wheel, which de-

152 - RELATIONS.

termines the rate of guing. Referring the balance to the
rest of the works, he saw, when he came to understand its
action, that which rendered their motions equable. Lastly,
in looking upon the index and face of the watch, he saw
the use and conclusion of the mechanism, viz. marking the
succession of minutes and hours; but all depending upon
the motions within, all upon the system of intermediate ac-
tions between the spring and the pointer. What thus
struck his attention in the several parts of the watch he
might probably designate by one general name. of “ rela-
tion ;’ and observing, with respect to all cases what-
ever, in which the origin and formation of a thing could be
ascertained by evidence, that these relations were found in
things produced by art and design, and in no other things,
he would rightly deem of them as characteristic of such
productions. ‘To apply the reasoning here described to the
works of nature. |

The animal economy is full; is made up of these rela-
tions.

J. There are first, what, in one form or other, belong to all
animals, the parts and powers which successively act upon
their food. Compare this action with the process of a
manufactory.. In men and quadrupeds, the aliment is,
first, broken and bruised by mechanical instruments of
mastication, viz. sharp spikes or hard knobs, pressing’
against, or rubbing upon one another; thus ground and
comminuted, it is carried by a pipe into the stomach, where
it waits to undergo a great chemical action, which we call
digestion ; when digested, it is delivered through an orjfice,
which opens and shuts as there is occasion, into the first
intestine; there, after being mixed with certain proper in-
gredients, poured through a hole in the side of the vessel,
it is further dissolved ; in this state, the milk, chyle, or
part which is Galted.. and which is suited for animal nour=
ishment, is strained off by the mouths of very small tubes,
opening into the cavity of the intestines; thus freed from
its grosser parts, the percolated fluid is carried by a long,
winding, but traceable course, into the main stream of the
old circulation; which conveys it, in its progress, to every
part of the body. Now, I say again, compare this with the
process of -a manufactory ; ; with the making of cider, for ex- |
ample, with the bruising of the apples in the mill, the squeez-
ing of them when so bruised in the press, the fermentation
in the vat, the bestowing of the liquor thus fermented in the
hogsheads, the drawing off into bottles, the pauring out for

RELATIONS. 153
Bh ON
use into the glass. Let any one show me any difference
between these two cases, as to the point of contrivance.
That which is at present under our consideration, the “ re-
lation” of the parts successively employed, is not more
clear in the last case, thanin the first. The aptness of the
jaws and teeth to prepare the food for the stomach, is, at
least, as manifest, as that of the cider-mill to crush the
apples for the press. The concoction of the food in the
stomach is as necessary for its future use, as the fementa-
tion of the stum in the vat is to the perfection of the liquor.
The disposal of the aliment afterwards, the action and
change which it. undergoes, the rout which it is made to
take, in order that, and until that, it arrive at its destina-
tion, is more complex indeed, and intricate; but, in the
“midst of complication and intricacy, as evident and certain,
as is the apparatus of cocks, pipes, tunnels, for transferring
the cider from one vessel to another, of barrels and bottles
for preserving it till'fit for use, or of cups and glasses for
bringing it, when wanted, to the lip of the consumer. 'The
character of the machinery is in both cases this, that one
part answers to another part, and every part to the final re
sult.
This parallel between the alimentary operation and some
of the processes of art, might be carried further into detail.
Spallanzani has remarked* a circumstantial resemblance
between the stomachs of gallinaceous fowls and the struc-
ture of corn-mills. Whilst the two sides of the gizzard per-
form the office of the mill-stones, the craw or crop supplies
the place of the hopper. When our fowls are abundantly
supplied with meat they soon fill their craw; but it does
not immediately pass thence into the gizzard. It always
enters in very small quantities, in proportion to the progress
of trituration; in like manner as ina mill, a receiver is
fixed above the two large stones which serve for grinding
the corn; which receiver, although the corn be put into it
by bushels, allows the grain to dribble only in small quan-
tities into the central hole in the upper mill-stone.
But we have not done with the alimentary history. There
subsists a general relation between the external organs of
an animal by which it procures its food, and the internal

* Diss. I. sect. liv.

02

1564 RELATIONS;

powers by which it digests it.* Birds of prey, by their
talons and beaks, are qualified to seize and devour many
species, both of other birds, and of quadrupeds, ‘The con-
stitution of the stomach agrees exactly with the form of the

members. The gastric juice of a bird of prey, of an owl,

* This subject of the relation of parts, and the correspondence of
one part of the animal structure to all the others which is here briefly
spoken of by our author, has since been made, in the hands of some
distinguished anatomists, of immense importance in a scientific point
of view. The following extract from Mr. Bell’s Treatise on Animal
Mechanics, shows how extensively it is capable of being considered,
and what interesting results may be drawn from it.

«What we have to state has been the result of the studies of many
naturalists; but although they have laboured, as it were, in their own:
department of comparative anatomy, they have failed to seize upon it
with the privilege of genius, and to handle it in the masterly manner
of Cuvier.

‘* Suppose a man ignorant of anatomy to pick up a bone in an unex-
plored country, he learns nothing, except that some animal has lived
and died there ; but the anatomist can, by that single bone, estimate,
not merely the size of the animal, as well as if he saw the print of its
foot, but the form and joints of the skeleton, the structure of its jaws,
and teeth, the nature of its food, and its internal economy. ‘This, to
one ignorant of the subject, must appear wonderful, but it is after this
manner that the anatomist proceeds; let us suppose that he has taken
up that portion of bone in the limb of the quadruped which corresponds
to the human wrist; and that he finds that the form of the bone does
not admit of free motion in various directions, like the paw of the
carnivorous creature. It is obvious, by the structure of the part, that
the limb must have been merely for supporting the animal, and for
progression, and not for seizing prey. This leads him to the fact that
there were no bones resembling those of the hand and fingers, or those
of the claws of the tiger; for the motions which that conformation of
bones permits in the paw, would be useless, without the rotation of the
wrist—he concludes that these bones were formed in one mass, like
the cannon bone, pastern-bone, and coffin-bones of the horse’s foot.

“The motion limited to flection and extension of the foot of a hoofed
animal implies the absence of a collar bone and a restrained motion in
the shoulder joint; and thus the naturalist, from the specimen in his
hand, has got a perfect notion of all the bones of the anterior extrem-
ity! The motions of the extremities imply a condition of the spine
which unites them. Each bone of the spine will have that form which
permits the bounding of the stag, or the galloping of the horse, but it
will not have that form of joining which admits the turning or writh-
ing of the spine, as in the leopard or the tiger.

‘“« And now he comes to the head :—the teeth of a carnivorous animal,
he says, would be useless to rend prey, unless there were claws to
hold it, anda mobility of the extremities like the hand, to grasp it.
He considers, therefore, that the teeth must have been for bruising
herbs, and the back teeth for grinding. The socketing of these teeth
in the jaw gives a peculiar form to these bones, and the muscles
which move them are also peculiar; in short, he forms a conception
of the shape of the skull. From this point he may set out anew, for

ae oo

: RELATIONS, | 155
a falcon, or a kite, acts upon the animal fibre alone; it will
not act upon seeds or grasses at all. On the other hand,
the conformation of the mouth of the sheep, or of the ox, is:
suited for browsing upon herbage. Nothing about these
animals is fitted for the pursuit of living prey. Accord-
ingly it has been found by experiments, tried not many
years ago with perforated balls, that the gastric juice of
ruminating animals, such as the sheep and the ox, speedily
dissolves vegetables, but makes no impression upon animal
bodies. ‘This accordancy is still more particular. The
gastric juice even of granivorous birds, will not act upon
the grain, whilst whole and entire. In performing the ex-
periment of digestion with the gastric juice in vessels, the
grain must be crushed and bruised, before it be submitted
to the menstruum ; that is to say, must undergo by art, with-
out the body, the preparatory action which the gizzard ex-
erts upon it within the body, or no digestion will take place.
So strict is the relation between the offices assigned to the
digestive organ; between the mechanical operation, and
the chemical process.

II. The relation of the kidneys to the bladder, and of
the ureters to both, 1. e. of the secreting organ to the ves-
sel receiving the secreted liquor, and the pipe laid from one '

by the form of the teeth, he ascertains the nature of the stomach, the
length of the intestines, and all the peculiarities which mark a vegeta-
ble feeder.

** Thus the whole parts of the animal system are so connected with
one another, that from one single bone or fragment of bone, be it of
the jaw, or of the spine, or of the extremity, a really accurate concep-
tion of the shape, motions, and habits of the animal, may be formed.

** It will readily be understood that the same process of reasoning will
ascertain, from a small portion of a skeleton, the existence of a car-
nivorous ‘animal, or ofa fowl, or of a bat, or of a lizard, or of a fish;
and what a conviction is here brought home to us, of the extent of
that plan which adapts the members of every creature to its proper
office, and yet exhibits a system extending through the whole range
of animated beings, whose motions are cenducted by the operation of
muscles and bones!

* After ali, this is but a part of the wonders disclosed through the
knowledge of a thing so despised as a fraginent of bone. It carries us
into another science; since the knowledge of the skeleton nat only ~
teaches us the elassification of creatures, now alive, but affords proofs
of the former existence of animated beings which are not now to be

. found on the surface of the earth. We are thus led to an unexpected

conclusion from such premises; not merely the existence of an indi-
vidual animal, or race of animals; but even the changes which the
globe itself has undergone in times before all existing records, and be-
fore the creation of human beings to inhabit the earth, are opened to
our contemplation.

-

156 RELATIONS,

to the other for the purpose of conveying it from one to
the other, is as manifest as it is amongst the different ves-
_ sels employed in a distillery, or in the communications be-
tween them. The animal structure, in this case, being
simple, and the parts easily separated, it forms an instance
of correlation which may be presented by dissection to every
eye, or which, indeed, without dissection, is capable of be-
ing apprehended by every understanding. This correla
tion of instruments to one another fixes intention some-
where.

Especially when every other solution is neauiiv ed by the
conformation. If the bladder had been merely an expan-
sion of the ureter, produced by retention of the fluid,
there ought to have been a bladder for each ureter. One
receptable, fed by two pipes, issuing from different sides of
the body, yet from both conveying the same fluid, is not to
be accounted for by any such supposition as this.

III. Relation of parts to one another accompanies. us
throughout the whole animal economy. Can any relation
be more simple, yet more convincing, than this, that the
eyes are so placed as to look in the direction in which the
legs move and the hands work’? It might have happened
very differently, if it had been left to chance. ‘There were,
at least, three quarters of the compass out of four to have
erred in. Any considerable alteration in the position of
the eye, or the figure of the joints, would have disturbed
the line, and destroyed the alliance between the sense and
the limbs.

IV But relation perhaps is never so striking, as when
it subsists, not between different parts of the same thing,
but between different things. ‘The relation between a
lock and a key is more obvious, than it is between differ-
ent parts of the lock. A bow was designed for an arrow,
and an arrow fora bow; and the design is more evident
their being separate implements.

Nor does the works of the Deity want this clearest spe-
cies of relution. The sexes are manifestly made for each
other. ‘They form the grand relation of animated nature ;
universal, organic, mechanical; subsisting, like the clear-
est relations of art, in different individuals : unequivocal, in-
explicable, without design :—So much so, that, were every
other proof of contrivance in nature dubious or obscure,
this alone would be sufficient. The example is complete.
Nothing is wanting to the argument, I see no way what-
ever of getting over it.

RELATIONS. 157

Y. The teats of animals, which give suck, bear a re-
lation to the mouth of the suckling progeny ; particularly
to the lips and tongue. Here also, as before, is a corres-
pondency of parts ; which parts subsist in different indi-
viduals.

These are general relations, or the relations of parts
which are found, either in all animals, or in large classes.
and descriptions ‘of animals, Particular relations, or the
relations which subsist between the particular configura-
tion of one or more parts of certain species of animals,
and the particular configuration of one or more other parts
of the same animal, (which is the sort of relation, that is,’
perhaps, most striking,) are such as the following:

I. In the swan; the web-foot, the spoon-bill, the long
neck, the thick down, the graminivorous stomach, bear all
a relation to one another, inasmuch as they all concur in
one design, that of supplying the occasions of an aquatic
fowl, floating upon the surface of shallow pools of water,.
and seeking its food at the bottom. Begin with any one
of these particularities of structure, and observe how the:
rest follow it. The web-foot qualifies the bird for swimming.
the spoon bill enables it to graze. But how is an animal,,
floating upon the surface of pools of water, to graze at the
bottom, except by the mediation of a long ‘neck? A long,
neck accordingly i is given to it. Again, a warm blooded ani-
mal, which was to pass its life upon water, required a de-
fence against the coldness of that element. Such a defence
is furnished to the swan, in the muff in which its body is:
wrapped. But all this outward apparatus would have been
in vain, if the intestinal system had not been suited to the
digestion of vegetable substances. I say suited to the di-
gestion of vegetable substances; for it is well known, that
there are two intestinal systems found in birds, one with a
membranous stomach and a gastric juice, capable of dissolv-
ing animal substances alone; the other with a crop and
gizzard, calculated for the moistening, brusing, and after-
terwards digesting, of vegetable aliment.

Or set off with any other distinctive part in the body
of the swan; for instance, with the long neck. The long
neck, without the web-foot, would have been an encumbrance
to the bird; yet there is no necessary connexion between
a long neck and a web-foot. In fact they do not usually
go together. How happens it, therefore, that they meet
only when a particular design demands the aid of both %

158 RELATIONS.

II. This mutual relation, arising from a subserviency
to a common purpose, is very observable also in the parts
of a mole. The strong short legs of that animal, the pal-
mated feet, armed with sharp nails, the pig-like nose, the
teeth, the velvet coat, the small external ear, the sagacious
smell, the sunk protected eye, all conduce to the utilities,
or to the safety, of its underground life. It is a special
purpose, specially consulted throughout. 'The form of the
feet fixes the character of the animal. They are so many
shovels; they determine its action to that of rooting in the
ground; and every thing about its body agrees with this
destination. The cylindrical figure of the mole, as well as
the compactness of its form, arising from the terseness of
its limbs, proportionally lessens its labour; because, accord-
ing to its bulk, it thereby requires the least possible quanti-
ty of earth to be removed for its progress. It has nearly
the same structure of the face and jaws as a swine, and’
the same office for them. The nose is sharp, slender,
tendinous, strong; with a pair of nerves going down to
the end of it. ‘The plush covering, which, by the smooth-
ness, closeness, and polish of the short piles that compose
it, rejects the adhesion of almost évery species of earth, de-
fends the animal from cold and wet, and from the impedi-
ment, which it would experience by the mould sticking to
its body. From soils of all kinds, the little pioneer comes
forth bright and clean. Inhabiting dirt, it is, of all animals,
the neatest.

But what I have always most admired in the mole, is its
eyes. This animal occasionally visiting the surface, and
wanting, for its safety and direction, to be informed when
it does so, or when it approaches it, a perception of light
was necessary. Ido not know that the clearness of sight
depends at all upon the size of the organ. What is gained
by the largeness or prominence of the globe of the eye is
width in the field of vision. Such a capacity would be of
no use to an animal which was to seek its food in the dark.
The mole did not want to look about it; nor would a large
advanced eye have been easily defended from the annoy-
ance, to which the life of the animal must constantly ex-
pose it. How indeed was the mole, working its way un-
der ground, to guard its eyes at all? In order to meet
this difficulty, the eyes are made scarcely larger than the
head of a corking-pin; and these minute globules are sunk
so deep in the skull, and lie so sheltered within the velvet
Of its covering, as that any contraction of what may be

———

COMPENSATION. ~ 159

| calls the eyebrows, not only closes up the apertures which
lead to the eyes, but presents a cushion, as it were, to
any sharp or protruding substance, which might push
against them. This aperture even in its ordinary .state is
like a pin hole in a piece of velvet, scarcely pervious to
loose particles of earth. !

Observe then, in this structure, that which we call re-
lation. ‘There is no natural connexion between a small
sunk eye and ashovel palmated foot. Palmated feet might
have been joined with goggle eyes; or small eyes might
have been joined with feet of any other form. What was
it therefore which brought them together in the mode?
That which brought together the barrel, the chain, and the
fusee, in a watch; design : and design, in both cases, in-
ferred, from the relation which the parts bear to one an-
other in the prosecution of a common purpose. As hath
already been observed, there are different ways of stating
the relation, according as we set out from a different part.
In the instance before us, we may either consider the
shape of the feet, as qualifying the animal for that mode
of life and inhabitation, to which the structure of its eyes
confines it; or we may consider the structure of the eye,
as the only one which would have suited with the action
to which the feet are adapted. The relation is manifest,
whichever of the parts related we place first in the order
of our consideration. Ina word; the feet of the mole are
made for digging ; the neck, nose, eyes, ears and skin, are
peculiarly adapted to an underground life; and this is
what I call relation, (Pl. XXX. fig. 1.)

> @GOa.-
CHAP. XVI.
COMPENSATION,

CoMPENSATION is a species of relation. It is relation,
when the defects of one part, or of one organ, are supplied
by the structure of another part, or of another organ.
Thus,

1. The short, unbending neck of the elephant, is com-
pensated by the length and flexibility of his proboscis. He
could not have reached the ground without it; or, if it be
supposed that he might have fed upon the fruit, leaves, or
branches of trees, how was he to drink? Should it be

160 COMPENSATION,

asked, why is the elephant’s neck so short? it may be an-

swered that the weight of a head so heavy, could not have

been supported at the end ofa longer lever. Toa form
therefore in some respects necessary, but in some respects

also inadequate to the occasion of the animal, a supple-

ment is added, which exactly makes up the deficiency un-
der which he laboured.

If it be suggested, that this proboscis may have been
produced in a long course of generations, by the constant
endeavour of the elephant to thrust out his nose, {which is
the general hypothesis by which it has lately been attempt-
ed to account for the forms of animated nature,) I would

ask, how was the animal to subsist in the mean time, dur-

ing the process ; until this elongation of snout were com-
pleted? What was to become of the individual, whilst
the species was perfecting ?

Our business at- present is, simply to point out the rela-
tion, which this organ bears to the peculiar figure of the
animal to which it belongs. And, herein, all things corres-
pond. The necessity of the elephant’s proboscis arises
from the shortness of his neck; the shortness of the neck
is rendered necessary by the weight of the head. Were
we to enter into an examination of the structure and anat-
omy of the proboscis itself, we should see in it one of the
most curious of all examples of animal mechanism. (PI.
XXX. fig. 2,3, 4,5.) The disposition of the ringlets
and fibres, for the purpose, first of forming a long cartilag-
inous pipe; secondly, of contracting and lengthening that
pipe; thirdly, of turning it in every direction at the will
of the animal ; with the superaddition at the end, of a
fleshy production, of about the length and thickness of a
finger, and performing the office of a finger, so as to pick
up a straw from the ground; these properties of the same
organ taken together, exhibit a specimen, not only of de-
sign, (which is attested by the advantage,) but of consum-
mate art, and as I may say, of elaborate preparation, in
accomplishing that design. |

II. The hook in the wing of a bat, is strictly a me-
chanical, and, also, a compensating contrivance. (PI. XXX.
fig. 6.) At the angle of its wing there is a bent claw,
exactly in the form of a hook, by which the bat at-
taches itself to the sides of rocks, caves, and buildings,
lying hold of crevices, joinings, chinks, and roughnesses.
It hooks itself by this claw; remains suspended by this
hold; takes its flight from this position; which operations

= ee ee

COMPENSATION, 161

compensate for the decrepitude of its legs and feet. | With-

out her hook, the bat would be the most helpless of all

-animals. She can neither run upon her feet, nor raise

herself from the ground. These inabilities are made up
to her by the contrivance in her wiag; and in placing
a claw on that part, the Creator has deviated from the
analogy observed in winged animals. A singular defect
required a singular substitute.

Ill. The crane kind are to live and seek their food
amongst the waters; yet, having no web-feet, are incapa-
ble of swimming. ‘To make up for this deficiency, they
are furnished with long legs for wading, or long bills for
grouping; or usually with both. This is compensation.
But I think the true reflection upon the present instance
is, how every part of nature is tenanted by appropriate in-
habitants. Not only is the surface of deep waters peopled
by numerous tribes of birds that swim, but marshes and
shallow pools are furnished with hardly less numerous tribes
of birds that wade.

IV. The common parrot has, in the structure of its
beak, both an inconveniency, and a compensation for it.
When I speak of an inconveniency, I have a view to a di-
lemma which frequently occurs in the works of nature, viz.
that the peculiarity of structure by which an organ is made
to answer one purpose, necessarily unfits it for some other
purpose. This is the case before us. The upper bill of a
parrot is so much hooked, and so much overlaps the lower,
that, if, as in other birds, the lower chap alone had motion,
the bird could scarcely gape wide enough to receive its
food; yet this hook and overlapping of the bill could not
be spared, for it forms the very instrument by which the
bird climbs; to say nothing of the use which it makes of
it in breaking nuts, and the hard substances upon which it
feeds. How, therefore, has nature provided for the open-
ing of this occluded mouth? By making the upper chap
moveable, (Pl. XXX. fig. 7.) as well as the lower. In
most birds, the upper chap is connected, and makes but
one piece with the skull; but in the parrot, the upper chap
is joined to the bone of the head by a strong membrane,
placed on each side of it, which lifts and depresses it at
pleasure. *

* Goldsmith’s Nat. Hist. vol. v. p. 274.
P ae

162 COMPENSATION.

_V. The spiders web is a compensating contrivance.
The spider lives upon flies, without wings to pursue them ;
a case, one would have thought, of great difficulty ; yet
provided for; and provided for by a resource, which no
stratagem, no effort of the animal, could have produced,
had not both its external an internal structure been poe
fically adapted to the operation.

VI. In many species of insects the eye is fixed; and
consequently without the power of turning the pupil to the
object. 'This great defect is however perfectly compensat-
ed; and by a mechanism which we should not suspect.
The eye is a multiplying glass; with a lens looking in
every direction, and catching every object. By which
means, although the orb of the eye be stationary, the field
of vision is as ample as that of other animals; and is
commanded on every side. (PI. XXX. fig.8.) When
this lattice work was first observed, the multiplicity and
minuteness of the surfaces must have added to the surprise
of the discovery. Adams tells us, that fourteen hundred
of these reticulations have been counted in the two eyes of
a drone bee.'

In other cases, the compensation is effected by the num-
ber and position of the eyes themselves. (PI. XXX. fig. 9.)
The spider has eight eyes, mounted upon different parts of
the head, two in front, two in the top of the head, two on
each side. These eyes are without motion; but, by their
situation, suited to comprehend every view, which the wants
or safety of the animal render it necessary for it to take.

VII. The memoirs for the Natural History of Animals,
published by the French Academy, A. D. 1687, furnish us
with some curious particulars in the eye of a chamelion.
Instead of two eyelids, it is covered by an eyelid with a
hole in it. This singular structure appearsto be a compen-
satory, and to answer to some other singularities in the
shape of the animal. ‘The neck of the chamelion is inflex-
ible. ‘To make up for this, the eye is so prominent, as that
more than half of the ball stands out of the head. By
means of which extraordinary projection, the pupil of the
eye can be carried by the muscles in every direction, and
is capable of being pointed towards every object. But,
then, so unusual an exposure of the globe of the eye, re-
quires, for its lubricity and defence, a more than ordinary
protection of eyelid, as well as a more than ordinary supply
of moisture; yet the motion of an eyelid, formed accord-
ing to the common construction, would be impeded, as it

COMPENSATION... 163

should seem, by the convexity of the organ. The aperture
in the lid meets this difficulty. It enables the animal to
keep the principal part of the surface of the eye under cov-
er, and to preserve it in a due state of humidity, without
shutting out the light ; or without performing every moment
a nictitation, which, it is probable, would be more labori-
ous to this animal than to others.

VIII. In another animal, and in another part of the
animal: economy, the same Memoirs describe a most re-
markable substztutzon. The reader will remember what -
we have already observed concerning the intestinal canal ;
that its length, so many times exceeding that of the body,
promotes the extraction of the chyle from the aliment, by
giving room for the lacteal vessels to act upon it through
a greater space. This long intestine, wherever it occurs,
is, in other animals, disposed in the abdomen from side to
side in returning folds. But, in the animal now under
our notice, the matter is managed otherwise. The same
intention is mechanically effectuated; but by a mechanism
of a different kind. The animal of which [ speak, is an
amphibious quadruped, which our authors call the alope-
€ias, or sea fox. The intestine is straight from one end to
the ‘other : but in this straight, and consequently short
intestine, is a winding, cork-screw, spiral passage, through
which, the food, not without several circumvolutions, and
in fact by a long rout,.is conducted to its exit. Here the
shortness of the gut is compensated by the pbliquity of the
perforation.

IX. But the works of the Deity are known by expedi-
ents. Where we should look for absolute destitution,
where we can reckon up nothing but wants, some contri-
vance always comes in to supply the privation. A snazd,
without wings, feet, or thread, climbs up the stalks of
plants, by the sole aid of a viscid humour discharged
from her skin. She adheres to the stems, leaves, and fruits

of plants, by means of a sticking plaster. A muscle,

which might seem, by its helplessness, to lie at the mercy
of every wave that went over it, has the singular power of
spinning strong, tendinous threads, by which she moors
her shell to rocks and timbers. A cockle, on the contrary,

‘by means of its stiff tongue, works for itselfa shelter in the

sand. ‘The provisions of nature extend to cases the most
desperate. A Jobster has a difficulty, in its constitution so
great, that one could hardly conjecture beforehand how

_ Mature would dispose of it. In most animals, the skin

a

164 COMPENS ATION.

grows with their growth. If, instead of a soft skin, there
be a shell, still it admits of a gradual enlargement. If the
shell, as in the tortoise, consist of several pieces, the ac-
Beation of substance is fate at the sutures. Bivalve shells

grow bigger by receiving an accretion at their edge; it is

the same with spiral shells at their mouth.’ The simplici-
ty of their form admits of this. But the lobster’s shell be-
ing applied to the limbs of the body, as well as to the body
itself, allows not of either of the modes of growth which
are observed to take place in other shells. Its -hardness
resists expansion ; and its complexity renders it incapable
of increasing its size by addition of substance to its edge.
How then was the growth of the lobster to be provided for ?
Was room to be made for it im the old shell, or was it td
be successively fitted with new ones? Ifa change of shell
became necessary, how was the lobster to extricate himself
from his present confinement? How was he to uncase his
buckler, or draw his legs out of his boots? The process,
which fishermen have observed to take place, is as follows.
At certain seasons, the shell of a lobster grows soft, the
animal swells its body, the seams open, and the claws
burst at the jomts. When the shell has thus become loose
upon the body, the animal makes a second effort, and by.
a tremulous spasmodic motion, casts it off. In this state
the liberated but defenceless fish, retires into holes in the
rock. The released body now suddenly pushes it. growth.

In about eight-and- -forty hours, a fresh concretion of hu-
mour upon the surface, i. e. a new shell is formed, adapted

in every part to the increased dimensions of the animal. |

This wonderful mutation is repeated every year.

If there be imputed defects ‘without compensation, I
should suspect that they were defects only in appearance.
Thus,.the body of the sloth has often been reproached
for the slowness of its motions, which has been attributed
to an imperfection in the formation of its limbs. But it
ought to be observed, that it is this slowness, which alone
suspends the voracity of the animal. He fasts during his
migration from one tree to another ; and this fast may be
necessary for the relief of his over-charged vessels, as well
as to allow time for the concoction of the mass of course
and hard food which he has taken into his stomach. ‘The
tardiness of his pace seems to have reference to the capac
ity of his organs, and to his propensities with respect to

a

0 ee imeem
———=

= =

ee

COMPENSATION. 165

food, i. e. is calculated to counteract the effects of reple-
tion.* | .
Or there may be cases, in which a defect is artificial, and
compensated by the very cause which produces it. Thus
the sheep, in the domesticated state in which we see it, is
destitute of the ordinary means of defence or escape; is
' incapable either of resistance or flight. But this is not so
with the wild animal. The natural sheep is swift and ac-
tive: and, if it lose these qualities when it comes under
the subjection of man, the loss is compensated by his pro-
tection. Perhaps there is no species of quadruped what-
ever, which suffers so little as this does, from the depreda-
tion of animals of prey. |
For the sake of making our meaning better understood,
we have considered this business of compensation under
certain particularities of constitution, in which it appears
to be most conspicuous. ‘This view of the subject neces-
sarily limits the instances to single species of animals. But
there are compensations, perhaps, not less certain, which
extend over large classes, and to large portions of living
nature. -

_I. In quadrupeds, the deficiency of teeth is usuaily com-
pensated by the faculty of rumination. ‘The sheep, deer,
and ox tribe, are without fore-teeth in the upper jaw. These ©
ruminate. The horse and ass are furnished with teeth in
the upper jaw, and do not ruminate. In the former class
the grass and hay descend into the stomach, nearly in the
state in which they are cropped from the pasture, or gath-
ered from the bundle. In the stomach they are softened
by the gastric juice, which in these animals is unusually
copious. Thus softened, and rendered tender, they are
returned a second time to the action of the mouth, where

* Blumenbach states in his Manual of Natural History, that he had
conversed with many Hollanders who had lived in Guiana, and from
them collected, that this apparently miserable animal, is rather an en-
viable one. First, he nourishes himself entirely from leaves, and, there-
fore, when he has once climbed a tree, he can live on the same dish a
quarter of a year. Secondly, he does not drink at all. Thirdly, ona
tree he is exposed to but few enemies, and when the sloth marks that

‘a tiger-cat is climbing up a branch, it goes softly to the end of the

branch, and rocks it till the tiger-cat falls off, so that seldom is there
an instance that a tiger-cat surprises one; even upon the ground, so
powerful are the claws of the sloth, and so fearful its cries, that its
enemies generally get the worst. So idle is Buffon’s declamation
against the goodness and wisdom of Providence drawn from this
beast. Paxton.

P 2

166 COMPENSATION.

w

the grinding teeth complete at their leisure the trituration

which is necessary, but which was before left imperfect.

I say the trituration which is necessary; for it appears
from experiments that the gastric fluid of sheep, for example,

has no effect in digesting plants, unless they have been

previously masticated ; that it only produces,a slight ma-
ceration, nearly as common water would do in a like degree
of heat; but that, when once vegetables are reduced to
pieces by mastication, the fluid then exerts upon them its
specific operation. Its first effect is to soften them, and to
destroy their natural consistency; it then goes on to dis-
solve them; not sparing even the toughest parts,'such as
the nerves of the leaves.*

I think it very probable that the gratification also of the
animal is renewed and prolonged by this faculty. Sheep,
deer, and oxen, appear to be in a state of enjoyment whilst
they are chewing the cud. It is then, perhaps, that they
best relish their food.

If. In birds, the compensation is still more striking.
They have no teeth at all. What have they then to make
up for this severe want? I speak of granivorous and
herbivorous birds; such as common fowls, turkeys, ducks,
geese, pigeons, éxc. for it is concerning these alone that
the question need be asked. AlFthese are furnished with
a peculiar and most powerful muscle, called the gizzard;
the inner coat of which is fitted up with rough plates, which,
by a strong friction against one another, break and grind
the hard aliment as effectually, and by the same mechani-
cal action, as a coffee-mill would do. It has been proved
by the most correct experiments, that the gastric juice
of these birds will not operate upon the enéire grain; not
even when softened by water or macerated in the crop.
Therefore without a grinding machine within its body,
without the trituration of the gizzard, a chicken would
have starved upon a heap of corn. Yet why should a bill
and a gizzard go together? Why should a gizzard never
be found where there are teeth ?

Nor does the gizzard belong to birds as such. A giz-
zard is not found in birds of prey.. Their food requires
not to be ground down in a mill. The compensatory con-
trivance goes no further than the necessity. _ In both class-
es of birds, however, the digestive organ within the body,
bears a strict and mechanical relation to the external in-

“Spal. Dis. III. sec. 140.

COMPENSATION. 167

- struments for procuring food. The soft membranous sto-
mach, accompanies the hooked, notched beak ;_ the short,
muscular legs; the strong, sharp, crooked talons: ‘The car-
tilaginous stomach, attends that conformation of bill and
toes, which restrains the bird to the picking of seeds or
the cropping of plants.

Kil. But to proceed with our compensations. A very
numerous and comprehensive tribe of terrestrial animals
are entirely without feet; yet locomotive; and, in a very
considerable degree, swift in their motion. How is the
want of feet compensated? It is done by the disposition
of the muscles and fibres of the trunk. In consequence of
the just collocation, and by means of the joint action of
longitudinal and annular fibres, that is to say, of strings
and rings, the body and train of reptiles* are capable of be-
ing reciprocally shortened and lengthened, drawn up and
stretched out. ‘The result of this action is a progressive,
and, in some cases, a rapid movement of the whole body,
in any direction to which the will of the animal determines
it. The meanest creature is a collection of wonders. The
play of the rings in an earth-worm, as it crawls; the undu-
latory motion propagated along the body; the beards or
prickles, with which the annuli are armed, and which the
animal can either shut up close to its body, or let out to lay
hold of the roughnesses of the surface upon which it
creeps; and, the power arising from all these, of changing
its place and position, afford, when compared with the
provisions for motion in other animals, proofs of new and
appropriate mechanism. Suppose that we had never seen
an animal move upon the ground without feet, and that the
problem was, muscular action, i. e. reciprocal contraction
and relaxation being given, to describe how such an animal
might be constructed, capable of voluntarily changing
-place. Something, perhaps, like the organization of rep-

tiles, might have been hit upon by the ingenuity of an ar-

* Contraction and expansion is the mode of progression in worms,
but not in reptiles; in the class of serpents locomotion consists simply
of repeated horizontal undulations, viz. flexion and extension. Thus
the head: being the fixed point, the body and tail assume several
curves; the tail then becomes the fixed point, the curvatures are
straightened, and thus the animal advances with a serpentine motion.
By these successive curvatures and right lines alternating, it moves
forward at each step nearly the length of the whole body; the ribs,
which Sir E. Home considers to act as feet, having nothing to do with -
locomotion unless as affording a fulcrum for the muscles,

Paxton.

168 THE RELATION OF ANIMATED BODIES

tist ; or might have been exhibited in an automaton, by the
combination of springs, spiral wires, and ringlets: but to
the solution of the problem would not be denied, surely,
the praise of invention and of successful thought; least of
all could it ever be questioned, whether intelligence had
been employed about it, or not.

—— P=

CHAP. XVII.

THE RELATION OF ANIMATED BODIES TO INANIMATE
NATURE.

We have already considered relation, and under differ-
ent views; but it was the relation of parts to parts, of the
parts of an animal to other parts of the same animal, or of
another individual of the same species.

But the bodies of animals, hold, in their constitution ane
‘properties, a close and important relation to natures alto-
gether external to their own; to inanimate substances, and
to the specific qualities of these, e.g. they hold a strict re-
lation to the elements by which they are surrounded.

I. Can it be doubted, whether the wings of birds bear a
relation to air, and the ‘fins of fish to water? They are
instruments of motion, severally suited to the properties of
the medium in which the motion is to be performed :
which properties are different. Was not this difference
contemplated, when the instruments were differently con-
stituted ?

IJ. The structure of the animal ear depends for its use
not simply upon being surrounded by a fluid, but upon the
specific nature of that fluid. Every fluid would not serve ;
its particles must repel one another; it must form an elastic
medium: for it is by the successive pulses of such a medi-
um, that the undulations excited by the sounding body are
carried to the organ; that a communication is formed be-
tween the object and the sense; which must be done be-
fore the internal machinery of the ear, subtile as it 1s, can
act at all.

Ili. The organs of voice, and respiration, are, no
less than the ear, indebted for the success of their opera-
tion, to the peculiar qualities of the fluid in which the
animal is immersed. They, therefore, as well as the ear,

TO INANIMATE NATURE. — 169

are constituted upon the supposition of such fluid, i. e. of
a fluid with such particular properties, being always pres-
ent. Change the properties of the fluid, and the organ
- cannot act; change the organ, and the properties of the
fluid would be lost. The structure, therefore, of our or-
gans, and the properties of our atmosphere, are made for
one another. Nor coes it alter the relation, whether you
allege the organ to be made for the element, (which seems
the most natural way of considering it,) or the element as
prepared for the organ...

IV. But there is another fluid with which we have to do;
with properties of its own; with laws of acting, and of be-
ing acted upon, totally different from those of air and water:
and that is light. 'To this new, this singular element; to
qualities perfectly peculiar, perfectly distinct and remote
from the qualities of any other substance with which we
are acquainted, an organ is adapted, an instrument is cor-
rectly adjusted, not less peculiar amongst the parts of the
body, not less singular in its form, and, in the substance of
which it is composed, not less remote from the materials,
the model, and the analogy of any other part of the animal

.frame, than the element to which it relates, is specific
amidst the substances with which we converse. If this
does not prove appropriation, I desire to know what would
prove it. )

Yet the element of light and the organ of vision, how-
ever related in their office and use, have no connexion
whatever in their original. The action of rays of light
upon the surfaces of animals has no tendency to breed eyes
in their heads. The sun might shine for ever upon living
bodies without the smallest approach towards producing the
sense of sight. On the other hand also, the animal eye
does not generate or emit light.

VY. Throughout the universe there is a wonderful pro-
portioning of one thing to another. The size of animals,
of the human animal especially, when considered with re-
spect to other animals, or to the plants which grow around
him, is such, as a regard to his conveniency would have
pointed out. A giant or a pigmy could not have milked goats,
reaped corn, or mowed grass; we may add, could not have
rode a horse, trained a vine, shorn a sheep, with the same
bodily ease as we do, ifat all. A pigmy would have been
lost among rushes, or carried off by birds of prey.

It may be mentioned, likewise, that the model and the
materials of the human body being what they are, a much

170 THE RELATION OF ANIMATED BODIES

greater bulk would have broken down by its own weight.
The persons of men, who much exceed the ordinary stat-
ure, betray this tendency.

VI. Again, (and which includes a vast variety of partic-
ulars, and those of the greatest importance,) how close is"
the suttableness of the earth and sea to their several inhab-
itants; and of these inhabitants to the places of their ap-
pointed residence ?

Take the earth as it is; and consider the corresponden-
cy of the powers of its inhabitants with the properties and
condition of the soil which they tread. Take the inhab-
itants as they are; and consider the substances which the
earth yields for their use. ‘They can scratch its surface,
and its surface supplies all which they want. This is the
length of their faculties; and such is the constitution of
the globe, and their own, that this is sufficient for all their
‘occasions.

When we pass from the earth to the sea, from land to
water, we pass through a great change; but an adequate
change accompanies us of animal forms and functions of
animal capacities and wants, so that correspondency remains.
‘The earth in its nature is very different from the sea, and
the sea from the earth; but one accords with its inhab-
itants, as exactly as the other.

VII. The last relation of this kind which I shall men-
tion is that of sleep to night. And it appears to me to be
a relation which was expressly intended. Two points are
manifest ; first, that the animal frame requires sleep; sec-
endly, that night brings with it a silence, and a cessation
of activity, which allows of sleep being taken without in-
terruption, and without loss. Animal existence is made
up of action and slumber; nature has provided a season for
each. An animal, which stood not in need of rest, would
always live in daylight. “An animal, which, though made
for action, and delighting in action, must have its strength
repaired by sleep, meets by its constitution the returns of
day and night. In the human species, for instance, where
the bustle, the labour, the motion of life, upheld by the
constant presence of light, sleep could not be enjoyed with-
out being disturbed by noise, and without expense of that
time, which the eagerness of private interest would not con-
tentedly resign. It is happy therefore for this part of the
creation, I mean that it is conformable to the frame and
wants of their constitution, that nature, by the very dispo-
sition of her elements, has commanded, as it were, and im-

TO INANIMATE NATURE. 171

posed upon them, at moderate intervals, a general intermis-
- sion of their toils, their occupations, and pursuits.
But it is not for man, either solely or principally, that
night is made. Inferior, but less perverted natures, taste
‘its solace, and expect its return, with greater exactness
and advantage than he does. I have often observed, and
never observed but to admire, the satisfaction, no less than
the regularity, with which the greatest part of the. irration-
al world yield to this soft necessity, this grateful vicissi-
tude ; how comfortably the birds of the air, for example,
address themselves to the repose of the evening ; with what
alertness they resume the activity of the day.
Nor does it disturb our argument to confess, that certain
species of animals are in motion during the night, and at
rest in the day. With respect even to them it is still true,
that there is a change of condition in the animal, and an
external change corresponding with it. There is still the
relation, though inverted. The fact is, that the repose of
other animals sets these at liberty, and invites them to their
food or their sport.

If the relation of sleep to night, and in some instances,
its converse, be real, we cannot reflect without amazement |
upon the extent to which it carries us. Day and night are
things close to us; the change applies immediately to our
sensations; of all the phenomena of nature, it is the most
familiar to our experience; but in its cause, it belongs to
the great motions which are passing in the heavens. Whilst
the earth glides round her axle, she ministers to the alter-
nate necessities of the animals dwelling upon her surface,
at the same time that she obeys the influence of those at-
tractions, which regulate the order of many thousand worlds.
The relation therefore of sleep to night, is the relation of
the inhabitants of the earth to the rotation of their globe;
probably it is more; it is a relation to the system, of which
that globe is a part; and, still further, to the congregation
of systems, of which theirs is only one. If this account be
true, it connects the meanest individual with the universe
itself; a chicken roosting upon its perch, with the spheres

revolving in the firmament. ,

VIII. Butif any one object to our representation, that
the succession of day and night, or the rotation of the earth
upon which it depends, is not resolvable into central at-
traction, we will refer him to that which certainly is—to
the change of the seasons. Now the constitution of ani-
mals susceptible of torpor, bears a relation to winter, simi-

172 INSTINCTS.

lar to that which sleep bears to night. Against not only the
cold, but the want of food, which the approach of winter
induces, the Preserver of the world has provided, in many
animals by migration, in many others by torpor. As one
example out of a thousand, the bat, ifit did not sleep
through the winter, must have starved, as the moths and
flying insects, upon which it feeds, disappear. But the
transition from summer to winter, carries us into the very
midst of physical astronomy, that is to say, into the midst
of those laws which govern the solar system at least, and
probably all the heavenly bodies.

2 @ OO 102
CHAP. XVIII-
INSTINCTS.

Tue order may not be very obvious, by which I place
tnstincts, next to relations. But I consider them as a
species of relation. They contribute, along with the ani-
mal organization, to a joint effect, in which view they are
related to that organization. In many cases they refer
from one animal to another animal; and when this is the
case, become strictly relations in a second point of
view.

An instinct is a propensity prior to experience, and in-
dependent of instruction. We contend, that it is by in-
stinct that the sexes of animals seek each other; that
animals cherish their offspring ; that the young quadruped
is directed to the teat of its dam; that birds build their
nests and brood with so much patience upon their eggs ;
that insects which do not sit upon their eggs, deposit them
in those particular situations, in which the young, when
hatched, find their appropriate food; that it is instinct,
which carries the salmon, and some other fish, out of the
sea into rivers, for the purpose of shedding their spawn in
fresh water.

We may select out of this catalogue the incubation of
eggs. I entertain no doubt, but that a couple of sparrows
hatched in an oven, and kept separate from the rest of
their species, would proceed as other sparrows do, in every
office which related to the production and preservation of
their brood. Assuming this fact, the thing is inexplicable
upon any other hypothesis, than that of an instinct, impress-

INSTINCTS. 173

ed upon the constitution of the animal. For, first, what
should induce the female bird to prepare a nest before she
lays her eggs? It is in vain to suppose her to be possess-
ed of the faculty of reasoning ; for no reasoning will reach
the case. The fulness or distention which she might feel
in a particular part of her body, from the growth and so-
lidity of the egg within her, could not possibly inform her,
that she was about to produce something, which, when pro-
duced, was to be preserved and taken care of. Prior to
experience, there was nothing to lead to this inference, or
to this suspicion. ‘The analogy was all against it; for in
every other instance, what issued from the body was cast
out and rejected.

But, secondly, let us suppose the egg to be produced
into day; how should birds know that their eggs contain
their young; there is nothing either in the aspect, or in the
internal composition of an egg, which could lead even the
most daring imagination to a conjecture, that it was here-
after to turn out, from under its shell, a living, perfect
bird. The form of the egg bears not the rudiments of a
resemblance to that of the bird. Inspecting its contents,
we find still less reason, if possible, to look for the result
which actually takes place. If we should go so far, as,
from the appearance of order and distinction in the dis-
position of the liquid substances which we noticed in the
egg, to guess that it might be designed for the abode and
nutriment of an animal, (which would be a very bold hy-
pothesis,) we should expect a tadpole dabbling in the slime,
much rather than a dry, winged, feathered creature; a
compound of parts and properties impossible to be used in
a state of confinement in the egg, and bearing no conceiv-
able relation, either in quality or material, to any thing ob-
served in it. From the white ofan egg, would any one
look for the feathers of a goldfinch? or expect from a sim-
ple uniform mucilage, the most complicated of all ma-
chines, the most diversified of all collections of substances ?
nor would the process of incubation, for some time at least,
lead us to suspect the event. Who that saw red streaks,
shooting in the fine membrane which divides the white
from the yolk, would suppose that these were about to be-
come bones and limbs? Who, that espied two discoloured
points first making their appearance in the cicatrix, would
have had the courage to predict, that these points were to
grow into the heart and head of a bird? It is difficult to

| Q

;

174 INSTINCTS,

strip the mind of its experience. _It is difficult to resusci-
tate surprise, when familiarity has once laid the sentiment
asleep. But could we forget all that we know, and which
our sparrows never knew, about oviparous generation:

could we divest ourselves of every information, but what we.
derive from reasoning upon the appearances or quality |

discovered in the objects presented to us, I am convinced
that Harlequin coming out of an egg upon the stage, is not
more astonishing to a child, than the hatching of a chick-
en both would be, and ought to be, to a philosopher.

But admit the sparrow by some means to know, that
within that egg was concealed the principle of a future
bird, from what chemist was she to learn that warmth was
necessary to bring it to maturity, or that the degree of
warmth, imparted by the temperature of her own body, was
the degree required ?

To suppose, therefore, that the female bird acts in this
process from a sagacity and reason of her own, is to sup-
pose her to arrive at conclusions, which there are no prem-

ises to justify. If our sparrow, sitting upon her eggs,

expect young sparrows to come out of them, she forms, I
will venture to say, a wild and extravagant expectation, in
opposition to present appearances, and to probability. She
must have penetrated into the order of nature, further than
any faculties of ours will carry us; and it hath been well ob-
served, that this deep sagacity, if it be sagacity, subsists in
conjunction with great stupidity, even in relation to the same
subject. ‘“ A chemical operation,” says Addison, ‘‘ could not
be followed with greater artor diligence, than is seen in
hatching a chicken; yet is the process carried on without
the least glimmering of thought or common sense. The
hen will mistake a piece of chalk for an egg; is insensible
of increase or diminution of their number; does not distin-
guish between her own, and those of another species; is
frightened when her supposititious breed of ducklings take
the water.”

But it will be said, that what reason could not do for
the bird, observation, or instruction, or tradition might.
Now if it be true, that a couple of sparrows brought up
from the first in a state of separation from all other birds,
would build their nest, and brood upon their eggs, then
there is an end of this solution. What can be the tradi-
tionary knowledge of a chicken hatched in an oven?

Of young birds taken in their nests, a few species breed,
when kept in cages; and they which do so, build their

INSTINCTS. | 175

nests nearly in the same manner as in the wild state, and
sit upon their eggs. ‘This is sufficient to prove an instinct,

‘without having recourse to experiments upon birds, hatched
by artificial heat, and deprived, from their birth, of all
communication with their species ; for we can hardly bring
‘ourselves to believe, that the parent bird informed her un-
fledged pupil of the history of her gestation, her timely
preparation of a nest, her exclusion of the eggs, her long
incubation, and of the joyful eruption at last of her expect-
ed offspring, all which the bird in the cage must have
Jearnt in her infancy, if we resolve her conduct into institu-
tion.

Unless we will rather suppose that she remembers her
own escape from the egg; had attentively observed the
‘conformation of the nest in which she was nurtured; and
chad treasured up her remarks for future imitation. Which
is not only extremeiy improbable, (for who that sees a
brood of callow birds in their nest, can believe that they
are taking a plan of their habitation 1) but leaves unac-
counted for, one principal part of the difficulty, ‘the pre-
paration of the nest before the laying of the egg.” This
she could not gain from observation in her infancy.

It is remarkable also, that the hen sits upon eggs which
she has laid without any communication with the male;
and which are therefore necessarily unfruitful. That se-
‘eret she is not let into. Yet, if incubation had been a sub-
ject of instruction or of tradition, it should seem that this
distinction would have formed part of the lesson ; whereas
the instinct of nature is calculated for a state of nature ;
the exception, here alluded to, taking place, chiefly, if not
solely, amongst domesticated fowls, in which nature is
forced out of her course.

There is another case of oviparous economy, which is
still less likely to be the effect of education, than it is even
in birds, namely, that of moths and butterflies, which de-
posit their eggs in the precise substance, that of a cabbage
for example, from which, not the butterfly herself, but the
caterpillar which is to issue from her egg, draws its ap-
propriate food. The butterfly cannot taste the cabbage.
Cabbage is no food for her; yet in the cabbage, not by

chance, but studiously and electively, she lays her eggs.
There are, amongst many other kinds, the willow cater-
pillar, and the cabbage caterpillar; but we never find upon
a willow, the caterpillar which eatsthe cabbage; nor the re-
verse, ‘T’his choice, as appears to me, cannot in the butter-

176 ‘ ' INSTINCTS.

fly proceed from instruction. She had no teacher in her
caterpillar state. She never knew her parent. I do not
see, therefore, how knowledge, acquired by experience, if
it ever were such, could be transmitted from one genera-
tion toanother. ‘There is no opportunity either for instruc-
tion or imitation. The parent race is gone before the new
brood is hatched. And, if it be original reasoning in the
butterfly, it is profound reasoning indeed. She must re-
member her caterpillar state, its tastes and habits ; of which
memory she shows no signs whatever. She must conclude
from analogy, for here her recollection cannot serve her,
that the little round body, which drops from her abdomen,
will at a future period produce a living creature, not Hke
herself, but like the caterpillar, which she remembers herself
once to have been. Under the influence of these reflections
she goes about to make provision for an order of things,
which, she concludes, will, some time or other, take place.
And it is to be observed, that not a few out of many, but
that. all butterflies argue thus, all draw this conclusion, all
act upon it.*

But suppose the address, and the selection, and the plan,
which we perceive in the preparations which many irra-
tional animals make for their young, to be traced to some
probable origin; still there is left to be accounted for, that
which is the source and foundation of these phenomena,

that which sets the whole at work, the orogyn, the pa-~ —

rental affection, which I contend to be inexplicable upon
any other hypothesis than that of instinct. !
For we shall, hardly, I imagine, in brutes, refer their
conduct towards their offspring to a sense of duty, or of
decency, a care of reputation, a compliance with publick
manners, with publick laws, or with rules of life built upon
a long experience of their utility. And all attempts to ac-

* The dragon-fly is an inhabitant of the air, and could not -exist in
water; yet in this element, which is alone adapted for her young, she
drops her eggs.

Not less surprising is the parental instinct of the gad-fly, (Gastero-
philus equi,) whose larve_are destined to be nourished in the stomach
and intestines of the horse! How shall the parent convey them
there? By a mode truly extraordinary—Flying round the animal,
she curiously poises her body while she deposites her eggs on the
hairs of his skin. Whenever, therefore, the horse chances to lick the
part of his body to which they are attached, they -adhere to the
tongue, and from thence pass into the stomach and intestines. And
what increases our surprise is, that the fly places her eggs almost ex~
clusively on the knee and the shoulder, on those parts the horse is
Bure to lick, Paxton.

INSTINCTS. 177

t

| _edunt fot the parental affection from association, I think,

fail. With what is it associated? Most immediately with

the throes of parturition, that is, with pain, and terror, and.

‘disease. ‘Che more remote, but not less strong association,

_ that which depends upon analogy, is all against it. Every
thing else, which proceeds from the body, is cast away and

rejected.

In birds, is it the egg which the hen loves? or is it the
‘expectation which she cherishes of a future progeny, that
keeps her upon her nest? What cause has she to expect
delight from her progeny? Can any rational answer be
given to the question, why, prior to experience, the brood-

ing hen should look for pleasure from her chickens? It
does not, I think, appear, that the cuckoo ever knows her

young; yet, in her way, she is as careful in making provi-
sion for them, as any other bird. She does not leave her
ege in every hole. bs
The salmon suffers no surmountable obstacle to oppose
her progress up the stream of fresh rivers. And what does
she do there? She sheds aspawn, which she immediately

quits, in order to return to the sea; and this issue of her

body she never afterwards recognises in any shape what-

~ever. Where shall we find a motive for her efforts, and
her perseverance? Shall we seek it in argumentation, or
in instinct? The violet crab of Jamaica performs a fa-

tiguing march of some months’ continuance, from the
mountains to the sea side. When she reaches the coast,
she casts her spawn into the open sea; and sets out upon

her return home.

Moths and butterflies, as hath already been observed,

seek out for their eggs, those precise situations and sub-

-

stances, in which the offspring caterpillar will find its ap-
propriate food. ‘That dear caterpillar, the parent butterfly,
must never see. ‘There are no experiments to prove that
she would retain any knowledge of it, if she did. How
shall we account for her conduct? I do not mean for her
art and judgment in selecting and securing a maintenance
for her young, but for the impulse upon which she acts.
What should induce her to exert any art, or judgment, or
choice, about the matter? The undisclosed grub, the ani-

mal, which she is destined not to know, can hardly be the
object of a particular affection, if we deny the influence
of instinct. There is nothing, therefore, left to her, but

that of which her nature seems incapable, an abstract anx-

Qed ea

178 INSTINCTS. |

iety for the general preservation of the species; a kind of
patriotism ; a solicitude, lest the butterfly race should cease
from the creation.

Lastly, the principle of association will not explain the
discontinuance of the affection when the young animal
is grown up. Association, operating in its usual way,
would rather produce a contrary effect. The object would
become more necessary by habits of society; whereas
birds and beasts, after a certain’ time, banish their off-
spring ; disown their acquaintance ; seem to have even no
knowledge of the objects which so lately engrossed the
attention of their minds, and occupied the industry and
labour of their bodies. ‘This change, in different animals,
takes place at different distances of time from their birth ;
but the time always corresponds with the ability of the
young animal to maintain itself; never anticipates it. In
the sparrow tribe, when it is perceived that the young
brood can fly and shift for themselves, then the parents
forsake them forever; and though they continue to live
together, pay them no more attention than they do to other
birds in the same flock.* I believe the same thing i is true
of all gregarious quadrupeds.

In this part of the case the variety of resources, expedi-
ents, and materials, which animals of the same species are
sald to have recourse to, under different circumstances and
when differently supplied, makes nothing against the doc-
trine of instincts. The thing which we want to account
for is the propensity. ‘The propensity being there, it is
probable enough that it may put the animal upon different
actions according to different exigencies. And this adapt-
ation of resources may look like the effect of art and con-
sideration, rather than of instinct; but still the propensity is
instinctive, For instance, suppose what is related of the
wood-pecker to be true, that, in Europe, she deposits her
eggs in cavities, which she scoops out in the trunks of soft
or decayed trees, and in which cavities the eggs lie con-
cealed from the eye, and in some sort safe from the hand
of man; but that, in the forests of Guinea and the Brazils, |
which man seldom frequents, the same bird: hangs her.
nest to the twigs of tall trees; thereby placing them out of
the reach of monkeys and snakes, i. e. that in each situa-
tion she prepares against the danger which she has most
occasion to apprehend ; suppose, I say, this to be true, and

* Goldsmith’s Nat. Hist. vol. iv. p. 244.

5

INSTINCTS. 179

to be alleged, on the part of the bird that builds these nests,
as evidence of a reasoning and distinguishing precaution,

still the question returns, whence the propenctiy to build
at all?

Nor does parental affection accompany generation by any
universal law of animal organization, if such a thing were
intelligible. Some animals cherish their progeny with the
most ardent fondness, and the most assiduous attention ;
others entirely neglect them; and this distinction always
meets the constitution of the young animal, with respect
to its wants and capacities. In many, the parental care
extends to the young animal; in others, as in all oviparous
fish, it is confined to the ege, and even, as to that, to the
disposal of it in its proper element. Also, as there is gen-
eration without parental affection, so is there parental in-
stinct, or what exactly resembles it, without generation.
In the bee tribe, the grub is nurtured neither by the father
nor the mother, but by the neutral bee. Probably the case
is the same with ants.

I am not ignorant of the theory, which resolves instinct
into sensation ; which asserts, that what appears to have
a view and relation to the future, is the result only of the
present disposition of the animal’s body, and of pleasure
or pain experienced at the tzme. ‘Thus the incubation of
eggs is accounted for by the pleasure which the bird is
supposed to receive from the pressure of the smooth con-
vex surface of the shells against the abdomen, or by the
relief, which the mild temperature of the egg may afford
to the heat of the lower part of the body, which is observ-
ed at this time to be increased beyond its usual state. This
present gratification is the only motive with the hen for
sitting upon her nest ; the hatching of the chickens is with
- respect to her, an accidental consequence. ‘I'he affection
of viviparous animals for their young, is in like manner
solved by the relief, and perhaps the pleasure, which they
receive from giving suck. The young animal’s seeking,
in sO many instances, the teat of its dam, is explained from
the sense of smell, which is attracted by the odour of the
milk. The salmon’s urging its way up the stream of fresh
water rivers, is attributed to some gratification or refresh-
ment, which, in this particular state of the fish’s body, she
receives from the change of element. Now of this theory
it may be said,

First, that, of the cases which require solution, there are
few, to which it can be applied with tolerable probability :

180 INSTINCTS.

—that there dre none, to which it can be applied without
strong objections, furnished by the circumstances of the
case. ‘The attention of the cow to its calf, and of the ewe
to its lamb, appear to be prior to their sucking. The at-
traction of the calf or lamb to the teat of the dam is not
explained by simply referring it to the sense of smell.
What made the scent of milk so agreeable to the lamb
that it should follow it up with its nose, or seek with its
mouth the place from which it proceeded? No observation,
no experience, no argument, could teach the new dropped
animal, that the substance, from which the scent issued,
was the material of its food. It had never tasted milk be-
fore its birth. None of the animals, which. are not de-
signed for that nourishment, ever offer to suck, or to seek
out any such food. What is the conclusion, but that the
-sugescent parts of animals are fitted for their use, and
the knowledge of that use put into them ?

We assert, secondly, that, even as to the cases in which
the hypothesis has the fairest claim to consideration, it
does not at all lessen the force of the argument for inten-
tion and design. The doctrine of instinct, is that of ap-
petencies, superadded to the constitution of an animal, for
the affectuating of a purpose beneficial to the species. 'The
above-stated solution would derive these appetencies from
organization ; but then this organization is not less speci-
-fically, not less precisely, and, therefore, not less evidently
adapted to the same ends, than the appetencies themselves
would be upon the old hypothesis. In this way of consid-
ering the subject, sensation supplies the place of furesight ;
but this is the effect of contrivance on the part of the
Creator. Let it be allowed, for example, that the hen is
induced to brood upon her eggs by the enjoyment or re-
lief, which, in the heated state of her abdomen, she ex-
periences from the pressure of round smooth surfaces, or
from the application of a temperate warmth. How comes

this extraordinary heat or itching, or call it what you will, _

which you suppose to be the cause of the bird’s inclina-
tion, to be felt, just at the time when the inclination itself
is wanted; when it tallies so exactly, with the internal
constitution of the egg, and with the help which that con-
stitution requires in order to bring it to maturity? In my
opinion, this solution, if it be accepted as to the fact, ought
to increase, rather than otherwise, our admiration of the
contrivance, A gardener lighting up his stoves, just when
he wants to force his fruit, and when his trees require the

—- -

\]
i

INSTINCTS, 181

heat, gives not a more certain evidence of design. | So,
again; when a male and female sparrow come together, they
do not meet to confer upon the expediency of perpetuating
their species. As an abstract proposition, they care not
the value of a barley corn whether the species be perpetu-
ated, or not. They follow their sensations; and all those
consequences ensue, which the wisest counsels could have
dictated, which the most solicitous care of futurity, which
the most anxious concern for the sparrow) world, could
have produced. But how do these consequences ensue?
The sensations, and the constitution upon which they de-
pend, are as manifestly directed to the purpose which we
see fulfilled by them; and the train of intermediate effects,
as manifestly laid and planned with a view to that purpose,
that is to say, design is as completely evinced by the phe-
nomena, as it would be, even if we suppose the operations
to begin, or to be carried on, from what some will allow to
-be alone properly called instincts, that is, from desires, di-
rected to a future end, and having no accomplishment or
gratification distinct from the attainment of that end.

In a word; I should say to the patrons of this opinion,
Be itso; be it, that those actions of animals which we re-
fer to instinct, are pot gone about with any view to their
consequences, but that they are attended in the animal
with a present gratification, and are pursued for the sake of
that gratification alone; what does all this prove, but that
the prospection, which must be somewhere, is not in the

animal, but in the Creator ?

In treating of the parental affection in brutes, our busi-
ness lies rather with the origin of the principle, than with
the effects and expressions of it. Writers recount these
with pleasure and admiration. 'The conduct of many kinds
of animals towards their young, has escaped no observer,
no historian of nature. ‘‘ How will they caress them,”
says Derham, “‘with their affectionate notes; lull and quiet
them with their tender parental voice; put food into their
mouths; cherish, and keep them warm ; teach them to
pick and eat, and gather food for themselves; and in a
word, perform the part of so many nurses, deputed by the
sovereion Lord and Preserver of the world, to help such
young and shiftless creatures?” Neither ought it, under
this head, to be forgotten, how much the instinct costs the
animal which feels it; how much a bird, for example, gives
up, by sitting upon her nest; how repugnant it is to her
organization, her habits, and her pleasures. An animal,

182 OF INSECTs.

formed for liberty, submits to confinement, in the very sei.
son when every thing invites her abroad : what is more, an
animal delighting in motion, made for motion, all whose
motions are so easy and so free, hardly a moment, at other
times, at rest, 1s, for many hours of many days ‘together,
fixed to her nest, as close asif her limbs were tied down by
pins and wires. For my part, I never see a bird in that
situation, but I recognize an invisible hand, detaining the
contented prisoner from her fields and groves, for a purpose,
as the event proves, the most worthy of the sacrifice, the
most important, the most beneficial.

But the loss of liberty is not the whole of what the pro-
ereant bird suffers. Harvey tells us, that he has often
found the female wasted to skin and bone by sitting upon
her eggs.

One observation more, and I will dismiss the subject.
The pairing of birds, and the non-pairing of beasts, forms
a distinction between the two classes, which shows that the
conjugal instinct is modified with a reference to utility,
founded on the condition of the offspring. In quadrupeds,
the young animal draws its nutriment from the body of the
dam. ‘The male parent neither does, nor can, contribute
any part to its sustentation. In the feathered race, the
young bird is supplied by an importation of food, to procure
and bring home, which, in a sufficient quantity for the de-
mand of a numerous brood, requires the industry of both
parents. In this difference we see a reason for the vagrant
instinct of the quadruped, and for the faithful love of the
feathered mate.

wor ® QO 44+

CHAP. XIX.

OF INSECTS.

We are not writing a system of natural history; there-
fore, we have not attended to the classes, into which the
subjects of that science are distributed. What we had to
observe concerning different species of animals, fell easily,
for the most part, within the divisions, which the course of
our argument led us to adopt. ‘There remain, however,
some remarks upon the znsect tribe, which could not prop-
erly be introduced under any of these heads; and which,
therefore, we have collected into a chapter by themselves.

The structure, and the use of the parts of insects, are

Jess understood than that of quadrupeds and birds, not only

>
LS

OF INSECTS.) 183

by reason of their minuteness, or the minuteness of their
' parts, (for that minuteness we can, in some measure, fol-
low with glasses) but also, by reason of the remoteness of
their manners and modes of life from those of larger ani-
mals. For instance; insects, under all their varieties of
form, are endowed with antenna, which is the name given
to those long feelers that rise from each side of the head;
but to what common use or want of the insect kind, a pro-
Vision so universal is subservient, has not yet been ascer-
tained ; and it has not been ascertained, because it admits
not of a clear, or very probable comparison, with any or-
gans which we possess ourselves, or with the organs of an-
imals which resemble ourselves in their functions and fac-
ulties, or with which we are better acquainted than we are
with insects. We want a ground of analogy. This diffi-
culty stands in our way as to some particulars in the in-
sect constitution which, we might wish to be acquainted
with. Nevertheless, there are many contrivances in the
bodies of insects, neither dubious in their use, nor obscure
in their structure, and most properly mechanical. ‘These
form parts of our argument. :

I. The elytra, or scaly wings of the genus of scarabeeus
or beetle, furnish an instance of thiskind. 'The true wing
of the animal is a light transparent membrane, finer than
the finest gauze, and not unlike it. It is also when ex-
panded, in proportion to the size of the animal, very large.
In order to protect this delicate structure, and perhaps,
also to preserve it in a due state of suppleness and humidi-
ty, a strong, hard case is given to it, in the shape of the
horny wing which we call the elytron. When the animal
is at rest, the gauze wings lie folded up under this impene-
trable shield. When the beetle prepares for flying, he
raises the integument, and spreads out his thin membrane
to the air. And it cannot be observed without admiration,
what a tissue of cordage, i. e. of muscular tendons, must
run, in various and complicated, but determinate directions,
along this fine surface, in order to enable the animal,
either to gather it up into acertain precise form, whenever
it desires to place its wings under the shelter which na-
ture hath given to them; or to expand again their folds,
when wanted for action. (Pl. XXXII. fig. 1.)

In some insects, the elytra cover the whole body; in
others, half; in others, only a small part of it; but in all,
ee hide and cover the true wings. (PI. XXXII.
fig. 22). | |

184 OF INSECTS,

Also, many or most of the beetle species lodge in holes in
the earth, environed by hard, rough substances, and have fre-
quently to squeeze their way through natrow passages 4 in
which situation, wings so tender, and so large, could
scarcely have escaped injury, without both a firm covering
to defend them, and the capacity of collecting themselves
up under its protection. .
JI. Another contrivance, equally mechanical, and equal-
ly clear, is the awl or boter, fixed at the tails of various
species of flies; and with which they pierce, in some
cases, plants; in others, wood: in others, the skin and
flesh of animals; in others, the coat of the chrysalis of in-
sects of a different species from their own; and im others,
even lime, mortar and stone. I need not add, that hav-
ing pierced the substance, they deposit their eggs in the
hole. The descriptions, which naturalists give of this or-
gan, are such as the following :—It is a sharp-pointed
instrument, which, in its inactive state, lies concealed in
the extremity of the abdomen, and which the animal draws
cut at pleasure, for the purpose of making a puncture mn
the leaves, stem or bark of the particular plant, which is
suited to the nourishment of its young. In a sheath,
which divides and opens whenever the organ is used, there
is enclosed, a compact, solid, dentated stem, along which
runs a gudter or groove, by which groove, after the pene-
tration is effected, the egg, assisted nm some cases by a
peristaltic motion, passes to its destined lodgment. Im the
eestrum or gad-fly, the wimble draws out like the pieces of
a spy-glass; the last piece is armed with three hooks, and
is able to bore through the hide of an ox. Can any thing
more be necessary to display the mechanism, than to re-
late the fact? (Pl. XXXII. fig. 3, 4.)

III. The stings of insects, though for a different pur-
pose, are, in their structure, not unlike the piercer. ‘The
sharpness to which the point in all of them is wrought ;
the temper and firmness of the substance of which it is
composed ; the strength of the muscles by which it is —
darted out, compared with the smallness and weakness of
the insect, and with the soft and friable texture of the rest
of the body; are properties of the sting to be noticed, and
not a little to be admired. The sting of a bee will pierce
through a goatskin glove. It penetrates the human skin
more readily than the finest point of a needle. ‘The action
of the sting affords an example of the union of chemistry
and mechanism, such as, if it be not a proof of contrivance,

~

OF INSECTS. ee

nothing is. First, as to the chemistry; how highly con-
-ventrated must be the venom, which, in so small a quantity,
can produce such powerful ‘effects? And in the bee we
“may observe, that this venom is made from honey, the only
food of the insect, but the last material from which I should
have expected, that an exalted poison could, by any pro-
cess or digestion whatsoever, have been prepared. In the
~ next place, with respect to the mechanism, the sting is not
a simple, but a compound instrument. The visible sting,
though drawn to a point exquisitely sharp, is in strictness
only a sheath; for, near to the extremity, may be perceived
by the microscope two minute orifices, from which orifices,
in the act of stinging, and, as it should seem after the point
of the main sting has buried itself in the flesh, are launch-
ed out two subtile rays, which may be called the true or
proper stings, as being those, through which the poison is
infused into the puncture already made by the exterior sting.
{ have said that chemistry and mechanism are here united ;
by which observation I meant, that all this machinery
would have been useless, telum imbelle, if a supply of
poison, intense in quality, in proportion to ‘the smallness of
the drop, had not been furnished to it by the chemical
elaboration which was carried on in the insect’s body ; and
that, on the other hand, the poison, the result of this pro-
cess, could not have attained its effect, or reached its
enemy, if, when it was collected at the extremity of the
abdomen, it had not found there a machinery, fitted to con-
duct it to the external situations in which it was to operate,
viz. an awl to bore a hole, and a syringe to inject the fluid.
Yet these attributes, though combined in their action, are
independent in their origin. The venom does not breed
the sting; nor does the sting concoct the venom. (PI.
XXXII. fig. 5.)

IV. The proboscis, with which many insects are en-
dowed, comes next in order to be considered. (Pl. XXXII.
fig. 6, 7, 8.) Itisa tube attached to the head of the animal,
In the bee, it is composed of two pieces, connected by a
joint; for, if it were constantly extended, it would be too
much exposed to accidental injuries; therefore, in its in-
dolent state, it is doubled up by means of the joint, and
in that position lies secure under a scaly pent-house. In
many species of the butterfly, the proboscis, when not in
use, is coiled up like a watch spring. In the same bee,

the ‘proboscis serves the office of the mouth, the insect

R

136 OF INSECTs. ,

having no other; and how much better adapted it is, than

a mouth would be, for the collecting of the proper nourish-
ment of the animal, is sufficiently evident. The food of
the bee is the nectar of flowers; a drop of syrup, lodged
deep in the bottom of the corollz, in the recesses of the
petals, or down the neck of a monopetalous glove. Into these
cells the bee thrusts its long narrow pump, through the cavity
of which it sucks up this precious fluid, inaccessible to
every other approach. The ringlets of which the probos-
bis of the bee is composed, the muscles by which it is ex-
tended and contracted, form so many microscopical won-
ders. ‘The agility also, with which it is moved, can hardly
fail to excite admiration. But it is enough for our pur-
pose to observe in general, the suitableness of the structure
to the use, of the means to the end, and especially the wis-
dom, by which nature has departed from its most general
analogy (for animals being furnished with mouths are such)
when the purpose could be better answered by the devia-
tion.

In some insects, the proboscis, or tongue, or trunk, is

shut up in a sharp-pointed sheath, which sheath, being of ©

a much firmer texture than the proboscis itself, as] well as
sharpened at the point, pierces the substance which con-
tains the food, and then opens within the wound, to allow
the enclosed tube, through which the juice is extracted, to
perform its office. Can any mechanism be plainer than
this is; or surpass this ?

_ V.. The metamorphosis of insects from grubs into moths
and flies, is an astonishing process. A hairy caterpillar

is transformed into a butterfly. Observe the.change. We

have four beautiful wings, where there were none before ;
a tubular proboscis, in the place of a mouth with jaws and
teeth; six long legs, instead of fourteen feet. In another
case, we see a white, smooth, soft worm, turned into a
black, hard, crustaceous beetle, with gauze wings. ‘These,
as I said, are astonishing processes, and must require, as
it should seem, a. proportionably artificial apparatus. ‘The
hypothesis which appears to me most probable is, that, in
the grub, there exist at the same time three animals, one
within another, all nourished by the same digestion, and
by a communicating circulation; but in different stages of
maturity. The latest discoveries, made by. naturalists,
seem to favour this supposition. The insect already equip-
ped with wings, is descried under the membranes, both of
the worm and the nymph. In some species, the proboscis,

OF INSECTS. 187
the antenn, the limbs and wings of the fly, have been
observed to be folded up within the body of the caterpillar ;
and with such nicety, as to occupy a small space only under
the two first wings. This being so, the outermost animal,
which, beside its own proper character, serves as an inteou-
ment to the other two, being the furthest advanced, dies,
as we suppose, and drops off first. 'The second, the pupa
or chrysalis, then offers itself to observation. "This also,
in its turn, dies; its dead and brittle husk falls to pieces,
and makes way for the appearance of the fly or moth.
Now, if this be the case, or indeed whatever explication
_ be adopted, we have a prospective contrivance of the most
curious kind; we have organizations three deep, yet a vas-
cular system, which supplies nutrition, growth, and life, to
all of them together.

VI. Almost all insects are oviparous. Nature keeps
her butterflies, moths and caterpillars, locked up during
the winter in their egg state; and we have to admire the
various devices, to which, if we may so speak, the same
_ nature hath resorted, for the security of the egg. Many
insects enclose their eggs ina silken web; others cover
them with a coat of hair, torn from their own bodies;
some glue them together; and others, like the moth of the
silk-worm, glue them to the leaves upon which they are
deposited, that they may not be shaken off by the wind,
or washed away by rain; some again make incisions into
leaves, and hide an egg in each incision; whilst some en-
velope their eggs with a soft substance, which forms the
first aliment of the young animal: and some again make
a hole in the earth, and, having stored it with a quantity
of proper food, deposite their eggs in it. In all which we
are to observe, that the expedient depends, not so much
upon the address of the animal, as upon the physical re-
sources of his constitution.

The art also with which the young insect is covled up
in the ege, presents, where it can be examined, a subject of
great curiosity. ‘The insect, furnished with all the members
which it ought to have, is rolled up intoa form which seems
to contract it into the least possible space; by which con-
traction, notwithstanding the smallness of the egg, it has
room enough in its apartment, and to spare. This folding
_of the limbs appears to me to indicate a special direction ;
for, if it were merely the effect of compression, the cole
location of the parts would be more various than it is. In
the same species, I believe, it 1s always the same.

188 OF INSECTS.

These observations belong to the whole insect tribe, or
toa great part of them. Other observations are limited
to fewer species; but not, perhaps, less important or satis-
factory. |

I. The organization in the abdomen of the aiblensarddh

or spider, whereby these insects form their thread, is as
incontestably mechanical, as a wire-drawer’s mill. In the
body of the silk-worm, are two bags, remarkable for their
form, position, and use. (Pl. XX XIII. fig 1.) They wind
round the intestine, when drawn out they are ten inches
in length, though the animal itself be only two. Within

these bags is collected a glue; and communicating with.

the bags, are two paps or outlets, perforated, like a grater,
by a number of small holes. ‘The glue or gum, being pass-
ed through these minute apertures, forms hairs of almost
imperceptible fineness; and these hairs, when joined, com-
pose the silk which we wind off from the cone, in which
the silk-worm has wrapped itself up; in the spider the web
is formed of this thread. In both cases, the extremity of
the thread, by means of its adhesive quality, is first at-
tached by the animal to some external hold; and the end
being now fastened to a point, the insect, by turning round
its body, or by receding from that point, draws out the
thread through the holes above described, by an operation,
as hath been observed, exactly similar to the drawing of
wire. The thread, like the wire, is formed by the hole
through which it passes. In one respect there is a dif-
ference. The wire is the metal unaltered, except in figure.
In the animal process, the nature of the substance is some-
what changed, as well as the form; for, as it exists. within
the insect, it is a soft, clammy gum.or glue. The thread
acquires, it is probable, its firmness and tenacity from the
action of the air upon its surface, in the moment of expo-
sure; anda thread so fine is almost all surface. This
property, however, of the paste, is part of the contrivance.
(Pl. XXXII. fig. 2.)

The mechanism itself consists of the bags, or reser-
voirs, into which the glue is collected, and of the external
holes communicating with these bags: and the.action of
the machine is seen, in the forming of a thread, as wire
is formed, by forcing the material already prepared,
through holes of proper dimensions. The secretion is an
act too subtile for our discernment, except as we perceive
it by the produce. But one thing answers to another: the
secretory glands to the quality and consistence required, in

OF INSECTS, is9

the secreted substance; the bag to its reception. The
outlets and orifices are constructed, not merely for reliev-
ing the reservoirs of their burthen, but for manufacturing
the contents into a form and texture, of great external use,
or rather indeed of future necessity, to the life and func-
tions of the insect.

II. Bees, under one character or other, have furnished
every aatapalicd with a set of absea ious I shall, in
this place, confine myself to one; and that is the relation
which obtains between the wax and the honey. No per-
son, who has inspected a bee-hive, can forbear remarking,
how commodiously the honey is bestowed in the comb : and
amongst other advantages, how effectually the fermenta-
tion of the honey is prevented by distributing it into small
cells. ‘The fact is, that when the honey is separated from
the comb, and put into jars, it runs into fermentation, with
a much less degree of heat than what takes place in a
hive. This may be reckoned a nicety ; but independently
of any nicety in the matter, I would ask, what could the
bee do with the honey, if it had not the wax? how, at least,
could it store it up for winter? The wax, therefore, an-
swers a purpose with respect to the honey ; and the honey
constitutes that purpose with respect to the wax. This is
the relation between them. But the two substances, though,
together, of the greatest use, and, without each other, of

ittle, come from a different origin. ‘The bee finds the
honey, but makes the wax. ‘The honey is lodged in the
nectarja of flowers, and probably undergoes little alteration ;
is merely collected ; whereas the wax is a ductile tenacious
paste, made out of a dry powder, not simply by kneading it
with a liquid, but by a digestive process in the body of the
bee. _What account can be rendered of facts so circum-
stanced, but that the animal, being intended to feed upon
honey, was, by a peculiar external configuration, enabled
to procure it? that, moreover, wanting the honey when it
could not be procured at all, it was further endued with
the no less necessary faculty of constructing repositories
for its preservation? which faculty, it 1s evident, must de-
pend, primarily, upon the capacity of providing suitable
materials. Two distinct functions go to make up the
ability. First, the power in the bee, with respect to wax,
of loading the farina of flowers upon its thighs; microsco-
pic observers. speak of the spoon-shaped appendages, with
which the thighs of bees are beset for this very purpose ;
R 2

1960 , OF INSHO TS,

but inasmuch as the art and will of the bee may be sup
posed to be concerned in this operation, there is, secondly,
that which doth not rest in art or will, a digestive faculty
which converts the loose powder into a stiff substance.
This is a just account of the honey and the honey comb’; and
this account, through every part, carries. a creative intelli-
gence along ‘with it.

The sting also of the bee has this relation to the honey,
that it is necessary for the protection of a treasure which
invites so many robbers. _

III. Our business is with mechanism. In the panorpa
tribe of insects, there is a forceps in the tail of the male
insect, with which he catches and holds the female. (Pl.
XXXIII. fig. 3.) Are a pair of pincers more mechanical,
than this provision, in their structure? or is any structure
more clear and certain in its design?

IV. St. Pierre tells us,* that in a fly with six feet, (I
do not remember that he describes the species) the pair
next the head, and the pair next the tail, have brushes at
their extremities, with which the fly dresses, as there may |
be occasion, the anterior or the posterior part of its body ;
but that the middle pair have no such brushes, the situation
of these legs not admitting of the brushes, if they were
there, being converted to the same use. This is a very ex-
act mechanical distinction.

V. Ifthe reader, looking to our distributions of science ;
wish to contemplate the chemistry , as well as the mechan
ism of nature, the insect creation will afford him an ex-
ample. I refer to the light in the tail of a glow-worm. Two
points seem to be agreed upon by naturalists concerning it ;
first, that it is phosphoric; secondly, that its use is to at-
tract the male insect. ‘The only thing to be inquired af-
ter, is the singularity, if any such there be, in the natur-
al ‘history of this animal, which should render a pro-«
vision of this kind more necessary for it, than for other
insects. ‘That singularity seems to be the difference, which
subsists between the male and the female; which differenee
is greater than what we find in any other species of animal
whatever. The glow-worm is a female caterpillar; the
male of which is a fly; lively, comparatively small, dissimi-
lar to the female in appearance, probably also as distinguish-
ed from her in habits, pursuits, and manners, as he is un-
like in form and external constitution. (Pl. XX XIII. fig.

* Vol. i. p. 342.

OF INSECTS. | | 191

4, 5.) Here then is the adversity of the case. The cater-
pillar cannot meet her companion in the air. The winged
rover disdains the ground. They might never therefore
be brought together, did not this radiamt torch direct the.
volatile mate to his sedentary female.

In this example we also see the resources of art antici-
pated. One grand operation of chemistry is the making
of phosphorus ; and it was thought an ingenious device,
to make phosphoric matches supply the place of lighted:
tapers. Now this very thing is done in the body of the
glow-worm. 'The phosphorus i is not only made, but kin- |
dled; and caused to emit a steady and genial ‘beam, for
the purpose which is here stated, and which I believe to
be the true one.

VI. Nor is the last the only instance that entomology
affords, in which our discoveries, or rather our projects,
turn out to be imitations of nature. Some years ago, a
plan was suggested, of producing propulsion by reaction in
this way. By the force of a steam engine, a stream of
water was to be shot out of the stern of a boat; the im-
pulse of which stream upon the water in the river, was to
push the boat itself forward; it is, in truth, the principle
by which sky-rockets ascend in ‘the air. Of the use or
the practicability of the plan T am not speaking; nor is it
my concern to praise its ingenuity, but it is certainly a
-contrivance. Now, if naturalists are to be believed, it is
exactly the device, ‘which nature has made use of, for the
motion of some species of aquatic insects. The larva of .
the dragon-fly, according to Adams, swims by ejecting
water from its tail; is driven forwards by the reaction of
water in the pool upon the current issuing in a direction
backward from its body. (Pl. XX XIII. fig. 6.)

Vil. Again; Europe has lately been surprised by the
elevation of bodies in the air by means of a balloon. The
discovery consisted i in finding out a manageable substance,
which was, bulk for bulk, lighter than air; and the appli-
cation of the discovery was, to make a body composed of
this substance, bear up, along with its own weight, some
héavier body which was attached to it. This expedient,
- so new to us, proves to be no other than what the author
of nature has employed in the gossamer spider. We fre-
quently see this spider’s thread floating in the air, and
extended from hedge to hedge, across a road or brook of
four or five yards width. The animal which forms the »
thread, has no wings wherewith to fly from one extremity

{

192 OF INSECTS.

to the other of this line ; nor muscles to enable it to spring
‘or dart to so great a distance. Yet its Creator hath laid
for ita path in the atmosphere; and after this manner.
Though the animal itself be heavier than the air, the thread
which it spins from its bowels is specificaily lighter. This
is its balloon. 'The spider left to itself would drop to the
ground; but being tied to its thread, both are supported. We
have here a very peculiar provision; and’‘to a contempla-
tive eye itis a gratifying spectacle, to see this insect wafted
on her thread, sustained by a levity not her own, and trav-
ersing regions, which, if we examined only the body of
the animal, might seem to have been forbidden to its na-
ture.

T must now crave the reader’s permission to introduce
into this place, for want of a better, an observation or two
upon the tribe of animals, whether belonging to land or
water, which are covered by shells.

1. The shells of snails are a wonderful, a mechanical,
and, if one might so speak concerning the works of nature,
an original contrivance. Other animals have their proper
retreats, their hybernacula also or winter quarters, but the
snail carries these about with him. He travels with his
tent; and this tent, though as was necessary, both light
and thin, is completely impervious either to moisture or air.
The young snail comes out of its egg with the shell upon
its back; and the gradual enlargement which the shell
receives, is derived from the slime excreted by the animal’s
skin. Now the aptness of this excretion to the purpose, its
property of hardening into a shell, and the action, whatever
it be, of the animal, whereby it avails itself of its gift, and
of the constitution of its glands, (to say nothing of the work
being commenced before the animal is born,) are things,
which can, with no probability, be referred to any other
cause than to express design; and that not on the part of
the animal alone, in which design, though it might build
the house, could not have supplied the material. ‘The will
of the animal could not determine the quality of the ex-
cretion. Add to which, that the shell of a snail, with its
pillar and convolution, is a very artificial fabric ; whilst a
snail, as it should seem, is the most numb and unprovided
of all artificers. In the midst of variety, there is. likewise
a regularity, which would hardly be expected. In the
same species of snail the number of turns is, usually, if
not always, the same. The sealing up of the mouth of

OF ENSECTS. ! 1938
the shell by the snail, is also well calculated for its warmth
and security; but the cerate is not of the same substance
with the shell. |

II. Much of what has been observed of snails belongs
to shell-fish and their shells, particularly to those of the
univalve kind; with the addition of two remarks. One
of which is upon the great strength and hardness of most
of these shells. Ido not know, whether, the weight being
given, art can produce so strong a case as are some of these
shells. Which defensive strength suits well with the life
of an animal, that has often to sustain the dangers of a
stormy element and a rocky bottom, as well as the attacks
of voracious fish. ‘The other remark is, upon the property.
in the animal excretion, not only of congealing, but of con-
gealing, or, as a builder would call it, setting in water, and
into a cretaceous substance, firm and hard. ‘This property
is much more extraordinary, and, chemically speaking, more
_ specific, than that of hardening i in the air; which may be
reckoned a kind of exsiccation, like the drying of clay into
bricks. ae |

III. In the bivalve order of shell-fish, cockles, muscles,
oysters, dc. what contrivance can be so simple or so clear,
as the insertion, at the back, of a tough, tendinous sub-
stance, that becomes, at once, the ligament which binds
the two shells together, and the hinge upon which they
open and shut.
IV. The shell of a lobster’s tail, in its articulations and
overlappings, represents the jointed part of a coat of mail ;
or rather, which I believe to be the truth, a coat of mail is
an imitation of a lobster’s shell. The same end is to be
answered by both; the same properties, therefore, are re-
quired in both, namely, hardness and flexibility, a covering
which may guard the part without obstructing its motion.
For this double purpose, the art of man, expressly exercised
upon the subject, has not been able to devise any thing
better than what nature presents to his observation, Is not
this therefore mechanism, which the mechanic, having a
similar purpose in view, adopts? Is the structure of a coat
of mail to be referred to art? Is the same structure of the
lobster, conducing to the same use, to be referred to any
thing less than art?

Some, who may acknowledge the imitation, aa assent
to the inference which we draw from it, in the instance be-
fore us, may be disposed, possibly, to ask, why such itnita-

194 ©F INSECTS.

tions are not more frequent than they are, if it be true, as
we allege, that the same principle of intelligence, design,
and mechanical contrivance, was exerted in the formation
of natural bodies, as we employ in the making of the vari-
ous instruments by which our purposes are served. The
answers to this question are, first, that it seldom happens,
that precisely the same purpose, and no other, is pursued
in any work which we compare of nature and of art; sec-
ondly, that it still seldomer happens, that we can imitate
nature, if we would. Our materials and our workmanship
are equally deficient. Springs are wires, and cork and
jeather, produce a poor substitute for an arm or a hand. In
the example which we have selected, I mean of a lobster’s
shell compared with a coat of mail, these difficulties stand
less in the way, than in almost any other that can be as-
signed ; and the consequence is, as we have seen, that art
gladly borrows from nature her contrivance, and imitates
at closely.

But to return to insects. I think it is in this class of
animals, above all others, especially when we take in the
multitude of species which the microscope discovers, that
we are struck with what Cicero has called “ the insatiable
variety of nature.’ There are said to be six thousand
species of flies; seven hundred and sixty butterflies ; each
different from all the rest, (St. Pierre.) The same writer
tells us from his own observation, that thirty-seven species
of winged insects, with distinctions well expressed, visited
a single strawberry plant in the course of three weeks.*
Ray observed, within the compass of a mile or two of his
own house, two hundred kinds of butterflies, nocturnal,
and diurnal. He likewise asserts, but, I think, without any
grounds of exact computation, that the number of species
of insects, reckoning all sorts of them, may not be short
of ten thousand,t And in this vast variety of animal forms,
(for the observation is not confined to insects, though more
applicable perhaps to them than to any other class,) we
are sometimes led to take notice of the different methods,
or rather of the studiously diversified methods, by which

PV Os, ils JD, pene

t Wisd. of God, p. 28. The number of species of insects known
to entomologists, and preserved in cabinets, is at present not less
than forty thousand. This number, however, must probably form a
small proportion of the whole number which exist upon the earth,
See Kirly and Spence’s Entomology, . Ed,

OF INSECTS, 195.

one and the same purpose is attained. In the article of
breathing, for example, which was to be. provided for in
some way or other, besides the ordinary varieties of lungs.
gills, and breathing-holes, (for insects in general respire,
not by the mouth, (Pl. XX XIII. fig. 7.) but through holes
in the sides,) the nymphe of gnats have an apparatus to
raise their backs to the top of the water, and so take breath;
(Pl. XXXIIT, fig. 8.) The hydrocanthari do the like by
thrusting their ¢az/s out of the water.* The maggot of the
eruca labra, (Pl. XX XIII. fig. 9.) has a long tail, one part
sheathed within another, (but which it can draw. out at
pleasure,) with a starry tuft at the end, by which tuft,
when expanded upon the surface, the insect both supports
itselfin the water, and draws in the air which is necessary.
In the article of natural clothing, we have the skins of ani-
mals invested with scales, hair, feathers, mucus, froth; or
itself turned in a shell or crust; in the no less necessary
article of offence and defence, we have teeth, talons, beaks,
horns, stings, prickles, with (the most singular expedient
for the same purpose) the power of giving the electric
shock,t and as is credibly related of some animals, of
driving away their pursuers by an intolerable fcetor, or of
blackening the watert through which they are pursued.
The consideration of these appearances might induce us to
believe that varzety itself, distinct from every other reason,
was a motive in the mind of the Creator, or with the
agents of his will.

* Derham, p. 7.

1 The raja torpedo, gymnotus electricus, and some other fish, have
a curious apparatus of nerves, which, in its effects, may be compared
to an electrical battery. In the first named fish, the electrical organs
are situated between’ the head and the pectoral fins. When the inte-
guments are raised, the organ appears, consisting of some hundred
pentagonal and hexagonal cells, filled with a glairy fluid. Minute
blood-vessels are dispersed over it, and its nerves are of extraordinary
size. When the hand is applied to the electrical organs, a benumbing
effect is instantly felt in the fingers and the arm. When caught in a
net, it has been known to give a violent shock to the hands of the fish-
erman who ventures toseize it. Phil. Trans. 1816. p. 120. and 1817,
p- 32. Paxton.

{The several species of sepia or cuttle fish, have this faculty.
They possess a bag situated on, or near the liver, called the ink-bag,
from its containing a black fluid, the contents of which is discharged
by a muscular sheath compressing the body of the animal. By this
singular evacuation, the creature renders the surrounding element so
black and bitter, when in danger of being attacked, that an enemy
will not pursue it. Ib.

\

196 | OF PLANTS.

To this great variety in organized life the Deity has
given, or perhaps there arises out of it, a corresponding
variety of animal appetites. For the final cause of this
we have not far to seek. Did all animals covet the same
element, retreat, or food, it is evident how much fewer
could be supplied and accommodated, that what at present
live conveniently together, and find a plentiful subsistence.
What one nature rejects, another delights in. _ Food, which
is nauseous to one tribe of animals, “becomes by. that very
property which makes it nauseous, an alluring dainty to
another tribe. Carrion is a treat to dogs, ravens, vultures,
fish. 'The exhalations of corrupted substances attract flies
by crowds. Maggots revel in putrefaction.

“> OO
CHAP. XX.
OF PLANTS.

I ‘ruink a designed and studied mechanism to be in gen-
eral, more evident in animals, that in plants; and it is un-
necessary to dwell upon a "weaker argument, where a
stronger is at hand. There are, however, a few observations
upon the vegetable kingdom, which lie so directly in our
way, that it would be improper to pass them by without
notice.

The one great intention of nature in the structure of
plants, seems to be the perfecting of the seed; and, what
is part of the same intention, the preserving of it until it
be perfected. 'This intention shows itself, in the first place,
by the care which appears to be taken to protect and ripen,
by every advantage which can be given to them of situa-
tion in the plant, those parts which most immediately con-
tribute to fructification, viz. the anthere, the stamina, and
the stigmata. ‘These parts are usually lodged in the cen-
tre, the recesses, or the labyrinths of the flower; during
their tender and immature state, are shut up in the stalk,
or sheltered in the bud; as soon as they have acquired
firmness of texture sufficient to bear exposure, and are
ready to perform the important office which is assigned to
them, they are disclosed to the light and air, by the burst-
ing of the stem or the expansion of the petals: after which
they have, in many cases, by the very form of the flower
during its blow, the light ‘and warmth reflected upon them

oF PLANTS. 197

from the concave side of the cup. Whatis called also the
sleep* of plants, is the leaves of petals disposing themselves
im such a manner as to shelter the young stems, buds, or
fruit. They turn up, or they fall down, according as this
purpose renders either change or position requisite. In
the growth of corn, whenever the plant begins to shoot, the
two upper leaves of the stalk join together, embrace the
ear, and protect it till the pulp has acquired a certain de-
gree of consistency. In some water plants, the flowering
and fecundation are carried on within the stem, which af-
terwards opens to let loose the impregnated seed.+ The
pea or papilionaceous tribe enclose the parts of fructifica-_
tion within a beautiful folding of the internal blossom,
sometimes called, from its shape, the boat or keel ; itself
also protected under a penthouse formed by the external
petals. ‘This structure is very artificial; and, what adds to
the value of it, though it may diminish the curiosity, very
general. It has also this further advantage, (and it is an

“The periodical change in the direction of leaves, which has been
called the “‘ Sleep of Plants,” is undeniably connected with the stimu-
lating operation of light. It is established, that during the clear
light of the sun, the leaves become erect, and move their upper sur-
face to the light, whilst, on the contrary, during the absence of light
they either hang downwards, and turn to the horizon, or they take an
upright position, so that the under surface of the leaves is turned
more outward. On account of this particular position of what has
been called “ Sleeping Plants,’ we cannot properly ascribe this direc-
tion to sleep, because the leaves do sometimes even raise themselves
during this state with greater energy, and press upon the stem or leaf-
stalk, for the purpose of turning their lower surface outwards. This
change is much rather, therefore, the consequence of the contest be-
tween the activity of the plant, and the great activity of nature.
This change is the more evident, and the sleep of leaves the more
striking, the finer and more compounded the organization of the leaves
are. We hence most frequently observe it in the pinnated leaves of
leguminous plants, although also in some others, as in atriplex.

That an internal and self-dependent activity is to be taken into ac-
count in this sleep of plants, is plain from the fact that this sleep does
not equally follow from a short withdrawing of the light, but only from
its complete and Jong-continued removal; as also from this other cir-
cumstance, that leaves fall asleep or awake at fixed hours, whether
the sky be serene or troubled, exactly as happens with regard to ani-
mals. Other stimuli, too, and especially heat, have a great influence
upon this phenomenon, because, in the cold, leaves awaken later
and fall more easily asleep, notwithstanding the influence of light.
Vide Elements of the Philosophy of Plants, by Decandalle.

: Paxton,
t Phil. Trans. part ii. 1796, p. 502.
Ss

198 Wass OF PLANTS,

advantage strictly, mechanical,) that all the blossoms turn
their backs to the wind, whenever the gale blows strong
enough to endanger the delicate parts upon which the seed
depends. I have observed this a hundred times in a field
of peas in blossom. It is an aptitude which results from
the figure of the flower, and, as we’ have. said, is_ strictly
mechanical ;.as much so, as the turning of a weather-board
or tin cap upon the top of a chimney. Of the poppy, and
of many similar species of flowers, the head, while. it is
growing, hangs down, a rigid curvature in the upper part
of the stem giving to it that position; and in that position
itis impenetrable by rain or moisture. When the head
has acquired its size, and is ready to open, the stalk erects
itself, for the purpose, as it should seem, of presenting the
flower, and, with the flower, the instruments of. fructifica-
tion, to the genial influence of the sun’s rays. This al-
ways struck me as a curious property; and specifically,
as well as originally, provided for in the constitution
of the plant; for if the stem be only bent by the weight
of the head, how comes it to straighten itself’ when the
head is the heaviest? These instances, show the at-
tention of nature to this principal object, the safety and
maturation of the parts upon which the seed depends.

In trees, especially in those which are natives of colder
climates, this point is taken up earlier. Many of these trees
(observe in particular the ash and the horse-chestnut) pro-
duce the embryos of the leaves and flowers in one year,
and bring them to perfection the following. There is a
winter therefore to be gotten over.. Now what we are tore-
mark is, how. nature has prepared for the trials and sever-
ities of that season. These tender embryos are, in the
first place, wrapped up with a compactness, which no art
can imitate: in which state, they compose what we call the
bud. Thisisnotall. The bud itself is enclosed in scales; ~
which scales are formed from the remains of past leaves,
and the rudiments of future ones. Neither is this the
whole. In the coldest climates a third preservative is add-
ed, by the bud having a coat of gum or resin, which, being
congealed, resists the strongest frosts. On the approach
of warm weather this gum is softened, and ceases to be a
hinderance to the expansion of the leaves and flowers. All
this care is part of that system of provisions which has for
its object and consummation, the production and perfect-
ing of the seeds,

OF PLANTS. 199

- The seeps themselves are packed up in a capsule, a
vessel composed of coats, (Pl. XXXIV. fig. 1.) which,
compared with the rest of the flower, are strong and tough.
_ From this vessel projects a tube, through which tube the
ferina, or some subtile fecundating effluvium that issues
from it, is admitted to the seed. And here also occurs a
mechanical variety, accommodated to the cifferent circum-
stances under which the same purpose is to be accomplish-
ed. In flowers which are erect, the pistil is shorter than
the stamina; (Pl. XXXIV. fig. 2,) and the pollen, shed
from the anther into the cup of the flower, is caught in
its descent by the head of the pistil, called the stigma. But
how is this managed when the flowers hang down, (as
does the crown imperial, for instance) and in which posi-
tion, the farina, in its fall, would be carried from the: stig-
ma, and not towards it? The relative length of the parts
is now inverted. The pistil in these flowers is usually
longer, instead of shorter, than the stamina, (Pl. XXXIV.
fig. 3.) that its protruding summit may receive the pollen
as'it drops to the ground. In some cases, (as in the nigel-
la,) (Pl. XXXIV. fig. 4.) where the shafts of the pistils,
or styles are disproportionably long, they bend down their
extremities upon the anthere, that the necessary approxi-
mation may be effected.*

* Amongst the various means which nature has provided for the
purpose of assisting the impregnation of plants, that afforded by the
agency of insects is not one of the least. In the spring and-summer
months numerous species of these lively little beings may be seen in
almost every expanded flower; and whether they are in search of
honey which is contained in the nectaries of many flowers, or what-
ever may be the object of their attraction, by being continually on
the move, they, no doubt, further the dispersion of the pollen, and thus,
in a great measure, contribute to the fertility of the plants they visit.

In many plants, as those which belong to the Linnean class diecia,
where the stamens and pistils are in separate flowers, and those flowers
situated on two separate plants of the same species, the operation of
insects, or the efficacy of winds is indispensably necessary to the per-
fecting the fruit, by transporting the pollen of the one to the stigma of
the other. |

Some plants, indeed, that have perfect, or united flowers, have the
anthers so situated that it is almost impossible the pollen can, of itself,
reach the stigma ; in this case insects generally become the auxiliaries
to the fertilization of the seed. An instance of this may be seen in the
aristolochia clematitis. According to Professor Willdenow, the flow-
er of this plant is so formed, that the anthers of themselves cannot im-
pregnate the stigma; but this important affair is devolved upon a
particular species of tipula. (I. pennicornis.) The throat of the
flower is lined with dense hair, pointing downward so as to forma

)

200 OF PLANTS.

)
But (to pursue this great work in its progress,) the im-
pregnation, to which all this machinery relates, being com-
pleted, the other parts of the flower fade and drop off, whilst -
the gravid seed-vessel, on the contrary, proceeds to increase
its bulk, always to a great, and in some species, (in the
goard, for example, and melon,) to a surprising compara-
tive size; assuming in different plants an incalculable va-
riety of forms, but all evidently conducing to the security
of the seed. By virtue of this process, so necessary, but
so diversified, we have the seed, at length, in stone-fruits
and nuts, incased in a strong shell, the shell itself enclosed
in a pulp or husk, by which the seed within is, or hath
been, fed; or, more generally (as in grapes, oranges, and.
the numerous kinds of berries) plunged over head in a
glutinous syrup, contained within a skin or bladder; at
other times (as in apples and pears) embedded im the heart
of a firm, fleshy substance; or, (as in strawberries) prick-
ed into the surface of a soft pulp. . 7
These and many other varieties exist in what we calk
fruits.* In pulse, and grain, and grasses; in trees, and
shrubs, and flowers; the variety of the seed-vessels is in-

kind of funnel, or entrance like that of some kinds of mouse-traps,.
through which the insects may easily enter but not return: several
creep in, and, uneasy at their confinement, are constantly’ moving to
and fro, and so deposit the pollen upon the stigma ; but when the work
intrusted to them is completed, and impregnation has taken place, the
hair which prevented their eseape shrinks, and adheres closely to the
sides of the flower, and these little go-betweens of Flora at length
leave their prison. A writer, however, in the Annual Medical Re-
view (ii. 400.) doubts the accuracy of this fact, on the ground that he
could never find 7. pennicornis, though 4. clematitis has produced.
fruit two years at Brompton.” Introduction to Entomology, by
Kirby and Spence, vol. 1. p. 298.

That the tipula pennicornis does.enter the flowers of aristolochia.
clematitis, as recorded by Professor Willdenow, I can confidently af-
firm, from having observed them in great plenty in the:inflated base.
of the corolla every year, for these last fifteen years, in the Oxford
Botanic Garden, where the plant generally forms fruit. The first time
I found this insect in the flowers of the above species of aristolochia,
was on the 12th of July, 1812, at Godstow, near Oxford, where the.
plant was then growing in a wild state near the ruins of the nunnery.

For the above observations, the Editor is indebted to an excellent.
botanist, Mr. W. Baxter. Paxton.

* From the conformation of fruits alone, one might be led, even
without experience, to suppose, that part of this provision was des-
tined for the utilities of animals. As limited to the plant, the provision
itself seems to go beyond its object. The flesh of an apple, the pulp.
of an orange, the meat of a plumb, “ the fatness of the olive,” appear
to be more than sufficient for the nourishing of the seed or kernel.

OF PLANTS. — 201

computable. We have the seeds (as in the pea tribe) re-
gularly disposed in parchment pods, which though soft
~ and membranous, completely exclude the wet even in the
heaviest rains; the pod also, not seldom (as in the bean)
lined with a fine down; at other times (as in the senna)
distended like a blown bladder; or we have the seed en-
veloped in wool (as in the cotton plant,) lodged (as in pines)

between the hard and compact scales of a cone; or bar-.

ricadoed (as in the artichoke and thistle) with spikes and
prickles; in mushrooms, placed under a penthouse; in
ferns, within slits in the back part of the leaf; or (which
is the most general organization of all) we find them coy-
ered by strong, close tunicles, and attached to the stem ac-
cording to an order appropriated to each plant, as is seen
in the several kinds of grain, and of grasses.

In which enumeration what we have first to notice is,
unity of purpose under variety of expedients. Nothing
can be more single than the design ; more diversified than
the means. Pellicles, shells, pulps, pods, husks, skins,
scales armed with thorns, are all employed in prosecuting
the same intention. Secondly; we may observe, that in
all these cases, the purpose is fulfilled within a just and lim-
ited degree. We can perceive, that if the seeds of plants
were more strongly guarded than they are, their greater

The event shows that this redundancy, if it be one, ministers to the
support and gratification of animal natures; and when we observe a
provision to be more than sufficient for one purpose, yet wanted for
another purpose, it is not unfair to conclude that both purposes were
contemplated together. It favours this view of the subject to remark,
that fruits are not (which they might have been) ready altogether, but
that they ripen in succession throughout a great part of the year ; some
in summer; some in autumn; that some require the slow maturation
of the winter, and supply the spring; also, that the coldest fruits grow
in the hottest places. Cucumbers, pine-apples, melons, are the natur-
al produce of warm climates, and contribute greatly, by their cool-
ness, to the refreshment of the inhabitants of those countries.

‘The eatable part of the cherry or peach, first serves the purposes
of perfecting the seed or kernel, by means of -vessels passing through
the stone, and which are very visible in a peach-stone. After the
kernel is perfected, the stone becomes hard, and the vessels cease their
functions. But the substance surrounding the stone is not then thrown
away as useless. That which was before only an instrument for per-
fecting the kernel, now receives and retains to itself the whole of the
sun’s influence, and thereby becomes a grateful food to man. Also,
what an evident mark of design is the stone protecting the kernel !—
The intervention of the stone prevents the second use from interfering
with the first.’’ Paxton.

S 2

¢

202 OF PLANTS.

security would interfere with other uses. Many species
of animals would suffer, and many perish, if they could”
not obtain access to them. The plant would overrun the
soil; or the seed be wasted for the want of room to sow it-
self. It is, sometimes, as necessary to destroy particular
species of plants, as it is, at other times, to encourage their
growth. Here, as in many cases, a balance is to\be main-
tained between opposite uses. 'The provisions for the pre-
servation of seeds appear to be directed, chiefly against the
inconstancy of the elements, or the sweeping destruction
of inclement seasons. The depredations of animals, and
the injuries of accidental violence, are allowed for in the
abundance of the increase. The result is, that, out of
the many thousand different plants which cover the earth,
not a single species, perhaps, has been lost since the crea-
tion.

When nature has perfected her seeds, her next care is
to disperse them. The seed cannot answer its purpose,
while it remains confined in the capsule. After the seeds
therefore are ripened, the pericarpium opens to let them
out; and the opening is not like an accidental bursting,
but, for the most part, is according toa certaim rule m
each plant. What I have always thought very extraordina-
ry, nuts and shells, which we can hardly crack with our
teeth, divide and make way for the little tender sprout
which proceeds from the kernel. Handling the nut, I
could hardly conceive how the plantule was ever to get
out of it. There are cases, it is said, in which the seed-
vessel by an elastic jerk, at the moment of its explosion,
casts the seed to a distance. We all however know, that
many seeds (those of the most composite flowers, as of the
thistle, dandelion, ézc.) are endowed with what are not
improperly calied wings; that is, downy appendages, by
which they are enabled to float in the air, and are carried of-
tentimes by the wind to great distances from the plant
which produces them. It is the swelling also of this downy
tuft within the seed-vessel, that seems to overcome the re-
sistance of its coats, and to open a passage for the seed to
escape.

But the constitution of seeds is still more admirable than
either their preservation or their dispersion. In the body
of the seed of every species of plant, or nearly of every one,

provision is made for two grand purposes; first, for the
safety of the germ; secondly, for the temporary support of
the future plant. The sprout, as folded up in the seed, is

\

OF PLANTS. _ 203 —

’ delicate and brittle, beyond any other substance. It can-
not be touched without being broken. Yet, in beans, peas,
grass-seeds, grain, fruits, it is so fenced on all sides, so
shut up and protected, that, whilst the seed itself is rudely
handled, tossed into sacks, shovelled into heaps, the min-
-jature plant, the sacred particle, remains unhurt. It is
wonderful also, how long many kinds of seeds, by the help
of their integuments, and perhaps of their oils, stand out.
against decay. A grain of mustard seed has been known
to lie in the earth for a hundred years; and, as soon asit
-had acquired a favourable situation, to shoot as vigorously
as if just gathered from the plant. ‘Then, as to the second
point, the temporary support of the future plant, the matter
stands thus. In grain, and pulse, and kernels, and pippins,
the germ composes a very small part of the seed. The
-rest consists of a nutritious substance, from which the
sprout draws its aliment for some considerable time after
it is put forth: viz. until the fibres, shot out from the other
end of the seed, are able to imbibe juices from the earth,
- in a sufficient quantity for its demand. It is owing to this
constitution, that we see seeds sprout, and the sprouts,
make a considerable progress without any earth at all. It
is an economy also, in which we remark a close analogy
between the seeds of plants, andthe eggsof animals. .The
same point is provided for, in the same manner, in both.
Tn the egg, the residence of the living principle, the cica-
trix, forms a very minute part of the contents. ‘The white,
and the white only, is expended in the formation of the
chicken. ‘The yolk, very little altered or diminished, is
wrapped up in the abdomen of the young bird, when it
quits the shell; and serves for its nourishment, till it has
learnt to pick its own food. This perfectly resembles the
first nutrition of a plant. In the plant, as well as in the
-animal, the structure has every character of contrivance
belonging to it; in both it breaks the transition from pre-
pared to unprepared aliment; in both it is prospective and
~ compensatory. In animals which suck, this intermediate

nourishment is supplied by a different source.

In all subjects the. most common observations are the
best, when it is their truth and strength which have made
them common. There are, of this sort, ¢wo concerning
plants, which it falls within our plan to notice. The first
relates to, what has already been touched upon, their ger-
mination. When a grain of corn is cast into the ground,
this is the change which takes place. From one end of

204 © OF PLANTS.

the grain issues a green sprout; from the other a number of
white fibrous threads. (Pl. XXXIV. fig. 5.) How can this
be explained? Why not sprouts from both ends? Why not
fibrous threads from both ends? To what is the difference
to be referred, but to design; to the different uses which
the parts are thereafter to serve ; uses which discover them-
selves in the sequel of the process? ‘The sprout, or plum-
ule, struggles into the air ; and becomes the plant, of which,
from the first, it contained the rudiments; the fibres shoot
into the earth; and, thereby, both fix the plant to the
ground, and collect nourishment from the soil for its sup-
port.* Now, what is not a little remarkable, the parts is-
suing from the seed take their respective directions, into
whatever position the seed itself happens to be cast. If
the seed be thrown into the wrongest possible position,
that is, if the ends point in the ground, the reverse of what
they ought to do, every thing, nevertheless, goes on right.
The sprout, after being pushed down a little way, makes
a bend and turns upwards; the fibres, on the contrary,
after shooting at first upwards, turndown. Of this extraor-
dinary vegetable fact an account has lately been attempted
to be given. ‘‘The plumule, it is said, is stimulated by
the air into action, and elongates itself when it is thus
most excited; the radicle is stimulated by mozsture, and
elongates itself when zt is thus most excited. Whence
one of these grows upwards in quest of its adapted object,

* <‘ The seed, the last production of vigorous vegetation, is wonder-
fully diversified in form. Being of the highest importance to the re-
sources of nature, it is defended above all other parts of the plant, by
soft, pulpy substances, as in the esculent fruits; by thick membranes,
as in the leguminous vegetables; and by hard shells, or a thick epi-
dermis, as in the palms and grasses.

“In every seed there is to be distinguished, first, the organ of
_ nourishment; secondly, the nascent plant, or the plume; thirdly, the
mascent root, or the radicle.

“In the common garden bean, the organ of nourishment is divided
into two lobes, called cotyledons ; the plume is the small white point
between the upper partof the lobes; and the radicle is the small curv-
ed cone at their base. :

‘“‘In wheat, and in many ofthe grasses, the organ of nourishment is a
single part, and these plants are called monocotyledonous. In other
eases it consists of more than two parts when the plants are called
polycotyledonous. In the greater number of instances, it is, how-
ever, simply divided into two, and is dicotyledonous. . _

“The matter of the seed, when examined in its common state, ap-
pears dead and inert; it exhibits neither the forms nor the functions of
life. But letit be acted upon by moisture, heat and air, and its organiz-

‘ OF PLANTS. 205 -

and the other downward.”* Were this account better.

verified by experiment? than it is, it only shifts the con-
trivance. It does not disprove the contrivance ; it only re-
moves it a little further back. Who, to use our author’s
own language, “‘ adapted the objects?’ Who gave: such
a quality to these connate parts, as to be susceptible: of dif-
ferent ‘‘ stimulation; as tobe “ excited,” each only by its
own element, and precisely by that, which the success: of
the vegetation requires? I say, ‘‘ which the success of the
vegetation requires,” for the toil of the husbandman would
have been in vain; his laborious and expensive preparation:
of the ground in vain; if the event must, after all, depend
upon the position in which the scattered seed was sown.
Not one seed out of a hundred would fall in a right di-
rection. 3 ey

Our second observation is upon a general property of
climbing plants, which is strictly mechanical. In_ these
plants, from each knot or joint, or as botanists call it, ax-
illa of the plant, issue, close to each other, two shoots;
one, bearing the flower and fruit, the other, drawn out into

a wire, a long, tapering, spiral tendril, that twists itself

round any thing that lies within its reach, Considering,

ed powers are soon distinctly developed. The cotyledons expand, the-
membranes burst, the radicle acquires new matter, descends into the
soil, and the plume rises towards the free air. By degrees, the organs
of nourishment of dicotyledonous plants become vascular, and are con-
verted into seed leaves, and the perfect plant appears above the soil.
Nature has provided the elements of germination on every part of the
surface ; water and pure air and heat are universally active, and the
means for the preservation and multiplication of life, are at once simple
and grand.” Sir H. Davy’s Elements of Agricultural Chemistry,
_ ii, ed. p. 70. Paxton.

* Darwin’s Phytologia, p. 144.

t Gravitation has a very important influence on the growth of
plants; and itis rendered probable, by the experiments of Mr. Knight,
that they owe the peculiar direction of their roots and branches al-
most entirely to its force.

*‘ That gentleman fixed some seeds of the garden bean on the cir-
cumference of a wheel, which in one instance was placed vertically,
and in the other horizontally, and made to revolve by means of another
wheel worked by water, in such a manner, that the number of the re-
volutions could be regulated ; the beans were supplied with moisture, and
were placed under circumstances favourable to germination. The
great velocity of motion given to the wheel was such, that it perform-
ed 250 revolutions in a minute. It was found that in all cases the
beans grew, and that the direction of the roots and stems was influenced
by the motion of the wheel. When the centrifugal force was made
superior to the force of gravitation, which was supposed to be done
when the vertical wheel performed 150 revolutions in a minute, all the

!

206 OF PLANTS.

that, in this class, two purposes are to be provided for (and
together,) fructification and support, the fruitage of the
plant, and the sustentation of its stalk, what means could
be used more effectual, or, as I have said, more mechanical,
than what this structure presents to our eyes? Why or
how, without a view to this double purpose, do two shoots,
of such different and appropriate forms, spring from the
same joint, from contiguous points of the same stalk? It
never happens thus in robust plants, or in trees. ‘“ We
see not,” says Ray, “‘so much as’ one tree, or shrub, or
herb, that hath a firm and'strong stem, and that is able to
mount up and stand alone without assistance, furnished
with these tendrils.’” Make only so simple a comparison
as that between a pea and a bean. Why does the pea put
forth tendrils, the bean not; but because the stalk of the
pea cannot support itself, the stalk of the bean can; we
may add also, as a circumstance not to be overlooked, that,
- in the pea tribe, these clasps do not make their appearance,
till they are wanted ;: till the: plant has grown to a height
to‘stand in need of support. fi
This word “support,” suggests to us a reflection upo
the property of grasses, of corn, and canes. ‘The hollow

gadicles, in whatever way they were protruded from the position of
the seeds, turned their points outwards from the circumference of the
wheel, and in their subsequent growth receded nearly at right angles
from its axis; the germens (plumules) on the contrary, took the op-
posite direction, and in a few days their points all met in the centre
of the wheel. |
-* When the centrifugal force was made merely to modify the force
of gravitation in the horizontal wheel, where the greatest velocity of
revolution was given, the radicles pointed downwards about ten de-
grees below, and the germens (plumules) as many degrees above the
horizontal line of the wheel’s motion; and the deviation from the per-
pendicular was less in proportion as the motion was less rapid.

“* These facts afford a rational solution of this curious problem, re-
specting which, different plilosophers have given such different opin-
ions; some referring it to the nature of the sap, as De la Hire, others,
as Darwin, to the living powers of the plant, and the stimulus of air
upon the leaves, and of moisture upon the roots. The effect is now
shown to be connected with mechanical causes; and there seems no
other power in nature to which it can with propriety be referred but
gravity, which acts universally, and which must tend to dispose the
parts to take a uniform direction.

‘«‘ The direction of the radicles and germens (plumules) is such, that
both are supplied with food, and acted upon by those external agents
which are necessary for their development and growth, The roots
come in contact with the fluids in the ground; the leaves are exposed
to light and air; and the same grand Jaw which preserves the planets
in their orbits is thus essential to the functions of vegetable life.”
Dovy's El, Agr. Chem. ii, Ed, p, 32, Paxton.

OF PLANTS. 207

stems of these classes of plants, are set, at certain intervals,
with joints.. These joints are not found in the trunks of
trees, or in the solid stalks of plants. ‘There may be other
uses of these joints; but the fact. is, and it appears to be,
at least, one purpose designed by them, that they, corrobo-
ratethe stem; whick, by its length and hollowness, would,
otherwise, be too liable to break or bend, eve |
-. Grasses are Nature’s ‘care. With these she clothes the
earth; with these she sustains its inhabitants. Cattle feed
upon their leaves; birds upon their smaller seeds; men
upon the larger; for, few readers need be told that the
plants, which produce our bread-corn belong to this class.
In those tribes, which are more generally considered as
grasses, their extraordinary means and powers of preserva-
tion and increase, their hardiness, their almost uncon--
querable disposition to spread, their faculties. of revivis-
cence, coincide with the intention of nature concerning
them. They thrive under a treatment by which other
plants are destroyed. ‘The more their leaves are consum-
ed, the more their roots increase. ‘The more they are
trampled upon, the thicker they grow. Many of the seem-
ingly dry and dead leaves of grasses revive, and renew
their verdure, in the spring. In lofty mountains, where
the summer heats are not sufficient to ripen the seeds,
grasses abound, which are viviparous, and consequently
able to propagate themselves without seed., It is an obser-
vation, likewise, which has often been made, that, herbi-
vorous animals attach themselves to the leaves of grasses ;
and, if at liberty in their pastures to range and choose,
leave untouched the straws which support the flowers.*
The general properties of vegetable nature, or properties
common to large portions of that kingdom, are almost all
which the compass of our argument allows to bring for-
ward. It is impossible to follow plants into their several
species. We may be allowed, however, to single out three
or four of these species as worthy of a particular notice,
either by some singular mechanism, or by some peculiar
provision, or by both.

In Dr. Darwin’s Botanic Garden, (line 395, note,) is the
following account of the vallisneria, as it has been observ-
ed in the river Rhone. (PI. XXXV. fig. 1, 2,3.) ‘‘ They
have roots at the bottom of the Rhone. The flowers of
the female plant float on the surface of the water, and are

* With. Bot. Arr. vol. i. p. 28. ed. 2d.

208 OF PLANTS.

furnished with an elastic, spiral stalk, which extends or
contracts as the water rises or falls; this rise or fall, from
the torrents which flow into the river, often amounting to
many feet in a few hours. The flowers of the male plant
are produced under water; and, as soon as the fecundat-
ing ferina is mature, they separate themselves from the
plant; rise to the surface; and are wafted by the air, or
borne by the currents, to the female flowers.” Our atten-
tion in this narrative will be directed to two particulars;
first, to the mechanism, the “elastic, spiral stalk,” which
lengthens or contracts itself according as the water rises or
falls; secondly, to the provision which is made for bring-
ing the male flower, which is produced under water, to the
female flower, which floats upon the surface.

II. My second example I take from Withering. (Ar-
rang. vol. 11. p. 209. ed. 3.) ‘‘ The cuscuta europe is a para-
sitical plant. (Plate XXXVI.) Theseed opens, and puts
forth a little spiral body which does nor seek the earth to
take root ; but climbs ina spiral direction, from right to left,
up other plants, from which, by means of vessels, it draws its
nourishment.” The “little spiral body” proceeding from.
the seed is to be compared with the fibres which seeds
send out in ordinary cases; and the comparison ought to
regard both the form of the threads and the direction. They
are straight; this is spiral. They shoot downwards; this
points upwards. In the rule, and in the exception, we
equally perceive design. |

IfI. A better known parasitical plant is the evergreen
shrub, called the mzsseltoe. What we have toremark in it,
is a singular instance of compensation. No art has yet
made these plants take root in the earth. Here therefore
might seem to be a mortal defect in their constitution. Let
us examine how this defect is made up tothem. ‘The
seeds are endued with an adhesive quality so tenacious,
that, if they be rubbed upon the smooth bark of almost
any tree, they will stick to it. And then what follows?
Roots springing from these seeds, insinuate their fibres in-
to the woody substance of the tree ; and the event is, that
a misseltoe plant is produced next winter ;* of no other
plant do the roots refuse to shoot in the ground ; of no other
plant do the seeds possess this adhesive, generative quali-
ty, when applied to the bark of trees. aR

* Withering, Bot. Arr. vol. i. p. 203, ed. 2d.

/

OF PLANTS. | 909 —

¥V. Another instance of the compensatory system is in
the autumnal crocus or meadow saffron, (colchicum autum-
nale.) (Pl. XXXVIL) I have pitied this poor plant a
thousand times. Its blossom rises out of the ground in the
most forlorn condition possible, without a sheath, a fence,
a calyx, or even a leaf to protect it; and that not in the
spring, not to be. visited by summer suns, but under all the
disadvantages of the declining year. When we come how-
ever to look more closely into the structure of this plant,
we find, that instead of its being neglected, nature has
gone out of her course to provide for its security, and to
make up to it for all its defects. The seed-vessel, which in
other plants is situated within the cup of the flower, or just
beneath it, in this plant lies buried ten or twelve inches
under ground within the bulbous root. The tube of the
flower, which is seldom more than a few tenths of an inch ~
Jong, in this plant extends down to the root. The stiles
always reach the seed-vessel ; but it is in this, by an elon-
gation unknown to any other plant. All these singularities
contribute to one end. ‘‘ As this plant blossoms late in
the year, and, probably, would not have time to ripen its
seeds before the access of winter, which would destroy them,
Providence has contrived its structure such, that this im-
portant office may be performed at a depth in the earth out
of the reach of the usual effects of frost.* That is to say,
in the autumn nothing is done above ground but the busi-
ness of impregnation; which is an affair between the an-
there and the stigmata. The maturation of the impregnated
seed, which in other plants proceeds within a capsule, ex-
posed together with the rest of the flower to the open air,
is here carried on, and during the whole winter, within
the heart, as we may say, of the earth; that is, “‘ out of
the reach of the usual effects of frost.’” But then a new
difficulty presents itself: Seeds, though perfected, are
known not to vegetate at this depth in the earth. Our
seeds, therefore, though so safely lodged, would, after all,
be lost to the purpose for which all seeds are intended. |
Lest this should be the case, ‘‘a second admirable provis-
ion is made to raise them above the surface when they are
perfected, and to sow them at a proper distance :” viz. the
germ grows up in the spring, upon a fruit stalk, accom-
panied with leaves. The seeds now, in common. with

* Withering, ubi supra, p- 360..
ry

210 ’ THE ELEMENTS.
| dl

those of other plants, have the benefit of the summer,
-and are sown upon the surface. The order of vegetation
externally is this: The plant produces its flowers in Sep-
tember ; its leaves and fruits in the spring following.

V. I give the account of the dionza muscipula, (Plate
XXXVIII.) an extraordinary American plant, as some late
authors have related it; but, whether we be yet enough ac-
quainted with the plant to bring every part of this account to
the test of repeated and familiar observation, I am unable to
say. Its leavesare jointed, and furnished with two rows of
strong prickles; their surfaces covered with a number of
minute glands, which secrete a sweet liquor, that allures
the approach of flies. When these parts are touched by
the legs of flies, the two lobes of the leaf instantly spring
up, the rows of prickles lock themselves fast together, and
squeeze the unwary animal to death.’* Here, under a
new model, we recognise the ancient plan of nature; viz,
the relation of parts and provisions to one another, to a
common office, and to the utility of the organized body to
which they belong. The attracting syrub, the rows of
strong prickles, their position so as to interlock, the joints
of the leaves; and, what is more than the rest, that sin-
gular irritability of their surfaces, by which they close at
a touch; all bear a contributory part in producing an ef-
fect, connected either with the defence, or with the nu-
trition, of the plant. .

or OG OO«u.-
CHAP. XXI.

THE ELEMENTS.

WuEN we come to the elements, we take leave of our
mechanics; because we come to those things, of the or-
ganization of which, if they be organized, we are confess-
edly ignorant. This ignorance is implied by their name.
To say the truth, our investigations are stopped long be- -
fore we arrive at this point. But then it is for our com-
fort to find, that a knowledge of the constitution of the el-
ements is not necessary for us. For instance, as Addison ~
has well observed, ‘‘ we,know water sufficiently when we
know how to boil, how to freeze, how to evaporate, how to
make it fresh, how to make it run or spout out, in what

~

* Smellie’s Phil. of Nat. His. vol. i. p. 5.

THE ELEMENTS. Y 211

‘quantity and direction we please, without knowing what
water is.’ The. observation of this excellent writer has
more propriety in it now, than it had at the time it was
made : for the constitution, and the constituent parts of
water, appear in some measure to have been lately discov-
ered; yet it does not, I think, appear, that we can make
any better or greater use of water since the discovery, than
we did before it.

We can never think of the elements without reflecting
upon the number of distinct uses which are consolidated
in the same substance. The air supplies the lungs, sup-
ports fire, conveys sound, reflects light, diffuses smells,
gives rain, wafts ships, bears up birds. EZ idaros ra wavre;
water, beside maintaining its own inhabitants, is the uni-
versal nourisher of plants, and through them of terrestrial
animals, is the basis of their juices and fluids: dilutes
their food, quenches their thirst, floats their burdens.
Fire warms, dissolves, enlightens; is the great promoter
of vegetation and life, if not necessary to the support of
both. ’

We might enlarge, to almost any length we pleased, up-
on each of these uses; but it appears to me almost suffi-
cient to state them. The few remarks which I judge it
necessary to add, are as follow.

I, Air is essentially different from earth. There ap-
pears to be no necessity for an atmosphere’s investing our,
globe: yet it does invest it; and we see how many,
how various, and how important are the purposes
which it answers to every order of animated, not to say
of organized, beings, which are placed upon the terres-
trial surface. I think that every one of these uses will
be understood upon the first mention of them, except it
be that of reflecting light, which may be explained thus.
If I had the power of seeing only by means of rays com-
ing directly from the sun, whenever I turned my back up-
on the luminary, I should find myself in darkness. If I had
the power of seeing by reflected light, yet by means only
of light reflected from solid masses, these masses would
shine, indeed, and glisten, but it would be in the dark.
The hemisphere, the sky, the world, could only be cJlumi-
‘nated, as it is illuminated, by the light of the sun being
from all sides, and in every direction, reflected to the eye,
by particles, as numerous, as thickly scattered, and as
widely diffused, as are those of the air.

212 THE ELEMENTS. ;

Another general quality of the atmosphere is, the power.
of evaporating fluids. The adjustment of this quality to
‘our use is seen in its action upon the sea. In the sea,
water and salt are mixed together most intimately; yet
the atmosphere raises the water, and leaves the salt. Pure
and fresh as drops of rain descend, they are collected from
brine. If evaporation be solution, (which seems to be
probable,) then the air dissolves the water and not the salt.
Upon whatever it be founded, the distinction is critical ; so
much so, that, when we attempt to imitate the process by
art, we must regulate our distillation with great care and
nicety, or, together with the water, we get the bitterness,
or, at least, the distastefulness of the marine substance:
and, after all, it is owing to this original elective power in
the air, that we can effect the separation which we wish,
by any art or means whatever.

By evaporation waiter is carried up into the air; by the
converse of evaporation it fallsdown uponthe earth. And
how does it fall? Not by the clouds being all at once con-
verted into water, and descending like a sheet; not in
rushing down in columns fram a spout; but in moderate
drops, as from a colander. Our watering-pots are made
to imitate showers of rain. Yet, @ priort, I should have
thought either of the two former methods more likely to
have taken place than the fast.

By respiration, flame, putrefaction, air is rendered un=
fit for the support of animal life. By the constant oper-
ation of these corrupting principles, the whole atmosphere,
if there were no restoring causes, would come at length
to be deprived of its necessary degree of purity. Some of
these causes seem to have been discovered, and their effi-
cacy ascertained by experiment. And so far as the dis-
covery has proceeded, it opens to us a beautiful and a
wonderful economy. Vegetation proves to be one of them.
A sprig of mint, corked up with a small portion of foul air
placed in the light, renders it again capable of supporting
life or flame. Here, therefore, is a constant circulation
of benefits maintained between the two great provinces of
organized nature. The plant purifies, what the animal
has poisoned: in return, the contaminated air is more than
ordinarily nutritious to the plant. Agitation with water
turns out to be another of these restoratives. - The foulest
air, shaken in a bottle with water for a sufficient length of
time, recovers a great degree of its purity. Here then
again, allowing for the scale upon which nature works, we

‘THE ELEMENTS. 4) 33

ssee'the salutary effects of storms and tempests. ‘The yesty
waves, which confound the heaven and the sea, are doing
tthe very thing which.is done in the bottle. Nothing can
_be of greater importance to the living creation, than the
_ ~salubrity of their atmosphere. It ought to reconcile us
_ therefore to: these ‘agitations of the elements, of which we
‘sometimes deplore the consequences, to know, that they
tend powerfully to restore to the air that purity, which so
many causes are constantly impairing.

II. In-warer, what ought not a little to be admired,
-are these negative qualities which constitute its purity.
‘Had it been vinous, or oleaginous, or acid; had the sea
been filled, or the rivers flowed with wine or milk; fish,
“constituted as they are, must have died; plants, constitut-
ed‘as'they are, would have withered ; the lives of animals,
-wwhich: feed upon plants, must have perished. Its -very in-
stpidity, which is one of those negative qualities, renders
“it the best of all menstrua. Having no taste of its own,
‘at becomes the sincere ‘vehicle of every other. Had there
‘been a‘taste in water, be it what it might, it would have
infected every thing. we ate or drank, with an importunate
»repetition of the same flavour.

Another thing ‘in this element, not less to be admired,
+is the constant rownd which it travels; and by which,
without suffering either adulteration or waste, itis contin-
vually offering itself to the wants of the habitable globe.
From the sea are exhaled those vapours which form the
clouds. ‘These clouds descend in showers, which, pene-
~ trating into the crevices of the hills, supply springs. Which
- springs flow in little streams into the vallies; and, there
‘uniting, become rivers. Which rivers, in return, feed the
ocean. So there is an incessant circulation of the same
fluid; and not one drop probably more or less now than
there was at the creation. A particle of water takes its
departure from the-surface of the sea, in order to fulfil cer-

tain important offices:to the earth; and, having executed
_ the service which was assigned to it, returns to the bosom
which it left. |

Some-have thought that we have too much water upon
the globe; the sea occupying above three quarters of its
_whole surface. But the expanse of ocean, immense as it

' is, may'be no more than sufficient to fertilize the earth.
Or,:independently of this reason, I know not why the sea
may not have as geod a right to its place as the land. It

T 2 |

214 THE ELEMENTS.

may proportionably support as many inhabitants ; minister
to as large an aggregate of enjoyment. The land only af-
fords a habitable surface ; the sea is habitable to a great
depth.

III. Of rire, we have said that it dissolves. The only
idea probably which this term raised in the reader’s mind
was, that of fire melting metals, resins, and some other
substances, fluxing ores, running glass, and assisting us in
many of our operations, chemical or culinary. Now these
are only uses of an occasional kind, and give: usa very
imperfect notion of what fire does for us. The grand im-
portance of this dissolving power, the great office indeed of
fire in the economy of nature, is keeping things in a state
of solution, that is to say, in a state of fluidity. Were it
not for the presence of leat, or of a certain degree of it, all
fluids would be frozen. ‘The ocean itself would be a quar-
ry of ice; universal nature stiff and dead.

We see, therefore, that the elements bear not only a
strict relation to the constitution of organized bodies, but
a relation to each other. Water could not perform its of-
fice to the earth without air; nor exist as water, without fire.

IV. Of vient, (whether we regard it as of the same
substance with fire, or as a different substance,) it is alto-
gether superfluous to expatiate upon the use. No man dis-
putes it. The observations, therefore, which I shall offer,
respect that little which we seem to know of its constitution.

Light travels from the sun, at the rate of twelve millions
of miles in a minute. Urged by such a velocity, with
what force must its particles drive against, I will not say
the eye, the tenderest of animal substances, but every sub-
stance, animate or inanimate, which stands in its way? It
might seem to be a force sufficient to shatter to atoms the
hardest bodies.

How then is this effect, the consequence of such prodi-
gious velocity guarded against to: Byoa proportionable mi-
nuteness of the particles of which light is composed. It is
impossible for the human mind to imagine to itself any
thing so small as a particle of light. But this extreme ex-
ility, though difficult to conceive, iseasy to prove. A drop
of tallow, expended in the wick of a farthing candle, shall
shed forth rays sufficient to fill a hemisphere of a mile di-
ameter ; and to fill it so full of these rays, that an aperture
not larger than the pupil of an eye, wherever it be placed
within the hemisphere, shall be sure to receive some of
them. What floods of light are continually poured from

ASTRONOMY. 215.

the sun, we cannot estimate; but the immensity of the
sphere which is filled with its particles, even if it reached
no further than the orbit of the earth, we can in some sort.
compute: and we have reason to believe, that, throughout
this whole region, the particles of light lie, in latitude at
least, near to one another. ‘The spissitude of the sun’s
rays at the earth is such, that the number which falls upon
a burning glass of an inch diameter, is sufficient, when
concentrated, to set wood on fire.

The tenuity and the velocity of particles of light, as as-
certained by separate observations, may be said to be pro-
portioned to eachother: both surpassing our utmost stretch
of comprehension,—but proportioned. And it is this pro-
portion alone, which converts a tremendous element into a
welcome visitor. . BY

It has been observed to me by a learned friend, as hay-
ing often struck his mind, that, if light had been made by
a common artist, it would have been of one uniform colour:
whereas, by its present composition, we have that variety
of colours, which is of such infinite use to us for the dis-
tinguishing of objects; which adds so much to the beauty
of the earth, and augments the stock of our innocent
pleasures.

With which may be joined another reflection, viz. that,
considering light as compounded of rays of seven differ-
ent colours, (of which there can be no doubt, because it
can be resolved into these rays by simply passing it through
a prism) the constituent parts must be well mixed and
blended together, to produce a fluid, so clear and colour-
less, as a beam of light is, when received from the sun.

“rr O@ Oe
CHAP. XXII. .
ASTRONOMY.*

My opinion of Astronomy has always been, that it is not
the best medium through which to prove the agency of an
intelligent Creator; but that, this being proved, it shows
beyond all other sciences, the magnificence of his opera-
tions. ‘The mind, which is once convinced, it raises to

* For the articles in this chapter marked with an asterisk, I am in-
debted to some obliging communications, received (through the hands
of the Lord Bishop of Elphin) from the Rev: J. Brinkley, M. A. An-
drew’s Professor of Astronomy in the University of Dublin.

O36 ASTRONOMY.

sublimer ‘views of the Deity, than any other subject af-
fords; but it is not'so well adapted, as some other subjects
‘are, to the purpose of argument. We are destitute of the
‘means of examining the constitution of the heavenly bodies.
The very simplicity of their appearance is against them.
We see nothing, but bright points, luminous circles, or the
phases of spheres reflecting the light which falls upon them.
_Now we deduce designs from relation, aptitude, and cor-
respondence of parts. Some degree therefore of comples-
ity is necessary to render a subject fit for this species of
argument. But the heavenly bodies do not, except perhaps
in the instance of Saturn’s ring, present themselves to our
observation as compounded of parts at all. This, which
-may be a perfection in them, is a désadvantage to us, as
inquirers after their nature. ‘They do not come within our
-mechanics.

And what we:say of their forms is true of their motions.
Their motions are carried on without any sensible interme-
diate apparatus; whereby we are cut off from one principal
ground of argumentation, analogy. We have nothing

‘wherewith:to compare them; no invention, no discovery,
mo operation or-resource of art, which, in this respect, re-
sembles them. Even those things which are made to im-
itate and represent them, such as orreries, planetaria, celes-
tial globes, &c. -bear no affinity to them, in the cause and
principle by which their motions are actuated. J can as-
sign forthis difference a reason of utility, viz.a reason why
though the action of terrestrial bodies upon each other be,
-in almost all cases, through the intervention of solid or fluid
substances, yet: central attraction dees not eperate in this
manner. It was necessary that the intervals between the
planetary orbs should be devoid of any zrert matter, either
fluid or solid, because such an intervening substance would,
by its resistance, destroy those very motions, which attrac-
tion is employed to preserve. This may be a final cause
of the difference ; but still the difference destroys the an-
‘alogy.* .

* The moon has no perceptible atmosphere; and ‘as‘no effects have
been observed like those which would be produced by vapours or ex-
halations from its surface, it is possible that there are no fluids upon
it. There is no reason, however, from these circumstances for deny-
ing the existence of sensitive beings upon it, althotigh they must be
very differently constituted from ourselves, to whom air and water
are essentiallynecessary. Paxton.

ASTRONOMY. 217

- Our ignorance, moreover, of the sensitwe natures, by
which other planets are inhabited, necessarily keeps from
us the knowledge of numberless utilities, relations, and
subserviencies, which we perceive upon our own globe.
After all; the reai subject of admiration is, that we un-
derstand so much of astronomy as we do. Thatan animal
confined to the surface of one of the planets, bearing a
less proportion to it, than the smallest microscopie insect*
does to the plant it lives upon; that this little, busy, in-
quisitive creature, by the use of senses which were given
to it for its domestic necessities, and by means of the as-
sistance of those senses which it has had the art to procure,
should have been enabled to observe the whole system of
worlds to which its own belongs; the changes of place
of the immense globe, which compose it; and with such
accuracy, as to mark out, before-hand, the situation in the
heavens in which ‘they will be found in any future point of
time; and that these bodies, after sailing through regions
of void and trackless space, should arrive at the place where
they were expected, not within a minute, but within a few
seconds of a minute, of the time prefixed and predicted; all
this is wonderful, whether we refer our admiration ta the
constancy of the heavenly motions themselves, or to the
perspicacity and precision with which they have been no-
ticed by mankind. Nor is this the whole, nor indeed the:
chief part, of what astronomy teaches. By bringing reason
/ to bear upon observation, (the acutest reasoning upon the
exactest observation,) the astronomer has been able, out
of the confusion, (for such it is) under which the motions
of the heavenly bodies present themselves to the eye of a
mere gazer upon the skies, to elicit their order and their
real paths,

Qur knowledge therefore of astronomy is admirable,
though imperfect; and, amidst the confessed desiderata
and desideranda, which impede our investigation of the
wisdom of the Deity, in these the grandest of his works,
there are to be found, in the phenomena, ascertained cir-

* Hooke describes a minute animalcule, which he discovered with
a microscope, upon the vine. From his data an estimate may be
made ofits bulk; but it is not so easy to fix upon any determinate
quantity for the size of the plant, However, to put the case strongly,
Jet the bulk of it be taken as equal to that of a cylinder one inch in
diameter, anda mile in length. Such a cylinder would contain above
345 cubic feet, and yet it would be many million times less, when
compared with the animalcule, than the earth is when eompared with
the bulk of aman, Paxton,

218 ASTRONOMY.

cumstances and laws, sufficient to indicate an intellectual
agency in three of its principal operations, viz. in choosing,
in determining, in regulating; in choosing, out of a bound-
less variety of suppositions which were equally possible,
that which is beneficial ; in determining, what, left to it-
self, had a thousand chances against conveniency, for one
in its favour; in regulating subjects, as to quantity and de-
gree, which, by their nature, were unlimited with respect
to either. It will be our business to offer, under each of
these heads, a few instances, such as best admit of a popu-
Jar explication.

I. Amongst proofs of choice, one is, fixing the source

of light and heat in the centre of the system. - The sun is
ignited and luminous; the planets which move round him,
cold and dark. ‘There seems to be no antecedent necessity
for this order. The sun might have been an opaque mass ;
some one, or two, or more, or any, or all, of the planets,

globes of fire. ‘There is nothing in the nature of the heay-.

enly bodies, which requires that those which are stationary
should be on fire, that those which move should be cold ;
for, in fact, comets are bodies on fire,* yet revolve round
a centre; nor does this order obtain between the primary
planets and their secondaries, which are all opaque. When
we consider, therefore, that the sun is one; that the planets
going round it are, at least, seven ;7 that it is indifferent to
their nature which are luminous and which are opaque:
and also, in what order with respect to each other, these
two kinds of bodies are disposed ; we may judge of the im-

* It may be reasonably doubted whether comets are ever absolute-
ty “on fire;” and yet some of them, from their near approach to the
sun, must certainly be “capable of intense heat.” If we conceive
the earth’s distance from the sun to be divided into 1000 parts, the
comet of 1680 was, at one time, not more distant than six of those
parts from the sun. From hence Sir I. Newton calculated that it
was exposed toa heat which was 2000 times greater than that of a
red-hot iron, | Paxton.

+The seven planets here alluded to, are Mercury, Venus, the
Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, and the Georgium Sidus; we now
know that there are four more, Ceres, Pallas, Juno and Vesta; the
first of these was discovered in 1801, the second was observed in
March, 1802, the third, was not discovered till 1804, nor the last till
1807. Now Dr. Paley’s dedication is dated July, 1802; itis very
possible, therefore, that this 22d chapter was written before he had
heard of Pallas, and even while it was yet doubtful whether Ceres
was acomet ora planet. This will explain the reason for his hav-
ing qualified the expression, and having said, “ at least seven.” .
Us

_—_ C.._ eee

_ ASTRONOMY. s 219
probability of the present arrangement taking place by
chance.

_ If, by way of accounting for the state in which we find
the solar system, it be alleged, (and this.is one amongst the
guesses of those who reject an intelligent Creator) that the
planets themselves are only cooled or cooling tnasses, and
were once, Jike the sun, many thousand times hotter than
red hot iron; then it follows, that the sun also himself
must be in his progress towards growing cold; which puts
an end to the possibility of his having existed, as he is,
from eternity. This consequence arises out of the hypoth-
esis with still more certainty, if we make a part of it, what
the philosophers, who maintain it, have usually taught, that
the planets. were originally masses of matter struck off, in
a state of fusion, from the bedy of the sun, by the percus-
sion of a comet, or by a shock from some other cause with
which we are not acquainted ; for, if these masses, partak-
ing of the nature and substance of the sun’s body, have in
process of time lost their heat, that body itself, in time
likewise, no matter in how much longer time, must lose its
heat also; and therefore be incapable of an eternal dura-
tion in the state in which we see it, either for the time to
come, or the time past.

The preference of the present to any other mode of dis-
tributing luminous and opaque bodies I take to be evident.
It requires more astronomy than I am able to lay before
the reader, to show, in its particulars, what would be the
effect to the system, of a dark body at the centre, and of
one of the planets being luminous: but I think it manifest,
without either plates or calculation, first, that, supposing
the necessary proportion of magnitude between the central
and the revolving bodies to be preserved, the ignited planet
would not be sufficient to illuminate and warm the rest of
the system ; secondly, that its light and heat would be im-
parted to the other planets, much moré irregularly than
light and heat are now received from the sun.

(*) II. Another thing, in which a choice appears to be
exercised, and in which, amongst the possibilities out of
which the choice was to be made, the number of those
which were wrong, bore. an infinite proportion to the num-
ber of those which were right, is in what geometricians
call the azis of rotation. This matter I will endeavour
to explain. The earth, it is well known, is not an exact
globe, but an oblate spheroid, something like an orange.
Now the axes of rotation, or the diameters upon which such

920 ASTRONOMY.
a body may be made to turn round, are as many as can be
drawn through its centre to opposite points upon its whole
surface; but of these axes none are permanent, except
either its shortest diameter, 1. ec. that which passes through
the heart of the orange from the place where the stalk is
inserted into it, and which is but one; or its longest diame-
ters, at right angles with the former, which must all ter-
minate in the single circumference which goes round the
thickest part of the orange. ‘This shortest diameter is
that upon which in fact the earth turns; and it is, as the
reader sees, what it ought to be, a permanent axis; where-
_ as, had blind chance, had a casual impulse, had a stroke or
push at random, set the earth a-spinning, the odds were in-
finite, but that they had sent it round upon a wrong axis.
And what would have been the consequence? The difference
between a permanent axis and another axis is this. When
a spheroid in a state of rotatory motion gets upon a perma-
nent axis, it keeps there; it remains steady and faithful to
its position ; its poles preserve their direction with respect
to the plane and to the centre of its.orbit; but, whilst it
turns upon an axis which is not permanent, (and the num-
ber of those, we have seen, infinitely exceeds the number
of the other,) it is always liable to shift and vacillate from
one axis to another, with a corresponding change in the
inclination of its poles. ‘Therefore, if'a planet once set off
revolving upon any other than its shortest, or-one of its long-
est axes, the poles on its surface would keep perpetually
changing, and it never would attain a permanent axis of
rotation. ‘The effect of this unfixedness and _ instability
would be, that the equatorial parts of the earth might be-
come the polar, or the polar the equatorial ; to the utter de-
struction of plants and animals, which are not capable of
interchanging their situations, but are respectively adapted
to their own. As to ourselves, instead of rejoicing in our
temperate zone, and annually preparing for the moderate
vicissitude, or rather the agreeable succession of seasons,
which we experience and expect, we might come to be
locked up in the ice and darkness of the arctic circle, with
bodies neither inured to its rigours, nor provided with shel-
ter or defence against them. Nor would it be much bet-
ter, if the trepidation of our pole, taking an opposite' course,
should place us under the heats of a vertical sun. But, if
it would fare so ill with the human inhabitant, who can
live under greater varieties of latitude than any other ani-
mal, still more noxious would this translation of climate

ASTRONOMY. 221
; :
have proved to life in the rest ue the creation; and, most
perhaps of all, in plants. The habitable earth, and its
beautiful variety, might have been destroyed, by. a simple
mischance in the axis of rotation.*

(*) II. All this, however, proceeds upon a supposition
of the earth having been formed at first an oblate spheriod.
There is another supposition; and, perhaps, our limited
information will not enable us to decide between them.
The second supposition is, that the earth, being a mixed
mass, somewhat fluid, took, as it might do, its present form,
_ by the joint action of the mutual gravitation of its parts and
its rotatory motion. ‘This, as we have said, is a point in
the history of the earth, which our observations are not
sufficient to determine. For a very small depth below the
surface (but extremely small, less, perhaps, than an eight
thousandth part,t compared with the depth of the centre)
we find vestiges of ancient fluidity. But this fluidity must
have gone down many hundred times further than we can
penetrate, to enable the earth to take its present oblate
form; and, whether any traces of this kind exist to that
depth, we are ignorant. Calculations were made a few
years ago of the mean density of the earth, by comparing
the force of its attraction with the force of attraction of a
rock of granite, the bulk of which could be ascertained ;
and the upshot of the calculation was, that the earth upon
an average, through its whole sphere, has twice the density

*The earth being an oblate spheroid, we may suppose it to be cut by
a plane passing through A B, Fig 3, Plate XX XIX, which may rep-
rent its axis, and the common section of this plane with the spheroid
will\be an ellipse like A D B E; of this ellipse A B will be an axis ;
and, from the property of the curve, it will also be the shortest line
which can be drawn through the centre C, If now the diameter D E
be drawn at right angles to A B, it will be the longest line which can
be drawn in the ellipse, and it will represent a diameter of the equator.
As the plane passing through A B is not confined to one situation more
than another, D E may represent any ‘“‘one of the longest axes of the ~
spheroid,” and will, as well as A B, always be a “ permanent axis of
rotation.” But if any other diameter, as G H, is taken, the earth
could not continue to revolve permanently about it. Paxton.

t The “deep St. John,” one of the deepest mines in the Hartz, was
found by M. Deluc to sink 1359 feet. This was in 1778; and it may,
since that time, have been carried lower, but probably not to the
depth of the mine of Valenciana in New Spain, the bottom of which,
according to Humboldt, is 1681 feet below the surface. Now the di-
ameter of the earth being about 7912 miles, “the eight-thousandth
part of the depth of the centre” must be 2611 feet, or nearly

“half a mile. Ibid.

U

b yay ASTRONOMY.

of granite, or about five times that of water. Therefore it
cannot be a hollow shell, as some have formerly supposed ;
nor can its internal parts be occupied by central fire, or by
water. The solid parts must greatly exceed the fluid parts ;__
and the probability is, that it is a solid mass throughout,
composed of substances, more ponderous the deeper we go.
Nevertheless, we may consider the present face of the earth
to have originated from the revolution of a sphere, coyered
with a surface of a compound mixture; the fluid and solid
parts separating, as the surface became quiescent. Here
then comes in the moderating hand of the Creator. If the
water had exceeded its present proportion, even but by a
trifling quantity compared with the whole globe, all the -
land would have been covered; had there beén much less
than there is, there would not have been enough to fertilize
the continent.* Had the exsiccation been progressive, such
as we may suppose to have been produced by an envaporat-
ing heat, how came it to stop at the point at which we see
it? Why did it not stop sooner; why at all? The man-
date ofthe Deity will account for this: nothing else will.
VI. Of centripetal forces. By virtue of the simplest
law that can be imagined, viz. that a body continues in the
state in which it is, whether of motion or rest; ‘and, if in
motion, goes on in the line in which it was proceeding,
and with the same velocity, wnless there be some cause for
change; by virtue, I say, of this law, it comes to pass
(what may appear to be a strange consequence) that cases
arise, in which attraction, incessantly drawing a body to-
wards a centre, never brings, nor ever will bring, the body
to that centre, but keep it in eternal circulation round it.
If it were possible to fire off a cannon ball with a velocity
of five miles in a second, and the resistance of the air could
be taken away, the cannon ball would for ever wheel round
the earth, instead of falling down upon it.t This is the

* Nearly three quarters of the earth’s surface are covered by the
sea. Now evaporation is proportionate to the surface of the fluid, and>
consequently a less expanse of waters would not have afforded a suffi-
cient supply of rain, which does not now fall upon the whole, in greater
quantities than are required “ to fertilize the earth.” Paxton.

t If a body be projected horizontally from a station A, Fig. 6, Plate
XX XIX, which is ata certain height, its weight or the force of gravity
will draw it towards the earth. It may be supposed to come down, for
example, at B. But from the tendency which the body has to continue
in the state of motion which is communicated to it, it will be carried
further before it falls, if it is projected with a greater force. Hence,
if this force be increased, it may be made to reach C; by a greater in-
crease, it may be carried to D; or even round to A, from whence it
originally set out. Ibid.

t

ASTRONOMY. 223

principle which sustains the heavenly motions. The Deity
having appointed this law to matter, than which, as we
have said before, no law could be more simple, has turned
it to a wonderful account in constructing planetary systems.

The actuating cause in these systems, is an attraction
which varies reciprocally as the square of the distance; that
is, at double the distance, has a quarter of the force: at
half the distance, four times the strength; andsoon. Now,
concerning this law of variation, we have three things to
observe; first, that attraction, for any thing we know about
it, was just as capable of one law of variation as of another ;
secondly ; that, out of an infinite number of possible laws,
those which were admissible for the purpose of supporting
the heavenly motions, lay within certain narrow limits;
thirdly ; that of the admissible laws, or those which come
within the limits prescribed, the law that actually prevails —
is the most beneficial. So far as these propositions can be
made out, we may be said, I think, to prove choice and

regulation; choice, out of boundless variety ; and regula-
tion, of that which, by its own nature, was, in respect of
the property regulated, indifferent and indefinite.

J. First, then, attraction, for any thing we know about
it, was originally indifferent to all laws of variation depend-
ing upon change of distance, 1. e. just as susceptible of one
law as of another. It might have been the same at. all
distances. It might have increased as the distance in-
creased, Or it might have diminished with the increase of
the distance, yet in ten thousand different proportions from
the present: It might have followed no stated law at all.
If attraction be, what Cotes, with many other Newtonians
have thought it to be, a primordial property of matter, not
dependent upon, or traceable to, any other material cause,
then, by the very nature and definition of a primordial prop-
erty, it stood indifferent to all laws. If it be the agency of
something immaterial, then also, for any thing we know ©
of it, it was indifferent to all laws. If the revolution of
bodies round a centre depend upon vortices, neither are
these limited to one law more than another.

There is, I know, an account given of attraction, which
should seem, in its very cause, to assign to it the law,
which we find it to observe, and which, therefore, makes
that law, a law not of choice, but of necessity; and it is
the account which ascribes attraction to an emanation from
the attracting body. It is probable, that the influence of such

' an emanation will be proportioned to the spissitude of the

924 ASTRONOMY.

rays of which it is composed ;_ which spissitude, supposing

the rays to issue in right lines on all sides from a point, will’
be reciprocally as the square’of the distance.* The mathe-
matics of this solution we do not call in question; the

question with us is, whether there be any sufficient reason
. to believe, that attraction is produced by an emanation.
For my part, [ am totally at a loss to comprehend, how
particles streaming from a centre, should draw a body to-
wards it. ‘The impulse, ifimpulse it be, is all the other
way. Nor shall we find less difficulty in conceiving, a
conflux of particles, incessantly flowing to a centre, and
carrying down all bodies along with it, that centre also it-
self being ina state of rapid motion through absolute
space; for, by what source is the stream fed, or what be-
comes of the accumulation? Add to which, that it seems
to imply a contrariety of properties, to suppose an ethereal

fluid to act; but not to resist; powerful enough to carry

down bodies with great force towards a centre, yet, in-
consistently with the nature of inert matter, powerless and

perfectly yielding with respect to the motions which result
from the projectile impulse. By calculations drawn from

ancient notices of eclipses of the moon, we can prove, that

if such a fluid exist at all, its resistance has had no sensi-
ble effect upon the moon’s motion for two thousand five
hundred years. The truthis, except this one circumstance
of the variation of the attracting force at different distances
agreeing with the variation of the spissitude, there is no
' reason whatever to support the hypothesis of an emanation ;
and, as it seems to me, almost insuperable reasons against
it.

*Let the light of a candle fall upon a square object like ABCD,
Fig. 4, Plate XX XIX, and ifa screen be placed parallel to the object,
and at double the distance, the shadow E F GH, received upon it, will
be four times the size of the object itself. For the rays passing in
straight lines by the angles A, B, C, D, the sides EF, FG, GH, HE,
must be each double of AB, BC, CD, DA: therefore, the shadow
may be divided into four squares, each equal in size to the object. At
three times the distance from the candle, the sides of the shadow
would each be three times as large as the sides of the object, and its
area would, therefore, contain nine times the space. For the same
reason if the distance be increased four, five, or six times, the area of
the shadow will contain sixteen, twenty-five, or thirty-six squares,
each equal to the object. Now the quantity of light which falls upon
the object would, if it had not been intercepted, have spread over that
part of the screen which is occupied by the shadow; and as the sur-
face is increased, over which a certain quantity of rays is spread, in the
same ratio their spissitude or density will be diminished; consequently
this spissitude will be reciprocally as the squares of the agen:

axton.

ASTRONOMY. (225

_(*) IL. Oar second proposition is, that, whilst the pos-
iieible laws of variation were infinite, the admissible laws,

or the laws compatible with the preservation of the system,

lay within narrow limits. If the attracting force had va-
ried according to any direct law of the distance, let it have
been what it would, great destruction and confusion would
have taken place. ‘The direct simple proportion of the
distance would, it is true, have produced an ellipse; but
the perturbing forces would have acted with so much ad-
vantage, as to be continually changing the dimensions of
the ellipse, in a manner inconsistent with our terrestrial
creation. For instance ; if the planet Saturn, so large and
so remote, had attracted the earth, both in proportion to
the quantity of matter contained in it, which it does; and
also in any proportion to its distance, ‘ive. if it had pulled
the harder for being the further off, (instead of the reverse
of it,) it would have dragged the globe which we inhabit
out of its course, and have perplexed its motions, to a de-
gree incompatible with our security, our enjoyments, and
probably our existence. Of the inverse.laws, if the cen-
tripetal force had changed as, the cube of the distance, or
in any higher proportion, that is, (for I speak to the un-
learned,) if, at double the distance, the attractive force had
been diminished to an eighth part, or to less than that, the
consequence would have been, that the planets, if they
once began to approach the sun, would have fallen into his
body ; if they once, though by ever so little, increased
their distance from the centre, woukl for ever have receded
from it. The laws therefore of attraction, by which a
system of revolving bodies could be upheld in their motions,
lie within narrow limits, compared with the possible laws.
I much underrate the restriction, when I say, that in a
scale of a mile they are confined to an inch. All direct
ratios of the distance are excluded, on account of danger
from perturbing forces; all reciprocal ratios, except what
lie beneath the cube of the distance, by the demonstrable
consequence, that every, the least change of distance, would,
under the operation of such laws, have been fatal to the
repose and order of the system. We do not know, that is,
we seldom reflect, how interested we are in this matter.
Small irregularities may be endured; but, changes within
these limits being allowed for, the permanency of our
ellipse is a question of life and death to our whole sensitive

world.
U 2

226 ‘ ASTRONOMY.

(*) III. That the subsisting law of attraction falls
within the limits which utility requires, when these limits
bear so small a proportion to the range of pessibilities, upon
which chance might equally have cast it, is not, with any
appearance of reason, to be accounted for, by any other
cause than a regulation proceeding from a designing mind.
But our next proposition carries the matter somewhat fur-
ther. We say, in the third place, that, out of the different
laws which lie within the limits of admissible laws, the
best is made choice of; that there are advantages in this
particular law which cannot be demonstrated to belong
to any other law; and concerning some of which, it can_
be demonstrated that they do not belong to any other.

(*) I. Whilst this law prevails between each particle
of matter, the united attraction of a sphere, composed of
that matter, observes the same law. This property of the
law is necessary, to render it applicable to a system com-
posed of spheres, but it is a property which belongs to no
other law of attraction that is admissible. The law of va-
riation of the united attraction is in no other case the same
as the law of attraction of each particle, one case excepted,
and that is of the attraction varying directly as the distance ;
the inconveniency of which law in other respects we have
already nuticed.*

We may follow this regulation somewhat farther, and still
more strikingly perceive that it proceeded from a designing
mind. A law both admissible and convenient was requisite.
In what way is the law of the attracting globes obtained?
Astronomical observations and terrestrial experiments show
that the attraction of the globes of the system is made up of
the attraction of their parts; the attraction of each globe
being compounded of the attraction of its parts. Now, the
admissible and corvenient law which exists, could net be ob-
tained in a system of bodies gravitating by, the united grav-
itation of their parts, unless each particle of matter were
attracted by a force varying by one particular law, viz. va-'
rying inversely as the square of the distance ; for, if the ac-
tion of the particles be according to any other law what-
ever, the admissible and convenient law which is adopted

*Let A, Fig. 5, Plate XX XIX, represent a sphere composed of par-
ticles, which mutually attract each other with a force, which varies
reeiprocally as the squares of the distances; their uuited attraction, on
a similar particle P without the sphere, will be according to the same
law ; thatis, the particle will be attracted towards the sphere with a
force which will also vary reciprocally as the square of C P, its dis-
tance from the centre of the sphere. i Paxton.

ASTRONOMY. 227

could not be obtained. Here then are clearly shown regu-
lation and design. A law both admissible and convenient
was to be obtained : the mode chosen for obtaining that law
was by making each particle of matter act. After this choice
was made, then farther attention was to be given to each
particle of matter, and one, and one only particular law of
action to be assigned to it. No other law would have an-
swered the purpose’ intended.

(*) 2. All systems must be liable to perturbations. And ~
therefore to guard against these perturbations, or rather to
guard against their running to destructive lengths, is per-
haps the strongest evidence of care and foresight that can
be given. Now we are able to demonstrate of our law of
attraction, what can be demoiistrated of no other, and what
qualifies the dangers which arise from cross but unavoidable
influences, that the action of the parts of our system upon
one another will not cause permanently increasing irregular-
ities, but merely periodical or vibratory ones; that is, they

will come to a limit, and then go back again. This we can
demonstrate only of a system, in which the following prop-
erties concur, viz. that the force shall be inversely as the
square of the distance; the masses of the revolving bodies
small, compared with that of the body at the centre ; the or-
bits not much inclined to one another; and their eccentricity
little. In such a system the grand points are secure. The
mean distances and periodic times, upon which depend our
temperature, and the regularity of our year, are constant.
The eccentricities, it is true, will still vary, but so slowly,
and to so small an extent, as to produce no inconveniency
from fluctuation of temperature and season. ‘The same as
to the obliquity of the planes of the orbits. For instance,
the inclination of the ecliptic to the equator will never
change above two degrees, (out of ninety,) and that will
require many thousand years in performing.

It has been rightly also remarked, that, if the great
planets, Jupiter and Saturn, had moved in lower spheres,
their influences would have had much more effect as to
disturbing the planetary motions than they now have.
While they revolve at so great distances from the rest, they
act almost equally on the sun and on the inferior planets,
which has nearly the same consequence as not acting at all
upon either. |

If it be said that the planets might have been sent round
the sun in exact circles, in which case, no change of dis-
tance from the centre taking place, the law of variation of

é

2298 ASTRONOMY.

the attracting power would have never come in question ;
one law would have served as well as another; an answer
to the scheme may be drawn from the consideration of these
_ same perturbing forces. The system retaining in other
respects its present constitution, though the planets had
been at first sent round in exact circular orbits, they could
not have kept them; and if the law of attraction had not.
been what it is, (or, at least, ifthe prevailing law had trans-
gressed the limits above assigned,) every evagation would
have been fatal ; the planet once drawn, as drawn it neces-
sarily. must have been out of its course, would have wan-
dered in endless error.

(*) V. What we have seen in the law of the centripetal
force, viz. a choice guided by views of utility, and a choice
of one law out of thousands which might equally have tak-
en place, we see no less in the figures of the planetary or-
bits. It was not enough to fix the law of the centripetal
force, though by the wisest choice; for, even under that
law, it was still competent to the planets to have moved in
paths possessing so great a degree of eccentricity, as, in
the course of every revolution, to be brought very near to
the sun, and carried away to immense distances from him.
The comets actually move in orbits of this sort: and, had
the planets done so, instead of going round in orbits near-
ly circular, the change from one extremity of temperature
to another must, in ours at least, have destroyed every ani-
mal and plant upon its surface. Now, the distance from
the centre at which a planet sets off, and the absolute
force of attraction at that distance being fixed, the figure
of its orbit, its being a circle, or nearer to, or further off
from a circle, viz. a rounder or a longer oval, depends up-
on two things, the velocity with which, and the direction
in which the planet is projected. And these, in order to
produce a right result, must be both brought within certain
narrow limits. One, and only one velocity, united with
one, and only one direction, will produce a perfect circle.
And the velocity must be near to’this velocity, and the di-
rection also near to this direction to produce orbits, such
as the planetary orbits are, nearly circular; that is, ellipses
with small eccentricities. 'The velocity and the direction
must both be right. Ifthe velocity be wrong, no direction
will cure the error; if the direction be in any considerable
degree oblique, no velocity will produce the orbit required.
Take, for example, the attraction of gravity at the surface of
the earth. ‘The force of that attraction being what it is, out

i

_ ASTRONOMY. 229

of all the degrees of velocity, swift and slow, with which a
ball might be shot off, none would answer the purpose of
which we are speaking but what was nearly that of five
miles in a second.* If it were less than that, the body
would not get round at all, but would come to the ground:
if it were in any considerable degree more than that, the
body would take one of those eccentric courses, those long
ellipses, of which we have noticed the inconveniency.t If

*The moon describes in one second of time, nearly two thirds of a
a mile in its orbit round the earth; and if its distance were diminished
it might still continue to revolve nearly ina circle round the same
centre, ifits velocity were increased so as to compensate for the great-
er attraction, which would now draw it constantly out of the rectilinear
direction, in which it would otherwise move. This distance may be
supposed to be diminished till the moon is brought near to the earth’s
surface, and it would, under these circumstances, still continue to com-
plete its revolution, ifits velocity were increased to about five miles
ina second. Now for the description of such a revolution, there is no
difference between the moonand any other material substance at the same
distence ; for they would both be drawn down through the same space
in the same time by the force of attraction towards the earth’s centre ;
and therefore a cannon ball projected parallel to the horizon with this
velocity, would (if there were no resistance from the air or other acci-
dental circumstance) complete its circular revolution, and come back

to the place from which it had set out, in a few minutes less than an

hour and a half, which is equivalent to the velocity of about five miles,
in a second. | Paxton.

{The ball is supposed to be fired from a place not far from the
earth’s surface ; it can, therefore, be easlly conceived that if its. direc-
tion is much depressed below the horizon, it must be soon brought
down to the ground; but it is not equally obvious that an elevation of
any magnitude would likewise prevent its completing its revolution

‘round the earth. Abstracting from the dir’s resistance, and of course

omitting the supposition of a projectile force sufficient to. carry the ball
off into infinite space, it will move in the curve of an ellipse, of which
one of the foci is situated in the centre of the earth. Now a body
moving uninterruptedly in an ellipse must return in time to the same
point from which itsetout. The body, therefore, which, when project-
ed from A, Fig. 6, Pl. XX XIX, comes down tothe earth at C, would have

_ continued its course along the dotted line, and returned to A, if the mass

of matter in the earth had been collected together at its centre, so as not
to interfere with the motion of the projectile. Let us now coneeive the
body to be projected back from C, with the velocity which it had ac-
quired in its fall, and with the direction in which it reached the earth,
it would then pass through A, and come down on the other side of A I,

in just the same curve, in which it had fallen from A toC. The
same would apply to bodies projected upwards fram B or D; and if’

the velocities of projection were less or greater than what would have
been acquired in falling from A, the bodies would still turn, but at
some less or more distant point. The longest diameter, however, of
the ellipsis in which they move must always pass through the earth’s

centre; and if the bodies rise on one side of this diameter, they must

230 ASTRONOMY.

the velocity reached at the rate of seven miles in a second,
or went beyond.that, the ball would fly off from the earth,
and never be heard of more. In like manner with respect
to the direction; out of the innumerable angles in which
the ball might be sent off, 1 mean angles formed with a
line drawn to the centre, none would serve but what was
nearly a right one; out of the various directions in which
the cannon might be pointed, upwards and downwards,
every one would fail, but what was exactly or nearly hori-
zontal. The same thing holds true of the planets; of our
own among the rest. We are entitled, therefore, to ask
and to urge the question, Why did the projectile velocity,
‘and the projectile direction of the earth happen to be near-
ly those which would retain it ina circular form? Why
not one of the infinite number of velocities, one of the in-
finite number of directions, which would have made it ap-
proach much nearer to, or recede much farther from, the
sun ? ;
The planets going round, all in the same direction, and
all nearly in the same plane, afforded to Buffon a ground
for asserting, that they had all been shivered from the sun
by the same stroke of a comet, and by that stroke project-
ed into their present orbits. Now, beside that this is to
attribute to chance the fortunate concurrence of velocity
and direction which we have been here noticing, the hy-

pothesis, as I apprehend, is inconsistent with the physical.

laws by which the heavenly motions are governed. If the
planets were struck off from the surface of the sun, they
would return to the surface of the sun again. Nor will
this difficulty be got rid of, by supposing that the same vio-
tent blow which shattered the sun’s surface, and separated
large fragments from it, pushed the sun himself out of his
place ; for the consequence of this would be, that the sun
and system of shattered fragments would have a progres-
sive motion, which, indeed, may possibly be the case
with our system; but then each fragment would, in ev-
ery revolution, return to the surface of the sun again. The
hypothesis is also contradicted by the vast difference which

fall down on the other. Now it willbe seen that the curves at B, C,
and D, make the angles ABI, ACI, ADI less, as the body is supposed
to go farther and farther before it falls, and that the curves in which the
‘body can complete a revolution near the surface, will, in all its parts, be
nearly-parallel to it. Hence,the cannon ball fired upwards will come
back again to the ground; and not be able completely to go round the
earth upon any other supposition, excepting that of its being fired in
mearly an horizontal direction. Paxton.

TS ge ere, «;

ASTRONOMY. 93}

subsists between the diameters of the planetary orbits.
The distance of Saturn from the sun (to say nothing of
the Georgium Sidus) is nearly twenty-five times that of
Mercury ; a disparity which it seems impossible to recon-
cile with Buffon’s scheme. SBodies starting from the same
place, with whatever difference of direction or velocity
they set off, could not have been found at these different
distances from the centre, still retaining their nearly circu-
lar orbits. ‘They must have been carried to their proper
distances before they were projected.* |
To conclude: In astronomy, the great thing is to raise
the imagination to the subject, and that oftentimes in oppos-
tion to the impression made upon the senses. An allusion,
for example, must be got over, arising from the distance at
which we view the heavenly bodies, viz. the apparent slow-

mess of their motions. ‘The moon shall take some hours

in getting halfa yard from a star which it touched. A mo-
tion so deliberate, we may think easily guided. But what
is the fact? The moon, in fact, is, all this while, driving
through the heavens, at the rate of considerably more than
two thousand miles in an hour; which is more than double
of that, with which a ball is shot off from the mouth ofa ©
cannon. Yet is this prodigious rapidity as much under
government, as if the planet proceeded ever so slowly, or
were conducted in its course inch by inch. It is also diffi-
cult to bring the imagination to conceive (what yet, to
judge tolerably of the matter, it is necessary to conceive)
how loose, if we may so express it, the heavenly bodies are.
Enormous globes, held by nothing, confined by nothing,
are turned into free and boundless space, each to seek its
course by the virtue of an invisible principle; but a princt
ple, one, common, and the same, in all; and ascertainable.
To preserve such bodies from being lost, from running
together in heaps, from hindering and distracting one

*«< Tf we suppose the matter of the system to be accumulated in the
centre by its gravity, no mechanical principles, with the assistance of
this power of gravity could separate the vast mass into such parts as
the sun and planets; andafter carrying them to their, different distances,
project them in their several directions, preserving still the equal-
ity of action and reaction, or the state ofthe centre of gravity of the
system. Suen an exquisite structure of things could only arise from
the contrivance and, powerful influences of an intelligent, free, and.
most potent agent. The same powers, therefore, which at present
govern the material universe, and conduct its various motions, are
very different from those, which were necessary to have produced it
from nothing, or to have disposed it in the admirable form in which it
now proceeds.” Maclaurin’s Account of Newton’s Phil. p. 407, ed.3.

232 ASTRONOMY,

another’s motions, in a degree inconsistent with any con-
tinuing order ; 1. e. to cause them to form planetary systems,
systems that, when formed, can be upheld, and, most es-
pecially, systems accommodated to the organized and sen-
sitive natures which the planets sustain, as we know to be
the case, where alone we can know what the case is, upon
our earth ; all this requires an intelligent interposition, be-
cause it can be demonstrated concerning it, that it requires
an adjustment of force, distance, direction, and velocity,
out of the reach of chance to have produced; an adjust-
ment, in its view to utility similar to that which we see in
ten thousand subjects of nature which are nearer to us,
but in power, and in the extent of space bi which
that power is exerted, stupendous.

But many of the heavenly bodies, as the sun and fixed
stars, are stationary. Their rest must be the effect of an
absence, or of an equilibrium of attractions. It proves also
that a projectile impulse was originally given to some of the
heavenly bodies, and not to others. But further ; if attrac-
tion act at all distances, there can be only one quiescent
centre of gravity in the universe ; and all bodies whatever
must be approaching this centre, or revolving round it.
According to the first of these suppositions if the duration
of the world had been long enough to allow of it, all its
parts, all the great bodies of which it is composed, must
have been gathered together in a heap round this point.
No changes, however, which have been observed, afford us
the smallest reason for believing that either the one sup-
position or the other is true; and then it will follow, that
attraction itself is controlled or suspended by a superior
agent; that there is a power above the highest of the pow-
ers of ‘material nature; a will which restrains and circum-
scribes the operations of the most extensive.*

* Tt must here, however, be stated, that many astronomers deny that
any of the heavenly bodies are absolutely stationary. Some of the
brightest of the fixed stars have certainly small motions; and of the
rest, the distance is too great, and the intervals of our observation too
short to enable us to pronounce with certainty that they may not have-
the same. The motions in the fixed stars which have been observed,
are considered either as proper to each of them, or as compounded of
the motion of our system, and of motions proper to each star. By a
comparison of these motions, 2 motion in our system is supposed to be
discovered. By continuing this analogy to other, and to all systems, itis
possible to suppose that attraction is unlimited, and that the whole ma-
terial universe is revolving round some fixed point within its con-
taining sphere or space. PALEY.

The milky way is known to derive its appearance from a congeries
of very small stars, but there are luminous spots in the heaven, which

i

OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY. 233

s

CHAP. XXIil. ,

OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY. ,

Contrivance, if established, appears to me to prove ev-
‘ery thing which we wish to prove. Amongst other things,
it proves the personality of the Deity, as distinguished
from what is sometimes called nature, sometimes called a
principle: which terms, in the mouths of those who use
them philosophically, seem to be intended to admit and to
express an efficacy, but to exclude and to deny a personal
agent. Now that which can contrive, which can design,
must bea person. These capacities constitute personality,
for they imply consciousness and thought. ‘They require
that which can perceive an end or purpose; as well as the
power of providing means, and of directing them to their
end.* They require a centre in which perceptions unite,
and from which volitions flow—which is mind The acts
of a mind prove the existence of a mind: and in whatever
a mind resides is a person. The seat of intellect 1s a per-
son. We have no authority to limit the properties of mind
to any particular corporeal form, or to any particular cir-
eumscription of space. These properties subsist, in created
mature, under a great variety of sensible forms. Also, ev-
ery animated being has its sensorzum, that is, a certain por=
tion of space, within which perception and volition are ex-
erted. This sphere may be enlarged to an indefinite ex-
tent; may comprehend the universe; and being so imagin-
ed, may serve to furnish us with as good a notion, as we
are capable of forming, of the zmmensity of the divine na-
ture, 1. e. of a Being, infinite as well in essence as in pow-
er; yet nevertheless a person.

annot be separated into distinct stars by the most powerful telescopes ;
these have been observed in some instances to alter their form, which
Sir W. Herschell attributed to the mutual attraction of the luminous
particles which composed them.

_ Some of the fixed stars appear double, and even multiple, when
highly magnified. The same great astronomer, whom we have just
mentioned, was induced to believe that there were separate systems ;
and his son, assisted by Mr. South, has established that some of them
have undoubtedly a revolution round a common centre of gravity anal-
ogous to the motions of the sun and planets. Paxton.

™“ Priestley’s Letters to a Philosophical Unbeliever, p. 193, ed. 2%.
WwW 3

4
234 OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY.

“Noman hath seen God at any time.’ And this, I be-
iieve, makes the great difficulty. Now it is a difficulty
which chiefly arises from our not duly estimating the state
of our faculties. The Deity, it is true, is the object of .
none of our senses; but reflect what limited capacities an-
imal senses are. Many animals seem to have but one sense,
or perhaps two at the most, touch and taste. Ought such
an animal to conclude against the existence of odours,
sounds, -and colours? ‘To another species is given the
sense of smelling. ‘This is an advance in the knowledge
of the powers and properties of nature: but if this favour-
ed animal should infer from its superiority over the class
last described, that 1t perceived every thing which was per-
ceptible in nature, it is known to us, though perhaps not
suspected by the animal itself, that it proceeded upon a
false and presumptuous estimate of its faculttes. ‘To an-
other is added the sense of hearing; which lets in a class
of sensations entirely unconceived by the animal before
spoken of; not only distinct, but remote from any which i
had ever experienced, and greatly superior to them. Yet
this last animal has no more ground for believing that its
senses comprehend all things, and all properties of things
which exist, than might have been claimed by the tribes of
animals beneath it ; for we know, that it is still possible to
possess another sense, that of sight, which shall disclose to
the percipient a new world. ‘This fifth sense makes the
animal what the human animal is; but to infer that possi-
bility stops here, that either this fifth sense is the last
sense, or that the five comprehended all existence, is just
as unwarrantable a conclusion, as that which might have
been made by any of the different species which possessed
fewer or even by that, if such there be, which possessed
only one. ‘The conclusion of the one-sense animal, and
the conclusion of the five-sense animal, stawd upon the
same authority. There may be more and other senses
than those which we have. ‘There may be senses suited
to the perception of the powers, properties and substance
of spirits. 'These may belong to higher orders of rational
agents; for there is not the smallest reason for supposing
that we are the highest, or that the scale of creation stops
with us. ; . |

The great energies of nature are known to us only by
_ their effects. . The substances which produce them, are as
much concealed from our senses as the divine essence it-
self. Gravitation, though constantly present, though cons

Tem |

OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY. 235

stantly exerting its influence, though every where around
us, near us, and within us, though diffused throughout
all space, and penetrating the texture of all bodies with
which we are acquainted, depends, if upon a fluid, upon a
fluid which, though both powerful and universal in its
operation, is no object of sense to us; if upon any other
kind of substance or action, upon a substance and action
from which we receive no distinguishable i impressions. Is
it then to be wondered at, that it should, in some measure,
be the same with the divine nature ?

Of this, however, we are certain, that, whatever the Deity
be, neither the universe, nor any part of it which we see,
ean be he. The universe itself is merely a collective
name ; its parts are all which are real, or which are things.
Now inert matier is, out of the question; and organized
substances include marks of contrivance. But whatever
includes marks of contrivance, whatever in its constitution
testifies design, necessarily carries us to something beyond
itself, to some other being, toa designer prior to, and out
of itself, No animal, for instance, can have contrived its
ewn limbs and senses; can have ‘been the author to itself
of the design with which they were constructed. That
supposition involves all the absurdity of self-creation, 1. e.
of acting without existing. Nothing can be God, which is
ordered by a wisdom and a will which itself is void of:
which is indebted for any of its properties to contrivance
ab extra. 'The not having that in his nature which requires
the exertion of another prior being, (which property is
sometimes called self-sufficiency, and sometimes self-com-
prehension,) appertais to the Deity, as his essential dis-
tinction, and removes his nature from that of all things
which we see. Which consideration contains the answer
to a question that has sometimes been asked, namely: Why,
since something or other must have existed from eternity,
may not the present universe be that something? 'The
contrivance perceived in it proves that to be impossible.
Nothing contrived can, in a strict and proper sense, be

eternal, forasmuch as the contriver must have existed before
the contrivance. ,

‘Wherever we see marks of contrivance, we are led for
its cause to an intelligent author. And this transition of
the understanding is founded upon uniform experience.
We see intelligence constantly contriving, that is, we see
intelligence constantly producing effects, marked and dis-
tinguished by certain Ve ah ncaa not certain particular

3236 § oF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY.

properties, but by a kind and class of properties, such as
relation to an end, relation of parts to one another, and to |
a common purpose. We see, wherever we are witnesses
to the actual formation of things, nothing except intelli-
gence producing effects so marked and distinguished. Fur-
nished with this experience, we view the productions of
nature. We observe them also marked and distinguished
in the same manner. We wish to account for their origin.
Our experience suggests a cause perfectly adequate to this
account. No experience, no single instance or example,
can be offered in favour of any other. In this cause, there-
fore, we ought to rest, in this cause the common sense of
mankind has, in fact, rested, because it agrees with that
which in all cases is the foundation of knowledge, the un-
deviating course of their experience. ‘The reasoning is
the same as that by which we conclude any ancient
appearances to have been the effects of volcanoes or inun-
dations; namely, because they resemble the effects which
fire and water produce before our eyes; and because we
have never known these effects to result from any other op-
eration. And this resemblance may subsist in so many
circumstances, as not to leave us under the smallest doubt
in forming our opinion. Men are not deceived by this rea-
soning ; for whenever it happens, as it sometimes does hap-
pen, that the truth comes to be known by direct informa-
tion, it turns out to be what was expected. In like man-
ner, and upon the same foundation, (which in truth is. that
of experience,) we conclude that the works of nature pro-
ceed from intelligence and design, because, in the proper-
ties of relation to. a purpose, subserviency to a use, they
resemble what intelligence and design are constantly pro-
ducing, and what nothing except intelligence and design
ever produce-at all. Of every argument which would
raise a question as to the safety of this reasoning, it may be
observed, that, if such argument be listened to, it leads. to
the inference, not only that the present order of nature is
insufficient to prove the existence of an intelligent Creator,
but that no imaginable order would be sufficient to prove
it; that mo contrivance, were it ever so mechanical, ever
so precise, ever so clear, ever so perfectly like those which
we ourselves employ, would support this conclusion. A
doctrine to which, I conceive, no sound mind can assent.
The force, however, of the reasoning is sometimes sunk
by our taking up with mere names. We. have already no~

\

OF THE PERSONALITY OP THE DEITY. 237

- ticed,* and’ we must here notice again, the misapplication
of the term ‘‘law,”’ and the mistake concerning the idea _
which that term expresses in physics, whenever such idea
is made to take the place of power, and still more of an in-
telligent power, and, as such, to be assigned for the cause
of any thing, or of any property of any thing that exists.
This is what we are secretly apt todo when we speak of or-
ganized bodies (plants for instance, or animals,) owing their
production, their form, their growth, their qualities, their
beauty, their use, to any law or laws of nature ; and when we
are contented to sit down with that answer to our inquiries
concerning them. I say once more, that it is a perversion
of language to assign any law as the efficient, operative
cause of any thing. A law pre-supposes an agent, for it is
only the mode according to which an agent proceeds: it
implies a power, for it is the order according to which that
power acts. Without this agent, without this power, which
are both distinct from itself, the ‘law’ does nothing—is
nothing.

What has been said concerning “law,” holds true of
mechanism. Mechanism is not itself power. Mechanism
without power, can do nothing. Let a watch be contrived
and constructed ever so ingeniously ; be its parts ever so
"many, ever so complicated, ever so finely wrought, or arti-

_ficially put together, it cannot go without a weight or spring ;.
i. e, without a force indepencent of, and ulterior to its me-
chanism. ‘The spring acting at the centre will produce
different motions and different results, according to. the
variety of the termediate mechanism. One and the self-
same spring, acting in one and the same manner, viz. by”
simply expanding itself, may be the cause of a hundred dif-
ferent, and all useful movements, if a hundred different and
well devised sets of wheels be placed between it and the
final effect, e. g. may point out the hour of the day, the
day of the month, the age of the moon, the position of the
planets, the cycle of the years, and many other serviceable
notices; and these movements may fulfil their purposes
with more or less perfection, according as the mechanism
is better or worse contrived, or better or worse executed,
or in a better or worse state of repair; but, in all cases, it
as necessary that the spring act at the centre. ‘The course
of our reasoning upon such a subject would be this. By
Senne the watch, even when standing still, we get a

* Chap. I. see, vii.

t

238 OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY.

proof of contrivance, and of a contriving mind, having been
employed about it. In the form and obvious relation of its
parts we see enough to convince us of this. If we pull
the works in pieces, for the purpose of a closer examination,
we are still more fully convinced. But, when we see the
watch going, we see proof of another point, viz. that there
is a power somewhere, and somehow or other applied to
it; a power in action; that there is more in the |subject
than the mere wheels of the machine; that there is a
secret spring or a gravitating plummet; in a word, that
there is force and energy, as well as mechanism. |

So, then, the watch in motion establishes to the observer
two conclusions: one—that thought, contrivance, and de-
sign, have been employed in forming, proportioning, and
arranging of its parts; and that, whoever, or wherever he
be, or were, such a contriver there is, or was: the other—
that force or power, distinct from mechanism, is, at this
present time, acting upon it. If I saw a hand-mill, even at
rest, I should see contrivance ; but, if I saw it grinding, I
should be assured that a hand was at the windlass, though
' in another room. It is the same in nature. In the works
of nature we trace mechanism; and this alone proves con-
trivance; but living, active, moving, productive. nature,
proves also the exertion of a power at the centre; for,
wherever the power resides, may be denominated the |
centre.

The intervention and disposition of what are called
** second causes’’ fall under the same observation. This
disposition is or is not mechanism, according as we can or
cannot trace it by our senses, and means of examination.
That is all the difference there is; and it is a difference
which respects our faculties, not the things themselves.
Now where the order of second causes is mechanical, what
is here said of mechanism strictly applies to it. But it
would be always mechanism, (natural chemistry, for in-
stance, would be mechanism,) if our senses were acute
enough to descry it. Neither mechanism, therefore, in
the works of nature, nor the intervention of what are call-
ed second causes, (for I think that they are the same
thing, ) excuses the necessity of an agent distinct from both.

If, in tracing these causes, it be said, that we find. cer-
tain general properties of matter, which have nothing in —
them that bespeaks intelligence, I answer, that, still, the
managing of these properties, the pointing and directing
them to the uses which we see made of them, demands in-

OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY. 239

telligence in the highest degree. For example, suppose
animal secretions to be elective attractions, and that such
and such attractions universally belong to ‘such and such
substances; in all which there is no intellect concerned ;
still. the choice and collocation of these substances, the fu.
ing upon right substances and disposing them in right places,
must be an act of intelligence. What mischief would fol-
low, were there a single transposition of the secretory or-
gans; a single mistake in arranging the glands which com-
pose them 4

There may be many second causes, and many courses
of second causes, one behind another, between what we
observe of nature, and the Deity ; but there must be in-
telligence somewhere ; there must be more in nature than
what we see; and, amongst the things unseen, there must
be an intelligent, designing, author. The philosopher be-
holds with astonishment the- production of things areund
him. Unconscious particles of matter take their stations,
and severally range themselves in an order, so as to become
collectively plants or animals, i. e. organized bodies with
parts bearing strict and evident relation to one another,
and to the utility of the whole; and it should seem that
these particles could not move in any other way than as
they do, for they testify not the smallest sign of choice, or
liberty, or discretion. There may be particular mtelli-
gent beings, guiding these motions in each case; or they
may be the result of trains of mechanical dispositions, fix-
ed before hand by an intelligent appointment, and kept in-
action by a power at the centre. Butin either case, there
must be intelligence.

The minds of most men are fond of what they calla
principle, and of the appearance of simplicity, in account-
ing for phenomena. Yet this principle, this simplicity,
resides merely in the name; which name after all,
comprises, perhaps, under it a diversified, multifarious, or
progressive operation, distinguishable into parts. The
power, in organized bodies, of producing bodies like them-.
selves, is one of these principles. Give a philosopher this,
and he can get on. But he does not reflect, what this
mode of production, this principle (if such he choose to
call it,) requires; how much it presupposes; what an ap-
paratus of instruments, some of which are strictly mechan-
ical, is necessary to its success; what a train it includes
of operations and changes, one succeeding another, one
related to another, one ministering to another; all advance

240 OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY,

ing, by intermediate, and, frequently, by sensible steps, te
their ultimate result. Yet, because the whole of this com:
plicated action is wrapped up in a single term, generation,

we are to set it down as an elementary principle ; and to
suppose, that, when we have resolved the things which we
see into this principle, we have sufficiently accounted for
their origin, without the necessity of a designing, intelli-
gent Creator. The truth is, generation is not a principle,
but a process. We might as well call the casting of metals
a principle; we might, so far as appears to me, as well call
spinning and weaving principles; and then, referring the
texture of cloths, the fabric of muslins and calicoes, the
patterns of diapers and damasks, to these as principles,
pretend to dispense with intention, thought, and contrivance,
on the part of the artist; or to dispense, indeed, with the
necessity of any artist at all either in the manufacturing of
the article, or in the fabrication of the — by which
the manufactory was carried on.

And, after all, how, or in what sense, is it true, that
animals produce their ike? A butterfly, with ‘a proboscis
instead of a mouth, with four wings and six legs, produces
a hairy caterpillar, with jaws and teeth, and fourteen feet.
A frog produces a tadpole. A black beetle, with gauze
wings and a crusty covering, produces a white, smooth,
soft worm; an ephemeron fly, a cod-bait maggot. These,
by a progress through different stages of life, and action,
and enjoyment, (and, in each state, provided with imple-
ments and organs appropriated to the temporary nature
which they bear,) arrive at last at the form and fashion of
the parent animal. But all this is process, not principle;
and proves, moreover, that the property of animated bodies
of producing their like, belongs to them, not as a primordiak
_ property, not by any blind necessity in the nature of things,
but as the effect of economy, wisdom, and design ; because
the property itself assumes diversities, and submits to devia-
tions, dictated by intelligible utilities, and serving distinct
purposes of animal happiness.

The opinion which would consider “ generation” as a
principle in nature ; and which would assign this principle
as a cause, or endeavour to satisfy our minds with such a
cause of the existence of organized bodies, is confuted, in
my judgment, not only by every mark of contrivance dis-
coverable in those bodies for which it gives us no contriver,
offers no account whatever; but also by the further consid-
eration, that things generated possess a clear relation to

OF THE PERSONALITY @F THE DEITY. 24k

things not generated. If it were merely one part of a gen-
erated body bearing a relation to another part of the same
body, as the mouth of an animai to the throat, the throat
to the stomach, the stomach to the intestines, those to the
recruiting of the-blood, and, by means of the blood, to the
nourishment of the whole frame or if it were only one
generated body, bearing a relation to another generated
body, as the sexes of the same species to each other,
animals of prey to their prey, herbivorous and gra-
nivorous animals to the plants or seeds upon which they
feed, it might be contended, that the whole of this corres-
pondency was attributable to generation, the common origin
from which these substances proceeded. But what shall
we say to agreements which exist between things generated
and things not generated? Can it be doubted, was it ever
doubted, but that the /ungs of animals bear a relation ta
the air, asa permanently elastic fluid? They actin it
and by it; they cannot act without it. Now, if generation
produced the animal, it did not produce the air; yet their
properties correspond. ‘The eye is made for light, and light
for the eye. The eye would be of no use without light,
and light perhaps of little without eyes ; yet one is produc-
ed by generation; the other not. The ear depends upon.
undulations of air. Here are two sets of motions; first, of
the pulses of the air; secondly, of the drum, bones, and
nerves. of the ear; sets of motions bearing an evident re-.
ference to each other ; yet the one, and the apparatus for
the one, produced by the intervention of generation; the
other altogether independent of it.
If it be said, that the air, the light, the elements, the
_ world itself, is generated, I answer that I do not comprehend
the proposition. If the term mean any thing, similar to
what-it means, when applied to plants or animals, the pro-
position is certainly without proof; and, E think, draws as
near to absurdity, as any proposition can do, which does
not include a contradiction in its terms. I am at a loss to
_ conceive, how the formation of the world can be compared
to the generation of an animal. If the term generation sig-
nify something quite different from what it signifies upon
ordinary occasions, it may, by the same latitude, signify any
thing. In which case a word or phrase taken from the
language of Otaheite, would convey as much theory con-~
cerning the origin of the universe, as it does to talk of its
being generated.
We know a cause (intelligence) adequate to the appear.
‘ances, which we wish to account for; we have this cause

242 OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY.
{ ‘

continually producing similar appearances; yet, rejecting
this cause, the sufficiency of which we know, and the ac-
tion of which is constantly before our eyes, we are invited
to resort to suppositions, destitute of a single fact for their
support, and confirmed by no analogy with which we are
acquainted. Were it necessary to inquire into the motives -
of men’s opinions, I mean their motives separate from their
arguments, I should almost suspect, that, because the proof
of a Deity drawn from the constitution of nature is not only
popular but vulgar, (which may arise from the cogency of
the proof, and be indeed its highest recommendation,)
and because it is a species almost of puerility to take up
with it; for these reasons, minds, which are habitually in
search of invention and originality, feel a resistless inclina-
tion to strike off into other solutions and other expositions.
The truth is, that many minds are not so indisposed to any
thing which can be offered to them, as they are to the
flatness of being content. with common reasons ; and what
is most to be lamented, minds conscious of superiority are
the most liable to this repugnancy.

The “ suppositions” here alluded to, all agree in one
character. ‘They all endeavour to dispense with the ne-
cessity in nature of a particular, personal intelligence; that
is to say, with the exertion of an intending, contriving
mind, in the structure and formation of the organized con-
stitutions which the world contains. They would resolve
all productions into unconscious energies, of a like kind, in
that respect, with attraction, magnetism, electricity, &c.
without any thing further.

In this the old system of atheism and the new agree.
And I much doubt, whether the new schemes have advanc-
ed any thing upon the old, or done more than changed the
terms of the nomenclature. [or instance, I -could never
see the difference between the antiquated system of atoms,
and Buffon’s organic molecules. ‘This philosopher having
made a planet by knocking off from the sun a piece of melt~
ed glass, in consequence of the stroke of a comet ; and hav-
ing set it in motion, by the same stroke, both round its own
axis and the sun, finds his next difficulty to be, how to
bring plants and animals upon it. In order to solve this
difficulty, we are to suppose the universe replenished with
particles, endowed with life, but without organization or
senses of their own; and endowed also with a tendency to
marshal themselves into organized forms. The concourse
ef these particles, by virtue of this tendency, but without

OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY. Q43

intelligence, will, or direction, (for I do not find that any of
these qualities are ascribed to them,) has produced the
living forms which we now see.

Very few of the conjectures, which philosophers hazard
upon these subjects, have more of pretension in them, than
the challenging you to show the direct impossibility of the
hypothesis. In the present example, there seemed to be
a positive objection to the whole scheme upon the very,
face of it; which was, that if the case were as here repre-
sented, new combinations ought to be perpetually taking
place ; new plants and animals, or organized bodies which
were neither, ought to be starting up before our eyes every >
day. For this, however, our philosopher has an answer.
Whilst so many forms of plants and animals are already in
existence, and, consequently, so many ‘‘ internal moulds,”
as he calls them, are prepared and at hand, the organic
particles run into these molds, and are employed in supply-
ing an accession of substance to them, as well for their
growth, as for their propagation. By which means things
keep their ancient course. But, saysthe same philosopher,
should any general loss or destruction of the present con-
stitution of crganized bodies take place, the particles, for
want of ‘‘ moulds” into which they might enter, would run
into different combinations, and replenish the waste with
new species of organized substances. |

Is there any history to countenance this notion? Is it
known, that any destruction has been so repaired? any
desert thus repeopled ?

So far as I remember, the only natural appearance men-
tioned by our author, by way of fact whereon to build his
hypothesis, the only support on which it rests, is the forma-
tion of worms in the intestines of animals, which is here
ascribed to the coalition of superabundant organic particles,
floating about in the first passages; and which have com-
bined themselves into these simple animal forms, for want
of internal moulds, or of vacancies in those moulds, into
which they might be received. ‘The thing referred to is
rather a species of facts, than a single fact; as some other
cases may, with equal reason, be included ‘under it. But
to make it a fact at all, or in any sort applicable to the
question, we must begin with asserting an equivocal gener-
ation contrary to analogy, and without necessity ; contrary
to an analogy, which accompanies us to the very limits of our
knowledge or inquiries, for wherever, either in plants or
gnimals, we are able to examine the subject, we find pro-

244 OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY.

creation from a parent form; without necessity ; for I ape
prehend that it is seldom difficult to suggest methods by
which the eggs or spawn, or yet invisible rudiments of
these vermin, may have obtained a passage into the cavi-
ties in which they are found.* Add to this, that their con-
stancy to their species, which, I believe, is as regular in
these as in the other vermes, decides the question against
our philosopher, if, in truth, any question remained upon
the subject.

Lastly ; these wonder-working instruments, these ‘‘ in-
ternal moulds,” what are they after all? what, when exam-
ined, but a name without signification; unintelligible, if not
self-contradictory ; at the best, differing in nothing from the
*‘essential forms” of the Greek philosophy?’ One short
sentence of Buffon’s work exhibits his scheme as follows.
*““When this nutritious and prolific matter, which is diffus-
ed throughout all nature, passes through the internal mould
of an animal or vegetable, and finds a proper matrix or re-
eeptacle, it gives rise to an animal or vegetable of the same
species.” Does any reader annex a meaning to the expres-
sion, ‘‘internal mould,” in this sentence? Ought it then tobe
said, that, though we have little notion of an internal mould,
we have not much more of a designing mind? The very
contrary of this assertion is the truth. When we speak of
an artificer or an architect, we talk of what is comprehen-
sible to our understanding, and familiar to our experience.
We use no other terms than what refer us for their mean-
ing to our consciousness and observation, what express the
constant objects of both: whereas names, like that we have
mentioned, refer us to nothing, excite no idea, convey @
sound to the ear, but I think do no more.

Another system, which has lately been brought forward,
and with much ingenuity, is that of appetencies. The
principle, and the short account of the theory, is this.
Pieces of soft, ductile matter, being endued with propensi-
ties or appetencies for particular actions, would, by contin-
‘ual endeavours, carried on through a long series of genera-
tions, work themselves gradually into suitable forms; and
at length acquire, though perhaps by obscure and almost
imperceptible improvements, an organization fitted to the
action which their respective propensities led them to exert.

* I trust I may be excused for not citing as another fact which is to
confirm the hypothesis, a grave assertion of this writer, that the branch-»
es of trees upon which the stag feeds, break out again in its horuis. ;

‘Such facts merit no discussion.

‘OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY. 245

A piece of animated matter, for example, that was endued
with a propensity to fly, though ever so shapeless, though
no other we will suppose than a round ball, to begin with,
would, in a course of ages, if notin a million of years,
perhaps in a hundred millions of years, (for our theorists
having eternity to dispose of, are never sparing in time,) ac-
quire wings. The same tendency to locomotion in an
aquatic animal, or rather in an animated lump which might
happen to be surrounded by water, would end in the pro-
duction of fins; in a living substance confined to the solid
earth, would put out legs and feet ; or, if it took a different
turn, ‘would break the body into ringlets, and conclude by
crawling upon the ground.

Although I have introduced the mention of this theory
into this place, I am unwilling to give to it the name of an
atheistic scheme, for two reasons; first, because, so far as
ZT am able to understand it, the original propensities and
the numberless varieties of them (so different, in this re-
spect, from the laws of mechanical nature, which are few
and simple) are, in the plan itself, attributed to the ordina-
tion and appointment of an intelligent and designing Creator :
secondly, because, likewise, that large postulatum, which is
all along assumed and presupposed, the faculty in living
bodies of producing other bodies organized like themselves,
seems to be referred to the same cause; at least is not at-
tempted to be accounted for by any other, In one impor-
tant respect, however, the theory before us coincides with
atheistic systems, viz. in that, in the formation of plants and
animals, in the structure and use of their parts, it does
away final causes. Instead of the parts of a plant or ani-
mal, or the particular structure of the parts, having been’
intended for the action or use to which we see them appli-
ed, according to this theory they have themselves grown,
eut of that action, sprung from that use. The theory,
therefore, dispenses with that which we insist upon, the ne-
cessity in each particular case, of an intelligent, designing
mind, for the contriving and determining of the forms
which organized bodies bear. Give our philosopher these
appetencies; give him a portion of living irritable matter
(a nerve, or the clipping of a nerve,) to work upon; give
also to his incipient or progressive forms, the power in ev-
ery stage of their alteration, of propagating their like; and,
if he isto be believed, he could replenish the world with
all the vegetable and animal productions which we at pres-
_ ent see in it,

Xx

246 OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY.

The scheme under consideration is open to the same ob-
jection with other conjectures of a similar tendency, viz. a
total defect of evidence. No changes, like those which'the
theory requires, have ever been observed. All the changes
in Ovid’s Metamorphoses might have been effected by these
appetencies, if the theory were true; yet not an example,
nor the pretence of an example is offered, of a single
change being known to have taken place. Nor is the or-
der of generation obedient to the principle upon which this
theory is built. The mamme* of the male have not van-
ished by inusitation ; nec surtorum, per multa secula, Ju-
deorum propagini deest preputium. It is easy to say, and
it has been said, that the alterative process is too slow to be
‘perceived ; that it has been carried on through tracts of im-
measurable time; and that the present order of things is
the result of a gradation of which no human records can
trace the steps. It is easy to say this; and yet it is still
true that the hypothesis remains destitute of evidence.

The analogies which have been alleged are of the fol-
lowing kind. The bunch of a camel, is said to be no oth-
er than the effect of carrying burthens ; a service in which
the species has been employed from the most ancient times
of the world. The first race, by the daily loading of the
back, would probably find a small grumous tumour to be
formed in the flesh of that part. The next progeny would
bring this tumour into the world with them. The life, to
which they were destined, would increase it. ‘The cause,
which first generated the tubercle, being continued, it would
go on, through every succession, to augment its size, till it
attained the form and the bulk under which it now appears.
This may serve for one instance ; another, and that also of
the passive sort, is taken from certain species of birds.
Birds of the crane kind, as the crane itself, the heron, bit-
tern, stork, have, in general, their thighs bare of feathers.
This privation is accounted for from the habit of wading in
water, and from the effect of that element to check the
crowth of feathers upon these parts; in consequence of
which, the health and vegetation of the feathers declined
through each generation of the animal; the tender down,
exposed to cold and wetness, became weak, and thin, and

* [ confess myself totally at a loss to guess at the reason, either final
or efficient, for this part of the animal frame, unless there be some
_ foundation for an opinion, of which I draw the hint from a paper of Mr.
Everard Home’s, (Phil. Transac. 1799, p. 2.) viz. that the mamme of
the foetus may be formed before the sex is determined.

“

OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY. 247

rare, till the deterioration ended in the result which we see,
of absolute nakedness. I will mention a third instance,
because it is drawn from an active habit, as the two last
were from passive habits; and that is the pouch of the pe-
lican, The description, which naturalists give of this
organ is as follows: ‘‘ From the lower edges of the under
chap, hangs a bag, reaching from the whole length of the
bill to the neck, which is said to be capable of containing
fifteen quarts of water. This bag the bird has ‘a power of
wrinkling up into the hollow of the under chap. When the
bag is empty it is not seen; but when the bird has fished
with success, it is incredible to what an extent it is often
dilated. The first thing the pelican does in fishing, is to
fill the bag; and then it returns to digest its burthen at
- leisure. ‘The bird preys upon the large fishes, and hides
them by dozens in its pouch. When the bill is opened to
its widest extent, a person may run his head into the bird’s
mouth; and conceal it in his monstrous pouch, thus adapted
for very singular purposes.”’* Now this extraordinary con-
formation, is nothing more, say our philosophers, than the
result of habit; not of the habit or effort of a single pelican,
or of a single race of pelicans, but of a habit perpetuated
through a long series of generations. The pelican soon
found the conveniency of reserving in its mouth, when its
appetite was glutted, the remainder of its prey, which is
fish. The fulness produced by this attempt, of course
stretched the skin which lies between the under chaps, as
being the most yielding part of the mouth. Every disten-
sion increased the cavity. The original bird, and many
generations which succeeded him, might find difficulty
enough in making the pouch answer this purpose: but .
future pelicans, entering upon life with a pouch derived from
their progenitors, of considerable capacity, would more read-
ily accelerate its advance to perfection, by frequently press-
ing down the sac with the weight of fish which it might
now be made to contain.

_ These, or of this kind, are the analogies relied upon.
Now in the first place, the instances themselves are unau-
thenticated by testimony ; and in theory, to say the least of
them, open to great objections. Who ever read of camels
without bunches, or with bunches Jess than those with which
they are at present usually formed? A bunch, not unlike,
the camel’s, is found between the shoulders of the buffalo ;
of the origin of which it is impossible to give the account

* Goldsmith, vol, vi. p. 52,

- i . .
248 OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY.

which is here given. In the second example : Why mere
the application of water, which appears to promote and
thicken the growth of feathers upon the bodies and breasts
of geese and swans and other water fowls, have divested
of this covering the thighs of cranes? T he third instance,
which appears to me as ; plausible as any that can be produc-
ed, has this against it, that it is a singularity restricted to
the species; whereas, if it had its commencement in the
cause and manner which have been assigned, the like con-
formation might be expected to take place in other birds,
which feed upon fish. How comes it to pass, that the pel-
ican alone was the inventress, and her descendants the only
inheritors, of this curious resource ?

But it is the less necessary to controvert the instances
themselves, as it is a straining of analogy beyond all limits
of reason and credibility, to assert that birds, and beasts,
and fish, with all their variety and complexity of organiza-
tion, have been brought into their forms, and distinguished
into their several kinds and natures, by the same process
(even if that process could be demonstrated, or had it ever
been actually noticed) as might seem to serve for the grad-
ual generation of a camel’s bunch, or a pelican’s pouch.

The solution, when applied to the works of nature gen~
erally, is contradicted by many of the phenomena, and to-
tally inadequate to others. The digaments or strictures, by
which the tendons are tied down at the angles of the joints,
could, by no possibility, be formed by the motion or exer-
cise of the tendons themselves ; by any appetency exciting
these parts into action; or by any tendency arising there-
from. The tendency is all the other way: the conatus in
constant opposition to them. Length of time does not help
the case at all, but the reverse. The valves also in the
blood-vessels, could never be formed in the manner, which
our theorist proposes. ‘The blood, in its right and natural
course, has no tendency to form them. When obstructed
or refluent, it has the contrary. These parts could not
grow out of their use, though they had eternity to grow in.

The senses of animals appear to me altogether incapable
of receiving the explanation of their origin which this theo-
ry affords. Including under the word ‘ sense” the organ
and the perception, we have no account of either. How
will our philosopher get at viston, or make an eye? How
should the blind animal effect sight, of which blind animals,
we know, have neither conception nor desire ? Affecting
it, by what operation of its will, by what endeavour to see,

OF THE NATURAL ATrRipuTEs, &c. 249

“could it so determine the fluids of its body, as to inchoate
the formation of an eye? or, suppose the eye formed, would
the perception follow? The same of the other senses.
~ And this objection holds its force, ascribe what you will to
the hand of time, to the power of habit, to changes, too slow
to be observed by man, or brought within any comparison
which he is able to make of past things with the present:
concede what you please to these arbitrary and unattested
suppositions, how will they help you? Here is no incep-
‘tion. No laws, no course, no powers of nature which pre-
- vail at present, nor any analogous to these, could give com-
mencement toa new sense. And it is in vain to inquire,
how that might proceed, which could never begin.

I think the senses, to be the most inconsistent with the _
hypothesis before us, of any part of the animal frame. But
other parts are sufficiently so. The solution does not ap-
ply to the parts of animals, which have little in them of mo-
tion. If we could suppose jomts and muscles to be gradu-
ally formed by action and exercise, what action or exercise
could form a skull, and fill it with brains? No effort of the
animal could determine the clothing of its skin What co-
natus could give prickles to the porcupine or hedgehog, or
to the sheep its fleece ?

In the last place; what do these appetencies mean when
applied to plants? I am not able to give a signification to
the term, which can be transferred from animals to plaats ;-

or which is common to both. Yet ano less successful or-
ganization is found in plants, than what obtains in animals.
A solution is wanted for one as well as the other.
_ Upon the whole ; after all the schemes and struggles of 4

- reluctant philosophy, the necessary resort istoa Deity. The
marks of design are too strong to be got over. Design must
have had a designer. That designer must have been a
person. ‘That person is God.

OQ O««-
CHAPTER XXIV.
OP THE NATURAL ATTRIBUTES OF THE DEITY.
It is an immense conclusion, that there is a God; a
_ perceiving, intelligent, designing Being ; at the head of cre-.

_ ation, and from whose will it proceeded. The attributes of
such a Being, suppose his reality to be preved, must be ad-
K2

250 OF THE NATURAL ATTRIBUTES

equate to the magnitude, extent, and multiplicity of his op-
erations: which are not only vast beyond comparison with
those performed by any other power, but, so far as respects
our conceptions of them, infinite, because they are unlimit~
ed on all sides. :

Yet the contemplation of a nature so exalted, however
surely we arrive at the proof of its existence, overwhelms
our faculties. The mind feels its powers sink under the
subject. One consequence of which is, that from painful
abstraction the thoughts seek relief in sensible images.
Whence may be deduced the ancient and almost uni-
versal propensity to idolatrous substitutions. They are the
resources of a labouring imagination. False religions usu-
ally fallin with the natural propensity : true-religions, or
such as have derived themselves from the true, resist it.

‘It is. one of the advantages of the revelations which we
acknowledge, that, whilst they reject idolatry with its many
pernicious accompaniments, they introduce the Deity to hu-
man apprehension, under an idea more personal, more de-
terminate, more within its compass, than the theology of
nature can do. And this they do by representing him ex-
clusively under the relation in which he stands to ourselves ;
and, for the most part, under some precise character, re-
sulting from that relation, or from the history of his provi-
dences: Which method suits the span of our intellects much
better, than the universality which enters into the idea of
God, as deduced from the views of nature. When there-
fore, these representations are well founded in point of au-
thority, (for all depends upon that,) they afford a conde-
scension to the state of our faculties, of which, they who
have reflected most upon the subject, will be the first to
acknowledge the want and the value.

Nevertheless, if we be careful to imitate the documents of
our religion, by confining our explanations to what concerns
ourselves, and do not affect more precision in our ideas than
the subject allows of, the several terms, which are employ-
ed to denote the attributes of the Deity, may be made, even

in natural religion, to bear a sense, consistent with truth

and reason, and not surpassing our comprehension.

These terms are, omnipotence, omniscience, omnipres-
ence, eternity, self-existence, necessary existence, spiritu-
ality.

‘«Omnipotence,” “omniscience ;” infinite power, infinite
knowledge, are superlatives ; expressing our conception of
these attributes in the strongest and most elevated terms

OF THE DEITY. | 251

which language supplies. We ascribe power to the Deity
under the name of ‘“‘ omnipotence,” the strict and correct
conclusion being, that a power, which could create such a
world as this is, must be, beyond all comparison, greater
than any which we experience in ourselves, than any which
we observe in other visible agents; greater, also, than any
which we can want, for our individual protection and pres-
ervation, in the Being upon whom we depend. It is a pow-
er likewise, to which we are not authorized by our obser-
vation or knowledge, to assign any limits of space or dura-
tion.

Very much of the same sort of remark is applicable to
the term “ omniscience,” infinite knowledge, or infinite
wisdom. - In strictness of language, there is a difference
between knowledge and wisdom; wisdom always suppos-
ing action, and action directed by it. With respect to the
first, viz. knowledge, the Creator must know, intimately,
the constitution and properties of the things which he cre-
ated: which seems also to imply 2 foreknowledge of their
action upon one another, and of their changes ; at least, so
far as the same result from trains of physical and necessary
causes. Huis omniscience also, as far as respects things pres-
ent, is deducible from his nature, as an intelligent being,
joined with the extent, or rather the universality, of his op-
erations. Where heacts, heis; and, where he is, he per-
ceives. The wisdom of the Deity, as testified in the works
of creation, surpasses all idea we have of wisdom, drawn
from the highest intellectual operations of the highest class,
of intelligent Beings with whom we are acquainted; and,
which is of the chief importance to us, whatever be itscom-
pass or extent, which it is evidently impossible that we
should be able to determine, it must be adequate to the con-
duct of that order of things under which we live. And this
is enough. It is of very inferior consequence, by what
terms we express our notion, or rather our admiration of this
attribute. The terms, which the piety and the usage of
language have rendered habitual to us, may be as proper as
any other. We can trace this attribute much beyond what
is necessary for any conclusion to which we have occasion
to apply it. The degree of knowledge and power, requisite
. for the formation of created nature, cannot, with respect to
us, be distinguished from infinite.

‘The divine “ omnipresence” stands, in natural theology,

upon this foundation. In every part and place of the uni-
verse, with which we are acquainted, we perceive the exer-

25% OF THE NATURAL ATTRIBUTES, &c.

tion of a power, which we believe, mediately or immediate-
ly, to proceed from the Deity. For instance ; in what part -

or point of space, that has ever been explored, do we not
discover attraction? In what regions, do we not find light ?
{n what accessible portion of our globe, do we not meet
with gravity, magnetism, electricity; together with the
properties also and powers of organized substances, of veg-
etable or of animated nature? Nay, further, we may ask,
what kingdom is there of nature, what corner of space, in
which there is any thing that can be examined by us, where
we do not fall upon contrivance and design ? The only re-
flection perhaps which arises in our minds from this view of
the world around us is, that the laws of nature every where
prevail; that they are uniform and universal. But what do
we mean by the laws of nature, or by any law? Effects are
produced by power, not by laws, A law cannot execute it-
self.. A law refers us to an agent. Now an agency so
general, as that we cannot discover its absence, or assign
the place in which some effect of its continued energy 18
not found, may, in popular language at least, and, perhaps,
without much deviation from philosophical strictness, be
called universal ; and, with not quite the same, but with no
inconsiderable propriety, the person or Being, in whom that
- power resides, or from whom it is derived, may be taken to
be omnipresent. He who upholds all things by his power,
may be said to be every where present.

This is called a virtual presence. There 1s also _
metaphysicians denominate an essential ubiquity: and
which idea the language of scripture seems to favour: but
the former, I think, goes as far as natural theology carries
us.

‘© Eternity,” is a negative idea, clothed with a positive
name. It supposes, in that to which it is applied, a present
existence ; and is the negation of a beginning, or an end of
that existence.- As applied to the Deity, it has not been
controverted by those who acknowledge a Deity at all.
Most assuredly, there never was a time in which nothing
existed, because that condition must have continued. The
universal blank must have remained; nothing could rise
up out of it; nothing could ever have existed since ; noth-
ing could exist now. In strictness, however, we have no
concern with duration prior to that of the visible world. Up-
en this article, therefore, of theology, it is sufficient to know,
that the contriver necessarily existed before the contri-
vance.

a

OF THE UNITY OF THE DEITY. 253

“ Self-existence,” is another negative idea, viz. the ne-
gation of a preceding cause, as of a progenitor, a maker,
an author, a creator. |

“‘ Necessary existence,’ means demonstrable existence.

*¢ Spirituality” expresses an idea, made up of a negative
part, and ofa positive part. The negative part, consists in
the exclusion of some of the known properties of matter,
especially of solidity, of the vis inertia, and of gravitation.
The positive part, comprises perception, thought, will, pow-
er, action, by which last term is meant the origination of mo-
tion ; the quality, perhaps, in which resides the essential
superiority of spirit over matter ‘‘which cannot move, un-
less it be moved ; and cannot but move, when impelled by
another.”* I apprehend that there can be no difficulty im
applying to the Deity both parts of this idea.

r]

o> @QOaace
CHAPTER XXV.
THE UNITY OF THE DHITY.

Or the “unity of the Deity” the proof 1s, the uniformity
of plan observable in the universe. ‘The universe itself is
a system; each part either depending upon other parts, or
being connected with other parts by some common law of
motion, or by the presence of some common substance.
One principle of gravitation causes a stone,to drop towards
the earth, and the moon to wheel round it. One law of at-
traction carries all the different planets about the sun. ‘This
philosophers demonstrate. There are also other points of
agreement amongst them, which may be considered as
marks of the identity of their origin, and of their intelli-
gent author. In all are found the conveniency and stabili-
ty derived from gravitation. They all experience vicissi-
tudes of days and nights, and changes ofseason. They all,
at least Jupiter, Mars, and Venus, have the same advanta-
ges from their atmosphere as we have. In all the planets,
the axes of rotation are permanent. Nothing is more prob-
able, than that the same attracting influence, acting accord-
ing to the same rule, reaches to the fixed stars: but if this
be only probable, another thing is certain, viz. that the
same element of light does. The light from a fixed star
affects our eyes in the same manner, is refracted and reflect»

* Bishop Wilkin’s Principles of Nat. Rel. p. 106.

J

‘
254 OF THE UNITY OF THE DEITY.

ed according to the same laws, as the light of a candle.
The velocity of the light of the fixed stars, is also the same
as the velocity of the light of the sun, reflected from the sa-
tellites of Jupiter. The heat of the sun, in kind, differs
nothing from the heat of a coal fire.
In our own globe the case is clearer. New countries are
continually discovered, but the old laws of nature are always

found in them: new plants, perhaps, or animals, but al-.

ways in company with plants and animals, which we al-
ready know: and always possessing many of the same gen-
eral properties. We never get among such original, or to-
tally different, modes of existence, as to indicate, that we
are come into the province of a different Creator, or under
the direction of a different will. In truth, the same order
of things attends us, wherever we go. The elements act
upon one another, electricity operates, the tides rise and
fall, the magnetic needle elects its position, in one region
of the earth and sea, as well as in another. One atmos-
phere invests all parts of the globe, and connects all; one
sun illuminates ; cue moon exerts its specific attraction upon
all parts. J? there be a variety in natural effects, as e. g.
in the tides of difereat seas, that very variety is the result
of the same cause, acting under different circumstances.
In many cases this is proved; in all is probable.

The inspection and comparison of living forms add to
this argument examp:es withovt number. Of all large ter-
restvial animals ihe structure is very much alike. Their
senses nearly the same. ‘heir natural functions and pas-
sions nearly the same. Their viscera nearly the same, both
in substance, shape, and office. Digestion, nutrition, cir-
culation, secretion, go on, in a similar manner, in all. The
great circulating fluid is the same: for, I think, no differ-
ence has been discovered in the proportion of blood, from
whatever animal it be drawn. The experiment of transfu-
sion proves, that the blood of one animal will serve for an-
other. The skeletons also of the larger terrestrial animals,
show particular varieties, but still under a great general
affinity. The resemblance is somewhat less, yet sufficiently
evident between quadrupeds and birds. They are all alike
in five respects, for one in which they differ.

In fish, which belong to another department, as it were,
of nature, the points of comparison become fewer. But we
never lose sight of our analogy, e.g. we still meet with a
Stomach, a liver, a spine; with bile and blood; with
teeth ; with eyes—which eyes are only slightly varied from
our own, and which variation, in truth demonstrates, not

‘OF THE UNITY OF THE DEITY. 255
an interruption, but a continuauce, of the same exquisite
plan ; for it is the adaptation of the organ to the element,
viz. to the different refraction of light passing into the eye
out of adenser medium. ‘The provinces, also, themselves,
of water and earth, are connected by a species of animals
which inhabit both; and also by a large tribe of aquatic
animals, which closely resemble the terrestrial in their inter-
nal structure: I mean the cetaceous tribe, which have hot
blood, respiring lungs, bowels, and other essential parts,
like those of land animals. ‘Vhissimilitude, surely bespeaks |
the same creation and the same Creator.

Insects and shell fish appeer to me to differ from other
classes of animals the most widely of any. Yet even here,
beside many points oi particular resemblance, there exists
a general relation of a peculiar kiad. It is the relation of
inversion : the law of contrariety: namely, that, whereas,
‘in other animals, the bones, to which the muscles are attach-
ed, lie within the body, in insects and shell-fish they lie on
the outside of it. ‘The shell of a lobster performs to the an-
imal the office of a bone, by furnishing to the tendons that
fixed basis or immoveable fulcrum, without which mechan-
“ically they could not act. ‘The crust of an insect is its shell,
and answers the like purpose. ‘“he shell also of an oyster
stands in the place of a bone; the bases of the muscles be-
ing fixed to it, in the same manner, as, In other animals,
they are fixed to the bones. All which (under wonderful
varieties, indeed, and adaptation of form) confesses an im-
itation, a remembrance, a carrying on of the same plan.

The observations here made are equally applicable to
plants ; but I think unnecessary to be pursued.

It is a very striking circumstance, and alone sufficient to
prove all which we contend for, that, in this part likewise
of organized nature, we perceive a continuation of the sez-
‘ual system.

Certain, however it is, that the whole argument for the
divine unity, goes no farther than to an unity of counsel.

It may likewise be acknowledged, that no arguments
~ which we are in possession of, exclude the ministry of sub-
ordinate agents. If such there be, they act under a presid-
ing, a controlling will; because they act according to cer-
tain general restrictions, by certain common rules, and, ay
at should seem, upon a general plan: but still such agents,
-and different ranks, and classes, and ater of ‘them, may
He employed.

»

\
256 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

CHAPTER XXVI.
OF THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY,

Tur proof of the divine goodness rests upon two propo-
fitions, each, as we contend, capable of being made out by
observations drawn from the appearances of nature. |

The first is, ‘that, im a vast plurality of instances in
which contrivance is perceived, the design of .the contri-
vance is beneficial.

The second, ‘‘ that the Deity has superadded pleasure to
animal sensations, beyond what was necessary for any
other purpose, or when the purpose, so far as was necessa-
ry, might have been effected by the operation of pain.”

First, ‘‘in a vast plurality of instances, in which contri-

vance is perceived, the design of the contrivance is benefi-

eval.”

No productions of nature display contrivance so manifest-
ly as the parts of animals: and the parts of animals - have
all of them, I believe, a real, and, with very few exceptions,
all of them a known and intelligible subserviency to the

use of the animal. Now, when the multitude of animals is —

considered, the number of parts in each, their figure and
fitness, the facultie- depending upon them, the variety of
species, the complexity of structure, the success, in so ma-
ny cases, and felicity of the result, we can never reflect,
without the profoundest adoration, upon the character of
that Being from whom all these things have proceeded : we
cannot help acknowledging, what an exertion of benevo-
lence creation was; of a benevolence, how minute in its
eare, how vast in its comprehension.

When we appeal to the parts and faculties of animals,
and to the limbs and senses of animals in particular, we
‘state, I conceive, the proper medium of proof for the con-
clusion which we wish to establish. I will not say, that
the insensible parts of nature are made solely for the sensi-
tive parts; but this I say, that, when we consider the be-
nevolence of the Deity, we can only consider it in relation
to sensitive Being. Without this reference, or referred to
any thing else, the attribute has no object: the term has
mo meaning. Dead matter is nothing. The parts, there-
fore, especially the limbs and senses of animals, although
they constitute, in mass and quantity, a small portion of the
material creatien, yet, since they alone are instruments of

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 20%

perception, they compose what may be called the whole of
visible nature, estimated with a view to the disposition of
its author. Consequently, it is in these that we are to seek
his character. It is by these that we are to prove, that the
world was made with a benevolent design.

Nor is the design abortive. It is a happy world after all.
The air, the earth, the water, teem with delighted exis-
tence. In a spring noon, or a summer evening, on which-
‘ever side | turn my eyes, myriads of happy beings crowd
upon my view. ‘‘ The insect youth are on the wing.”
Swarms of new-born fies are trying their pinions in the
air. "Their sportive motions, their wanton mazes, their
_ gratuitous activity, their continual change of place without
’ use or purpose, testify their joy, and the exultation which
they feel in their lately discovered faculties. A bee amongst
the flowers in spring, is one of the most cheerful objects that
ean be looked upon. Its life appears to be all enjoyment ;
so busy, and so pleased : yet it is only a specimen of insect
life, with which, by reason of the animal being half domesti-
cated, we happen to be better acquainted than we are with
that of others. The whole winged insect tribe, it is proba-
ble, are equally intent upon their proper employments, and
under every variety of constitution, gratified, and perhaps
equally gratified, by the offices which the Author of their
nature has assigned to them. But the atmosphere is not
the only scene of enjoyment for the insect race. Plants
are covered with aphides, greedily sucking their juices,
and constantly, as it should seem, in the act of sucking. It
eannot be doubted but that this is a state of gratification.
What else should fix them so close to the operation, and
so long? Other species are running about with an
alacrity in their motions which carries with it every marl
of pleasure. Large patches of ground are sometimes half
covered with these brisk and sprightly natures. If we look
to what the waters produce, shoals of the fry of fish fre-
quent the margins of rivers, of lakes, and of the sea itself.
These are so happy, that they know not what to do with
themselves. Their attitudes, their vivacity, their leaps
out of the water, their frolicks in it, (which I have noticed |
a thousand times with equal attention and amusement,) all
-conduce to show their excess of spirits, and are simply the
effects of that excess. Walking by the seaside, in a calm
evening, upon a sandy shore, and with an ebbing tide, I
have frequently remarked the appearance of a dark cloud,
be abe ey i

258 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

or, rather very thick mist, hanging over the edge of the
water, to the height, perhaps, of halfa yard, and of the
breadth of two or three yards, stretching along the coast as
far as the eye could reach, and always retiring with the wa~
ter. When this cloud came to be examined, it proved to
be nothing else than so much space, filled with young
shrimps, in the act of bounding into the air from the shal-
low margin of the water, or from the wet sand. If any me-
tion of a mute animal could express delight, it was this; if
they had meant to make signs of their happiness, they could
not have done it more intelligibly. Suppose then, what I
have no doubt of, each individual of this number to be in
a state of positive enjoyment, what a sum, collectively, of
gratification and pleasure have we here before our view !
The young of .all animals appear to me to receive pleas-
ure simply from the exercise of their limbs and bodily fac-
ulties, without reference to any end to be attained, or any
use to be answered by the exertion. A child, without
knowing any thing of the use of language, is in a high de-
gree delighted with being able to speak. Its incessant rep-
etition of the few articulate sounds, or perhaps, of the sin-
gle word, which it has learned to pronounce, proves this
point clearly. Nor is it less pleased with its first success-
ful endeavours to walk, or rather to run, (which precedes
- walking,) although entirely ignorant of the importance of
the attainment to its future life, and even without apply-
ing it to any present purpose. A child is delighted with
speaking without having any thing to say ; and with walk-
ing, without knowing where to go. And, prior.to both
' these, Iam disposed to believe, that the waking hours of
infancy are agreeably taken up with the exercise of vision,
or perhaps more properly speaking, with learning to see.
But it is not for youth alone, that the great Parent of
creation hath provided. Happiness is found with the
purring cat, noless than with the playful kitten : in the arm
chair of dozing age, as well as in either the sprightliness of
the dance, or the animation of the chace. To novelty, to
acuteness of sensation, to hope, to ardour of pursuit, suc-
ceeds, what is, in no inconsiderable degree, an equivalent
for them all, “‘ perception of ease.” Herein is the exact
difference between the young and the old. ‘The young are
not happy, but when enjoying pleasure: the old are happy
when free from pain. And this constitution suits with the
degrees of animal power which they respectively possess.
‘The vigour of youth was to be stimulated to action by the

I

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 259

impatience of rest; whilst, to the imbecility of age, quiet-
ness and repose become positive gratifications. In one im-
portant respect the advantage is with the old. A state of
ease is, generally speaking, more attainable than a state of
pleasure. A constitution, therefore, which can enjoy ease, ©
is preferable to that which can taste only pleasure. The

same perception of ease oftentimes renders old age a con-

dition of great comfort ; especially when riding at its an-

chor, after a busy or tempestuous life. It is well deserib-

ed by Rousseau, to be the interval of repose and enjoy-

ment, between the hurry and the end of life. How far the

same cause extends to other animal natures cannot be judg-

ed of with certainty. The appearance of satisfaction, with

which most animals as their activity subsides, seek and en-

joy rest, affords reason to believe, that this source of grati-

fication is appointed to advanced life, under all, or most, of
its various forms. In the species with which we are best

acquainted, namely, our own, I am far, even as an observer

of human life, from thinking, that youth is its happiest sea-

son, much less the only happy one: asa Christian, I am

willing to believe that there is a great deal of truth in the

following representation given) by a very pious writer, as

well as excellent man.* ‘* To the intelligent and virtuous,

old age presents a scene of tranquil enjoyments, of obedient

appetites, of well regulated affections, of maturity in knowl-

edge, and of calm preparation for immortality. In this se-

rene and dignified state, placed, as it were, on the confines

of two worlds, the mind of a good man reviews what is

past with the complacency of an approving conscience, and

Jooks forward, with humble confidence in the mercy of God,

and with devout aspirations; towards his eternal and ever

increasing favour.”

What is seen in different stages of the same life, is still .
more exemplified in the lives of different animals. Animal
enjoyments are infinitely diversified. The modes of life, to
which the organization of different animals respectively de-
termines them, are not only of various, but of opposite kinds.
Yet each is happy in its own. For instance; animals of
prey, live much alone; animals ofa milder.constitution, in
society. Yet the herring, which lives in shoals, and the
sheep, which lives in flocks, are not more happy in a crowd,
or more contented amongst their companions, than is the
} re or the lion, with the deep solitudes of the pool, or the

orest.

* Father’s Instructions, by Dr. Percival of Manchester, p. 317.

260 ° THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

But it will be said, that the instances which we have here
brought forward, whether of vivacity or repose, or of appa-
rent enjoyment derived from either, are picked and favour-
able instances. We answer, First, that they are instances,
nevertheless, which comprise large provinces of sensitive
existence; that every case which we have described, is the
case of millions At this moment, in every given moment of
time, how many myriads of animals are eating their food,
gratifying their appetites, ruminating in their holes, accom-
plishing their wish: s, pursuing their pleasures, taking their
pastimes! In each individual how many things must go
right for it to be at ease ; yet how large a proportion out of
every species, is so in every assignable instant! Second-
ly, we contend, in the terms of our original proposition, that
throughout the whole of life, as it is diffused in nature, and
as far as we are acquainted with it, looking to the average
of sensations, the plurality and the preponderancy is in fa-
vour of happiness by a vast excess. In our own species, in
which perhaps the assertion may be more questionable than
im any other, the prepollency of good over evil, of health,
for example, and ease, over pain and distress, is evinced by
ihe very notice which calamities excite. What inquiries
does the sickness of our friends produce? What conversa-
tion their misfortunes? ‘I’his shows that the common
course of things is in favour of happiness; that happiness
is the rule, misery the exception. Were the order revers-
ed, our attention would be called to examples of health and
competency, instead of disease and want.

One great cause of our insensibility to the goodness of
the Creator is the very extensiveness of his bounty. We
prize but little, what we share only m common with the
rest, or with the generality, of our species. When we hear
of blessings, we think forthwith of successes, of prosperous
fortunes, of honours, riches, preferments, 1. e. of those ad-
vantages and superiorities over others, which we happen
either to possess, or to be in pursuit of, or to covet. The
commen benefits of our nature entirely escape us. Yet
these are the great things. These constitute, what most
properly ought to be accounted blessings of Providence ;
what alone, if we might so speak, are worthy of its care.
Nightly rest, and daily bread, the ordinary use of our limbs,
and senses, and understandings, are gifts which admit of no
comparison with any other. Yet, because almost every
man we meet with possesses these, we leave them out of
our enumeration. ‘They raise no sentiment: they move no

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 261
gratitude. Now, herein, is our judgment perverted by our
selfishness. A blessing ought, in truth, to be the more sat-
isfactory, the bounty at least of the donor is rendered more
conspicuous, by its very diffusion, its commonness, its cheap-
ness ; -by its falling to the lot, and forming tlte happiness,
of the great bulk and body of our species, as well as of our-
selves. Nay, even when we do not possess it, it ought to
be matter of thankfulness that others do. But we have a
different way of thinking. We court distinction. That
is not the worst; we can see nothing but what has dis-
tinction to recommend ‘it. This necessarily contracts our
views of the Creator’s beneficence within a narrow com-
pass; and most unjustly. It is in those things which are
so common as to be no distinction, that the amplitude of
the divine benignity is perceived. .

But pain, no doubt, and privations, exist, in numerous
instances, and to a degree, which, collectively, would be
very great, if they were compared with any other thing than
with the mass of animal fruition. For the application,.
therefore, of our proposition to that mized state of things
which these exceptions induce, two rules are-necessary, and
both, [ think, just and fair rules. One is, that we regard
those effects alone which are accompanied with proofs of
intention: The other, that, when we cannot resolve all ap-
pearances into benevolence of design, we make the few
give place tothe many ; the little to the great; that we take
our judgment from a large and decided preponderancy, if
there be one. —

I crave leave to transcribe into this place, what I have |
said upon this subject in my moral philosophy. ‘‘ When
God created the human species, either he wished their hap-
_ piness, or he wished their misery, or he was indifferent and
unconcerned about either.

“Tf he had wished our misery, he ete have made sure
of his purpose, by forming our senses to be so many sores
and pains to us, as they are now instruments of gratifica-
tion and enjoyment; or by placing us amidst objects, so ill
suited to our perceptions, as to have continually offended
us, instead of ministering to our refreshment and delight.
He might have made, for example, every thing we tasted
bitter; every thing we saw loathsome ; every thing we
touched a sting ; every smell a stench; and every sound a
discord.

“If he had been indifferent about our happiness or mis-

2

362) THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

ery, We must impute to our good fortune (as all design by
this supposition is excluded) both the capacity of our senses
io receive pleasure, and the supply of external objects fitted
to produce it.

“* But either of these, and still more both of them, be-
ing too much to be attributed to accident, nothing remains
but the first supposition, that God, when he created the hu-
nan species, wished their happiness ; and made for them
the provision which he has made, with that view and for
ihat purpose.

‘‘ "The same argument may be proposed in different terms ;
thus: Contrivance proves design, and the predominant
tendency of the contrivance indicates the disposition of the
designer. The world abounds with contrivances; and all
the contrivances which we are acquainted with, are direct-
ed to beneficial purposes. Evil, no doubt, exists; but is
never, that we can perceive, the object of contrivance.
‘Teeth are contrived to eat, not to ache; their aching now
and then is incidental tothe contrivance, perhaps msepara~
ble from it: or even, if you will, let it be called a defect in
the contrivance ; but it is not the object of it. ‘This is a
distinction which well deserves to be attended to. In de-

scribing implements of husbandry, you would hardly say of

the sickle, that it is made to cut the reaper’s hand, though,
from the construction of the instrument, and the manner
of using it, this mischief often follows. But if you had oc-
casion to describe instruments of torture or execution, this

engime, you would say, is to extend the sinews ; this to dis- -

locate the jomts; this to break the bones; this to scorch
the soles of the feet. Here pain and misery are the very
objects of the contrivance. Now, nothing of this sort is to
be found in the works of nature. We never discover a
train of contrivance to bring about an evil purpose. No
‘anatomist ever discovered a system of organization, calcu
lated to produce pain and disease ; or, in explaining the
parts of the human body, ever said, ‘this is to irritate 5
this to inflame; this duct is to convey the gravel to- the
kidneys; this gland to secrete the humour which forms the
gout: if by chance he come at a partof which he knows
not the use, the most he-can say is, that it is useless; no
one ever suspects that it is put there to incommode, to an-
noy, or to torment.”

The two cases which appear to me to have the most of
difficulty in them, as forming the most of the appearance of
exception to the representation here given, are those of ven-

THE GOODNESS OF THE BEITY. | 263°

mous animals, and of animals preying upon one another.
‘These properties of animals, wherever they are found, must,
I think, be referred to design; because there is, in all
eases of the first, and most cases of the second, an express
and distinct organization provided for the producing of them.
Under the first head, the fangs of vipers, the stings of wasps
and scorpions, are as clearly intended for their purpose, as
any animal structure is for any purpose the most incontest-
ably beneficial. And the same thing must, under the se-
cond head, be acknowledged of the talons and beaks of
birds, of the tusks, teeth, and claws of beasts of prey, of the
shark’s mouth, of the spider’s web, and of numberless wea-
pons of offence belonging to different tribes of voracious in-
sects. We cannot, therefore, avoid the difficulty by say-
ing, that the effect was not intended. ‘The only question
open to us is, whether it be ultimately evil. From the con-
fessed and felt imperfection of our knowledge, we ought to
presume, that there may be consequences of this economy
which are hidden from us: from the benevolence which
pervades the general designs of nature, we ought also to
presume, that these consequences, if they could enter into
our calculation, would turn the balance on the favourable
side. Both these I contend te be reasonable presumptions.
Not reasonable presumptions, if these two cases were the
only cases which nature presented to our observation ; but
reasonable presumptions under the reflection, that the cases
im question are combined witha multitude of intentions,
all proceeding from the same author, and all, except these,
directed to ends of undisputed utility. Of the vindications,
however, of this economy, which we are able to assign,
such as most extenuate the difficulty are the following :

- With respect to venomous bites and stings, it may be ob-
‘served,

1. That, the animal itself being regarded, the faculty
complained of is good: being conducive, in all cases, to
the defence of the animal ; in some cases, to the subduing
of its prey ; and, in some probably, to the killing of it, when
caught, by a mortal wound inflicted in the passage to the
stomach, which may be no less merciful to the victim, than .
salutary to the devourer. In the viper, for imstance, the
poisonous fang may do that, which in other animals of prey,
is done by the crush of the teeth. Frogs and mice might
be swallowed alive without it.

2. But it will be said, that this provision, when it comes
to the ease of bites, deadly even to human bodies and to

IG4 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

those of large quadrupeds, is greatly overdone; that it might
have fulfilled its use, and yet have been much less delete-
rious than it is. Now I believe the case of bites, which

- produce death in large animals, (of stings I think there are ;

none,) to be very few. ‘The experiments of the Abbé Fon-
tana, which were numerous, go strongly to the proof of this
point. He found that it required the action of five exaspe-
rated vipers to kill a dog of a moderate size; but that, to
the killing of a mouse or a frog, a single bite was sufficient ;
which agrees with the use which we assign to the faculty.
The Abbé seemed to be of opinion, that the bite even of
the rattlesnake would not usually be mortal ; allowing, how-
ever, that in certain particularly unfortunate cases, as when
the puncture had touched soine very tender part, pricked a
principal nerve for instance, or, as it is said, some more
considerable lymphatic vessel, death might speedily ensue.

3. It has been, I think, very justly remarked concerning
serpents, that, whilst only a few species possess the veno-
mous property, that property guards the whole tribe. The
most innocuous snake is avoided with as much care as a
viper. Now the terror, with which large animals regard
this class of reptiles, is its protection; and this terror is
founded in the formidable revenge, which a few of the num-
ber, compared with the whole, are capable of taking. The
species of serpents, described by Linneus, amount to two
hundred and eighteen, of which thirty-two only are poison-
ous.

4, It seems to me, that animal constitutions are provid-
ed, not only for each element, but for each state of the ele-
ments, i. e. for every climate, and for every temperature ;
and that part of the mischief complained of arises from an-
imals (the human animal most especially) occupying situ-
ations upon the earth which do not belong to them, nor
were ever intended for their habitation. The folly and
wickedness of mankind, and necessities proceeding from
these causes, have driven multitudes of the species to seek
a refuge amongst burning sands, whilst countries blessed
with hospitable skies, and with the most fertile soils, re-
main almost without a human tenant. We invade the ter~
ritories of wild beasts and venomous reptiles, and then com-
plain that we are infested by their bites and stings. Some
accounts of Africa place this observation in a Strong point
of view. ‘‘ The deserts,” says Adanson, “‘ are entirely bare
ren, except where they are found to produce serpents ; and
in such quantities, that some extensive plains are almost

Se

>. le

\

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 265

entirely covered with them.” These are the natures appro-
_ priated to the situation. Let them enjoy their existence ;

let them have their country. Surface enough will be left
to man, though his numbers were increased an hundred
fold, and left to him, where he might live exempt from these
annoyances.

The second case, viz. that of animals devouring one an-
other, furnishes a consideration of much larger extent.
To judge, whether, as a general provision, this can be deem-.
ed an evil, even so far as we understand its consequences,
which, probably, is a partial understanding, the following
reflections are fit to be attended to. |

1. Immortality upon this earth is out of the question.
Without death there could be no generation, no sexes, no
parental relation, i. e. as things are constituted, no animal
happiness. The particular duration of life, assigned to dif-
ferent animals, can form no part of the objection; because,
whatever that duration is, whilst it remains finite and
limited, it may always be asked, why it is no longer.
The natural age of different animals varies from a single
day toa century of years. No account can be given of
this; nor could any be given, whatever other proportion of
life had obtained amongst them.

The term then of life in different animals being the same
as it is, the question is, what mode of taking it away 1s best
even for the animal itself. ;

Now, according to the established order of nature, (which
we must suppose to prevail, or we cannot reason at all upon
the subject,) the three methods by which life is usually put
an end, to, are acute diseases, decay, and violence. ‘The
simple and natural life of brutes, is not often visited by acute
distempers; nor could it be deemed an improvement of
their lot, if they were. Let it be considered, therefore, in
what a condition of suffering and misery a brute animal is
placed, which is left to perish by decay. In human sick-
ness or infirmity, there is the assistance of man’s rational
fellow creatures, if not to alleviate his pains, at least to min-
ister to his necessities, and to supply the place of his own
activity. A brute, in his wild and natural state, does eve-
ry thing for himself. When his strength therefore, or his
speed, or his limbs, or his senses fail him, he is delivered
over, either to absolute famine, or to the protracted wretch-
edness of a life slowly wasted by scarcity of food. Is it
then to see the world filled with drooping, superannuated,

266 ‘THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

half starved, helpless and unhelped animals, that you would
alter the present system of pursuit and prey?

2. Which system is also to them the spring of motion
and activity on both sides. ‘The pursuit of its prey, forms
the employment, and appears to constitute the pleasure, of
a considerable part of the animal creation. The using of
the means of defence, or flight, or precaution, forms also the -
business of another part | And even of this latter tribe, we
have no reason to suppose, that their happiness is much
molested by their fears. Their danger exists continually ;
and in some cases they seem to be so far sensible of it, as
to provide, in the best manner they can, against it; but it
is only when the attack is actually made upon them, that
they appear to suffer from it. ‘T’o contemplate the insecu-
rity of their condition with anxiety and dread, requires a
degree of reflection, which (happily for themselves) they do
not possess, A fare notwithstanding the number of its
dangers and its enemies, is as playful an animal as any
other. .

3. But to do justice to the question, the system of animal
destruction ought always to be considered in strict connex-
ion with another property of animal nature, viz. superfecun-
dity. They are countervailing qualities. One subsists by
the correction of the other. In treating, therefore, of the
subject under this view, (which is, I believe, the true one,)
our business will be, first to point out the advantages which
are gained by the powers in nature of a superabundant mul-
tiplication ; and then, to show, that these advantages are
so many reasons for appointing that system of animal hos-
tilities, which we are endeavouring to account for.

In almost all cases nature produces her supplies with
profusion. A single cod fish spawns, in one season, a
greater number of eggs than all the inhabitants of England
amount to. A thousand other instances of prolific genera-
tion might be stated, which, though not equal to this, would
carry on the increase of the species with a rapidity which
outruns calculation, and to an immeasurable extent. The
advantages of such a constitution are two: first, that it tends
to keep the world always full; whilst, secondly, it allows
the proportion between the several species of animals to be
differently modified, as different purposes require, or as dif-
ferent situations may afford for them room and food.
Where this vast. fecundity meets with a vacancy fitted to
receive the species, there it operates with its whole effect ;
there it pours in its numbers, and replenishes the waste.

\

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. : 367

i

of some troublesome insects, not reflecting that large por-
tions of nature might be left void without it. If the ac-
_ counts of travellers may be depended upon, immense tracts
of forest in North America would be nearly lost to sensitive
existence if it were not for gnats. “In the thinly inhabit-
ed regions of America, in which the waters stagnate, and
the climate is warm, the whole air is filled with crowds of
these insects.” Thus it is, that where we look for solitude
and deathhike silence, we meet with animation, activity,
enjoyment; with a busy, a happy, and a peopled world.
Again ; hosts of mice are reckoned amongst the plagues of
the northeast part of Europe ; whereas vast plains in Sibe-
ria, as we learn from good authority, would be lifeless with-
out them. The Caspian deserts are converted by their
presence into crowded warrens. Between the Volga and
the Yaik, and in the country of Hyrcania, the ground, says
Pallas, is in many places covered with little hils, raised by
the earth cast out in forming the burrows. Do we so
envy these blissful abodes, as to pronounce the fecundity
by which they are supplied with inhabitants, to be an evil ;
a subject of complaint, and not of praise? Further; by
virtue of this same superfecundity, what we term destruc-
tion, becomes almost instantly the parent of life. What we
call blights, are oftentimes legions of animated beings,
claiming their portion in the bounty of nature. What cor-
rupts the produce of the earth to us, prepares it for them.
And it is by means of their rapid multiplication, that they
take possession of their pasture : a slow propagation would
not meet the opportunity

But in conjunction with the occasional use of this fruit-
fulness, we observe, also, that it allows the proportion be-
tween the several species of animals to be differently modi-
fied, as different purposes of utility may require. When
the forests of America come to be cleared, and the swamps
drained, our gnats will give place to other inhabitants. I[¢
the population of Europe should spread to the north and
the east, the mice will retire before the husbandman and
the shepherd, and yield their station to herds and flocks. In
what concerns the human species, tt may be a part of the
scheme of Providence that the earth should be inhabited
by a shifting, or perhaps a circulating population. In this
economy it is possible that there may be the following ad-
vantages: When old countries are become exceedingly
corrupt, simpler modes of life, purer morals, and better in-

We complain of what we call the exorbitant multiplication :

968 HE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. ~

stitutions, may rise up in newones, whilst fresh soils reward
the cultivator with more plentiful returns. Thus the differ-
ent portions of the globe come into use in succession as
the residence of man; and, in his absence, entertain
other guests, which by their. sudden multiplication fill the
chasm. In domesticated animals we find the effect of their
fecundity to be, that we can always command numbers :
we can always have as many of any particular species as
we please, or as we can Support. Nor do we complain of
its excess ; it being much more easy to regulate abundance,
than to supply scarcity.
“But then this superfecundity, though of great occasional
use and importance, exceeds the ordinary capacity of nature
49 receive and support its progeny. All superabundance
supposes destruction, or must destroy itself. Perhaps there
is no species of terrestrial animals whatever, which would
not overrun the earth, if it were permitted to multiply in
perfect safety ; or of fish, which would not fill the ocean : at
least, if any single species were left to their natural increase
without disturbance or restraint, the food of other species
would be exhausted by their maintenance. It is necessary,
therefore, that the effects of such prolific faculties be cur-
tailed. In conjunction with other checks and limits, all sub-
servient to the same purpose, are the thinnings which take
place among animals, by their action upon one another. In
some instances we ourselves experience, very directly, the
‘use of these hostilities. One species of insects rids us of
another species ; or reduces their ranks. A third species
perhaps keeps the second within bounds: and birds or liz-
ards are a fence against the inordinate increase by which
even these last might infest us. In other, more numerous,
and possibly more important instances, this disposition of
things, although less necessary or useful to us, and of course
less observed by us, may be necessary and useful to certain
other species ; or even for the preventing of the loss of cer-
tain species from the universe: a misfortune which seems
io be studiously guarded against. Though there may be
the appearance of failure in some of the details of nature’s
works, in her great purposes there never are. Her species
never fail. The provision which was originally made for
continuing the replenishment of the world, has proved itself
to be effectual through a long succession of ages.
What further shows, that the system of destruction
amongst animals holds an express relation to the system of
fecundity ; that they are parts indeed of one compensatory

See, Sh

_ THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 269...

scheme; is, that, in each species, the fecundity bears a
proportion to the smallness of the animal, to the weakness,
to the shortness of its natural term of life, and to the
‘dangers and enemies by which it is surrounded. An ele-
phant produces but one calf: a butterfly lays six hundred
eggs. Birds of prey seldom produce more than two eggs:
the sparrow tribe, and the duck tribe, frequently sit upon
a dozen In Pre rivers, we meet with a thousand minnows.
for one pike; in the sea, a million of herrings for a single
shark. Compensation obtains throughout. Defenceless-
ness and devastation are repaired by fecundity.

We have dwelt the longer upon these considerations, be-
cause the subject to which they apply, namely, that of ani-
mals devouring one another, forms the chief, if not the only
instance, in the works of the Deity, of an economy, stamp-
ed by marks of design, in which the character of utility can
be called in question. The case of venomous animals is of
much inferior consequence to the case of prey, and, in some
degree, is also included under it. To both cases it is prob-
able that many more reasons belong, than those of which
we are in possession.

Our jirsé proposition, and that which we have hitherto
been defending, was, ‘ that in a vast plurality of instances,
in which contrivance is perceived, the design of the contri-
vance is beneficial.”

Our second proposition is, “that the Deity has added
pleasure to animal sensations, beyond what was necessary
for any other purpose, or when the purpose, so far as it was
necessary, might have been effected by the operation of
pain.’

This a atiudh may be thus explained. The capaci-
ties, which, according to the established course of nature,
“are necessary to the support or preservation of an animal,
however manifestly they may be the result of an organiza-
tion contrived for the purpose, can only be deemed an act
or a part of the same will, as that which decreed the exis-
tence of the animal Hoel: because, whether the creation
proceeded from: a benevolent or a malevolent being, these
capacities must have been given, if the animal existed at
all. Animal properties therefore, which fall under this de-
scription, do not sirictly prove the goodness of God. They
may prove the existence of the Deity ; ; they may prove a
high degree of power and intelligence ; but they do not
prove his goodness: forasmuch as they. must have been

270 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

found in any creation which was capable of continuance,
although it is possible to suppose, that such a creation might
have been produced by a being, whose views rested ’ _
misery.

But there is a class of properties, which may be said "
be superadded from an intention expressly directed to hap-
piness ; ; an intention to give a happy existence distinct from
the general intention of providing the means of existence ;
and that is, of the capacities for pleasure, in cases, where-
in, so far as the conservation of the individual -or of the
species is concerned, they were not wanted; or wherein
the purpose might have been secured by the operation of
pain. ‘The provision which is made ofa variety of objects,
not necessary to life, and ministering only to our pleasures :
and the properties given to the necessaries of life themselves,
- by which they contribute to pleasure as well as preserva-

tion, show a further design, than that of giving existence.”

A single instance will make all this clear. Assuming
the necessity of food for the support of animal life, it is re-
quisite that the animal be provided with organs, fitted for
the procuring, receiving, and digesting of its food. ‘It may
be also necessary that the animal be impelled by its sensa-
tions to exert its organs. But the pain of hunger would do
all this. Why add pleasure to the act of eating ; sweetness
and relish to food? Why a new and appropriate sense
for the perception of the pleasure? Why should the juice
of a peach applied to the palate, affect the part so different-
ly from what it does when rubbed upon the palm of the
hand? This is a constitution, which, so far as appears to
me, can be resolved into nothing but the pure benevolence
of the Creator. Eating is necessary ; but the pleasure at-
tending it is not necessary : and that this pleasure, depends
not only upon our being in possession of the sense of taste,
which is different from every other, but upon a particular
state of the organ’ in which it resides, a felicitous -adapta-
tion of the organ to the object, will be confessed by any
one, who may happen to have experienced that vitiation of.
taste which frequently occurs in fevers, when every taste is
‘irregular, and every one bad.

In mentioning the gratifications of the palate, it may be
said that we have made choice of a trifling example. Iam

*See this topic considered in Dr. Balguy’s treatise upon the Divine
Benevolence. This excellent author, first, I think, proposed it; and
nearly in the terms in which it ishere stated. Some other obser vations,
also, under this head, are taken from that treatise.

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. Q7h

not of that opinion. They afforda share of enjoyment to
man; but to brutes, I believe, that they are of very great
importance. A horse at liberty passes a great part of his
waking hours in eating. ‘To the ox, the sheep, the deer, \
and other ruminating animals, the pleasure is doubled. ,
Their whole time almost is divided between browsing upon
their pasture and chewing their cud. Whatever the pleas-
ure be, it is spread over a large portion of their existence.
If there be animals, such as the lupous fish, which swallow
their prey whole, and at once, without any time, as it should
seem, for either drawing out, or relishing, the taste in the
mouth, is it an improbable conjecture, that the seat of taste
with them is in the stomach; or, at least, that a sense of .
pleasure, whether it be taste or not, accompanies the disso-
lution of the food in that receptacle, which dissolution in
general is carried on very slowly? If this opinion be right,
they are more than repaid for their defect of palate. The
feast lasts as long as the digestion.

In seeking for. argument we need not stay to insist upon
the comparative importance of our example ; for the observa-
tion holds equally of all, or of three at least, of the other
senses. ‘The necessary purposes-of hearing might have
been answered without harmony; of smell, without fra-
grance ; of vision, without beauty. Now, “If the Deity
had been indifferent about our happiness or misery, we must
impute to our good fortune (as all design by this supposition
is excluded) both the capacity of our senses to receive pleas-
ure, and the supply of external objects fitted to excite it.”
I allege these as two felicities, for they are different things,
yet both necessary: the sense being formed, the objects
which were applied to it, might not have suited it; the ob-
jects being fixed, the sense might not have agreed with them.
A coincidence is here required which no accident can ac-
count for. There are three possible suppositions upon the
subject, and no more. ‘The first, that the sense, by its original
constitution, was made to suit the object; the second, that the
object, by-original constitution, was made to suit the sense :
the third, that the sense is so constituted, as to be able, either
universally, or within certain limits, by habit and familiar-
ity to render every object pleasant. Whichever of these
suppositions we adopt, the effect evinces, on the part of the
Author of nature, a studious benevolence. If the pleasures
which we derive from any of our senses, depend upon an
original congruity between the sense and the properties
perceived by it, we know by experience, that the adjust-

py (4 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

ment demanded, with respect to the qualities which were
conferred upon the objects that surround us, not only choice
and selection, out of a boundless variety of possible qualities
with which these objects might have been endued, but a pro-
portioning also of degrec, because an excess or defect of in-
‘tensity spoils the perception, as much almost as an error
in the kind and nature of the quality. Likewise the de-
gree of dulness or acuteness in the sense itself, is no arbi-
trary thing; but in order to preserve the congruity here
spoken of, requires to be in an exact or near corresponden-

cy with the strength of the impression. ‘The dulness of

the senses forms the complaint of old age. Persons in fe-
vers, and, I believe, in most maniacal cases, experience
great torment from their preternatural acuteness. An in-
creased, no less than an impaired sensibility, induces a state
of disease and suffering.

The docirine of a specific congruity between animal
senses and their objects, is strongly favoured, by what is ob-
served of insects in the election of their food. Some of these
will feed upon one kind of plant or animal, and upon ne
other : some caterpillars upon the cabbage alone ; some up-
on the black currant alone. The species of caterpillar
which eats the vine, will starve upon the elder; nor will
that which we find upon fennel, touch the rosebush. Some
insects confine themselves to two or three kinds of plants
or animals. Some again show so strong a preference, as to
afford reason to believe that, though they may be driven by
hunger to others, they are led by the pleasure of taste, to a
few particular plants alone; and all this as it should seem,
independently of habit or imitation.

But should we accept the third hypothesis, and even car-
ry it so far as to ascribe every thing, which concerns the
question, to habit, (as in certain species, the human species
most particularly, there is reason to attribute something,)
we have then before us an animal capacity not less perhaps
to be admired, than the native congruities which the other
scheme adopts. It cannot be shown to result from any fix-
ed necessity in nature, that what is frequently applied to the
senses should of course become agreeable tothem. It is, so
far as it subsists, a power of accommodation, provided in
these senses by the Author of their structure, and forms a
part of their perfection.

In whichever way we consider the senses, they appear to
be specific gifts, ministering, not only to preservation, but
to pleasure. Bat what we usually call the senses are prob:

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 273

ably themselves far from being the only vehicles of enjoy-
ment, or the whole of our constitution, which is calculated
for the same purpose. We have many internal sensations
of the most agreeable kind, hardly reterrible to any of the
fiye senses. Some physiologists have holden, that all secre-
tion is pleasurable: and that the complacency, w which in
health, without any external, assignable object to excite it,

we Beri from life itself, is the effect of our secretions go-
ing on well within us. All this may be true: but, if true,
what reason can be assigned for it, except the will of the
Creator? It may reasonably be asked, why is any thing a
pleasure? and I know of no answer which can be returned
to the question, but that which refers it to appointment.
We can give no account whatever of our pleasures in the
simple and original perception ; and even, when physical
sensations are assumed, we can seldom account for them in
the secondary and complicated shapes, in which they take
the name ofdiversions. I never yet met with a sportsman
who could tell me in what the sport consisted ; who could
resolve it into its principle, and state that principle. I have
been a great follower of fishing myself, and in its cheerful
solitude have passed some of the happiest hours of a suffi-
ciently happy life ; but to this moment, I could never trace
out the source of the pleasure which it afforded me.

The “ quantum in rebus inane!” whether applied to our
amusements, or to our graver pursuits. (to which, in truth,
it sometimes equally belo ags,) 1s always an unjust com-
plaint. If trifles engage, and if trifles make us happy, the
true reflection suggested by the experiment, is upon the
tendency of nature “to gratification and enjoyment; which
is, in other words, the goodness of its Author towards his
sensitive creation.

Rational natures also, as such, exhibit qualities which
help to confirm the truth of our position ‘The degree of
understanding found in mankind, ts usually much greater
than what is necessary for mere preservation. The pleasure
of choosing for themselves, and of prosecuting the object of
their choice, should seem to be an original source of enjoy-
ment. The pleasures received from things, great, beauti-
ful, or new, from imitation or from the liberal arts, are, in
some measure, not only superadded, but unmixed gratifi- -
cations, having no pains to balance them.*

* Balguy on the Divine Benevolence.

Z 2

WA THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

I do not know whether our attachment to property be

not something more than the mere dictate of reason, or even —

than the mere effect of association. Property communi-
cates a charm to whatever is the object of it. It is the first
of our abstract ideas; it cleaves to us the closest and the
longest. It endears to the child its plaything, to the peas-
ant his cottage, to the landholder his estate. It supplies
the place of prospect and scenery. Instead of coveting the
beauty of distant situations, 1t teaches every man to find it
in his own. It gives boldness and grandeur to plains and
fens, tmge and colouring to clays and fallows.

All these considerations come in aid of our second prop-
osition. ‘The reader will now bear in mind what our two
propositions were. ‘They were, firstly, that, in a vast plu-
rality of instances, in which contrivance is perceived, the
design of the contrivance is beneficial: secondly, that the
Deity has added pleasure to anima! sensations beyond what
was necessary for any other purpose ; or when the purpose,
so far as it was necessary, might have been effected by the
operation of pain.

Whilst these propositions can be maintained, we are au-
thorized to ascribe to the Deity the character of benevo-
lence : and what is benevolence at all, must in him be 77
finite benevolence, by reason of the infinite, that is to say,
the incalculably great number of objects, upon which it is
exercised.

Or the orIGIN OF EVIL no universal solution has been
discovered : I mean no sulution which reaches to all cases
of complaint. The most comprehensive is that which
arises from the consideration of general rules. We may, 1
think, without much difficulty, be brought to admit the four
following points: first, that important advantages may ac-
crue to the universe from the order of nature proceeding ac-
cording to general laws: secondly, that general laws, how-
ever well set and constituted, often thwart and cross one
another: thirdly, that from these thwartings and crossings
frequent particular inconveniences will arise: and fourth-
ly, that it agrees with our observation to. suppose, that
some degree of these inconveniences takes place in the
works of nature. ‘These points may be allowed; and it
may also be asserted that the general laws with which we
are acquainted, are directed to beneficial ends. On the
other hand, with many of these laws we are not acquaint-
ed at all, or we are totally unable to trace them in their

a LE

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 275

branches atid i in their operation : the effect of whieh i igno-
rance is, that they cannot be of importance to us as meas-
ures by which to regulate our conduct. ‘The conservation
ef them may be of importance in other respects, or to other
beings, but we are uninformed of their value or use: unin-
formed consequently when, and how far, they may or may not
be suspended, or their effects turned aside, by a presiding and
benevolent will, without incurring oreater evils than those
which would be avoided. The consideration, therefore, of
general laws, although it may concern the question of the
origin of evil very nearly, (which I think it does,) rests in
views disproportionate to our faculties, and in a knowledge
which we do not Sie It serves rather to account for the
obscurity of the subject, than to supply us with distinct an-
swers to our difficulties. However, whilst we assent to the
above stated propositions as principles, whatever uncertain-
ty we may find in the application, we lay a ground for be-
heving, that cases, of apparent evil, for which we can sug-
gest no particular reason, are governed by reasons, which —
are more general, which lie deeper in the order of second
causes, and which on that account are removed to a greater
distance from us.

The doctrine of imperfections, or, as it is called, of evils
of imperfection, furnishes an account, founded like the
former, in views of universal nature. ‘The doctrine is
briefly this. It is probable that creation may be better re-
plenished, by sensitive beings of different sorts, than by
sensitive beings all of one sort. It is likewise probable, that
it may be better replenished, by different orders of beings
rising one above another in gradation, than by beings pos-
sessed of equal degrees of perfection. Now a gradation of
such beings implies a gradation of imperfections. No class
can justly complain of the imperfections which belong to its
place in the scale, unless it were allowable for it to com-
plain, that a scale of being was appointed in nature: for
which appointment there appear to be reasons of wisdom
and goodness.

Inlike manner , finiteness, or what is resolvable into finite-
ness, in inanimate subjects, can never be a just subject of
complaint, because, if it were ever so, it would be always
so: we mean, that we can never reasonably demand that
things should be larger or more, when the same demand
might be made, whatever the quantity or number was.

And to mé it seems, that the sense of mankind has so
far acquiesced in these reasons, as that we seldom complain

f

276 HE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

of evils of this class, when we clearly perceive them to be
such. What I have to add therefore is, that we ought not
to complain of some other evils, which stand upon the same
foot of vindication as evils of confessed imperfection. We
never complain that the globe of our earth is too small : nor
should we complain, were it even much smaller. But
where is the difference to us, between a less globe, and a
part of the present being unimhabitable? The inhabitants
of an island, may be apt enough to murmur at the sterility
of some parts of it, against its rocks, or sands, or swamps;
but no one thinks himself authorized to murmur, simply .
because the island is not larger than it is. Yet these are
the same griefs.

The above are the two metaphysical answers which have
been given to this great question. They are not the worse
for being metaphysical, provided they be founded, (which I
think, they are,) in right reasoning ; but they are of a na-
ture too wide to be brought under our survey ; and it is of
ten difficult to apply them in the detail. Our speculations,
therefore, are perhaps better employed when they confine
themselves within a narrower circle.

The observations which follow are of this more limited,
but more determinate kind.

Of bodily pain the principal observation, no doubt, is,
that which we have already made, and already dwelt upon,
viz. “ that itis seldom the object of contrivance ; that, when
it is so, the contrivance rests ultimately in good.”

To which however may be added, that the annexing of
pain to the means of destruction is a salutary provision : in-
asmuch as it teaches vigilance and caution; both gives no-
tice of danger, and excites those endeavours which may be
necessary to preservation. ‘The evil consequence, which
sometimes arises from the want of that umely intimation of
danger which pain gives, is known to the inhabitants of
cold countries by the example of frost-bitten limbs. “I have
conversed with .patients who had lost fingers and toes by
this cause. They have in general told me, that they were
totally unconscious of any local uneasiness at the time.
Some I have heard declare, that, whilst they were about
their employment, neither their situation, nor the state of
the air, was unpleasant. They felt no pain, they suspect-
ed no mischief, till, by the application of warmth, they dis-
covered, too late, the fatal injury which some of their ex-
tremities had suffered. I say that this shows the use of pain,
and that we stand in need of sucha monitor. I believe

‘THE GOODNESS OF THE DBITY. 277

also that the use extends further than we suppose, or can
now trace; that to disagreeable sensations, we, and all an-
imals, owe, or have owed, many habits of action which are
salutary, but which are become so familtar as not easily to
_ be referred to their origin.

Pain also itself is not without its al/eviations. It may be
violent and frequent; but it is seldom both violent and long
continued : and its pauses and intermissions become posi-
tive pleasures. It has the power of shedding a satisfaction
over intervals of ease, which, I believe, few enjoyments ex-
ceed. A manresting from a fit of the stone or gout, is, for
the time, in possession of feelings which undisturbed health
cannot impart. They may be dearly bought, but still they
are to be set against the price. And, indeed, it depends
upon, the duration and urgency of the pain, whether they be
dearly bought or not. Iam far from being sure, that a man
is not a gamer by suffering a moderate interruption of bod-
ily ease for a couple of hours out of the four-and-twenty.
‘Two very common observations favour this opinion : one is,
that remissions of pain call forth, from those who experi-
ence them, stronger expressions of satisfaction and of grati-
tude towards both the author and the instruments of their
relief, than are excited by advantages of any other kind:
the second is, that the spirits of sick men do not sink in
proportion to the acuteness of their sufferings ; but rather
appear to be roused and supported, not by pain, but by the
high degree of comfort which they derive from its cessa-
tion, or even its subsidency, whenever that occurs: and
which they taste with a relish, that diffuses some portion of
mental complacency over the whole of that mixed state of
sensations in which disease has placed them.

In connexion with bodily pain may be considered bodily
disease, whether painful or not. Few diseases are fatal.
T have ‘before me the account of a dispensary in the neigh-
bourhood which states six years’ experience as follows:
“admitted 6,420—cured 5,476—dead 234.” And this I
suppose nearly to agree with what other similar institutions
exhibit. Now in all these cases, some disorder must have
been felt, or the patients would not have applied for a rem-
edy ; yet we see how Jarge a proportion of the maladies
which were brought forward, have either yielded to proper
treatment, or, what is more ‘probable, ceased of their own
accord. We owe these frequent recoveries, and, where re-
coyery does not take place, this patience of the human com-
stitution under many of the distempers by which it is visit-

278 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

ed, to two benefactions of our nature. One is, that she
works within certain limits; allows ofa certain latitude,
within which health may be preserved, and within the con-
fines of which it only suffers a graduated diminution. Dif-
ferent quantities of food, different degrees of exercise, dif-
ferent portions of sleep, different states of the atmosphere,
are compatible with the possession of health. So likewise
is it with the secretions and excretions, with many internal
functions of the body, and with the state, probably, of most
of its internal organs. They may vary considerably, not
only without destroying life, but without occasioning any
high degree of inconveniency. ‘The other property of our
nature to which we are still more beholden, is its constant
endeavour to restore itself, when disordered, to its regular
course. The fluids of the body appear to possess a power
of separating and. expelling any noxious substance which
may have mixed itself with them. This they do, in erup-
tive fevers, by a kind of despumation, as Sydenham calls
it, analogous In some measure to the intestine action by
which fermenting liquors work the yeast tothe surface. The
solids, on their part, when their action is obstructed, not
only resume that action, as soon as the obstruction is remov-
ed, but they struggle with the impediment: they take an
action as near to the true one, as the difficulty and the
disorganization, with which they have to contend, will al-
low of.

Of mortal diseases, the great use is to reconcile us to
death. The horror of death proves the value of life. But
it is in the: power of disease to abate, or even extinguish
this horror ; which it does in a wonderful manner, and, of-
tentimes, by a mild and imperceptible gradation. Every
man who has been placed ina situation to observe it, 1s
surprised with the change which has been wrought in him-

self, when he compares the view which he entertains of

death upon a sick bed, with the heart-sinking dismay with
which he should some time ago have met it in health.

There is no similitude between the sensations of a man

led to execution, and the calm expiring of a patient at the
close of his disease. Death to him is only the last of a long
train of changes : in his progress through which, it is possi-
ble that he may experience no shocks or sudden transitions.

Death itself, asa mode of removal and of succession, is
so connected with the whole order of our animal world, that

almost every thing in that world must be changed, to be —

able to do without it. It may seem likewise impossible to

\

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. | - 279

‘separate the fear of death from the enjoyment of life, or
the perception of that fear from rational natures. Brutes
are ina great measure delivered fromiall anxiety on this '
account by the inferiority of their faculties : or rather they
seem to be armed with the apprehension of death just suf-
ficiently to put them upon the means of preservation, and>
no further. But would a human being wish to purchase this
immunity by the loss of those mental powers which enable
him to look forward to the future ?

Death implies separation; and the loss of those whom
we love must necessarily be accompanied with pain. 'To
the brute creation, nature seems to have stepped in with
some secret provision for their relief, under the rupture of
their attachments. In their instincts towards their offspring
and of their offspring to them, I have often been surprised
to observe, how ardently they love, and how soon they for-
get. The pertinacity of human sorrow (upon which time
also, at length, lays its softening hand) is probably, there-
fore, in some manner connected with the qualities of our
rational or moral nature. One thing however Is clear, viz.
that it is better that we should possess affections, the sources
of so many virtues and so many joys, although they be
exposed to the incidents of life, as well asthe interruptions

‘of mortality, than, by the want of them, be reduced to a

state of selfishness, apathy, and quietism. ‘

Of other external evils (still confining ourselves to
what are called physical or natural evils) a considerable
part come within the scope of the following observation.
The great principle of human satisfaction is engagement.
It is a most just distinction, which the late Mr. ‘Tucker has
dwelt upon so largely in his works, between pleasures in
which we are passive, and pleasures in which we are ac-
tive. And, I believe, every attentive observer of human
life will assent to his position, that, however grateful the
sensations may occasionally be in which we are passive, it
is not these, but the latter class of our pleasures, which con-
stitute satisfaction; which supply that regular stream of
moderate and miscellaneous enjoyments, in which happi-
ness, as distinguished from voluptuousness, consists. Now
for rational occupation, which is, in other words, for the
very material of contented existence, there would be no place
left, if either the things with which we had to, do were ab-
solutely impracticable to our endeavours, or if they were too
obedient to our uses. A world furnished with advantages
on one side, and beset with difficulties, wants, and incon-

280 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. ;
ine Be,
veniencies on the other, is the proper abode of free, ration-

al, and active natures, being the fittest to stimulate and ex-
ercise their faculties. The very refractoriness of the ob-

jects they have to deal with contributes to this purpose.
A world in which nothing depended upon ourselves, how-
ever it might have suited an imaginary race of beings, would
not have suited mankind. Their skill, gies) mdustry ;
_ their various arts, and their best attainments, from the ap-
plication of which they draw, if not their highest, their most
permanent gratifications, would be insignificant, if things
could be eitner mouided by our volitions, or, of their own
accord, conformed themselves to our views and wishes.
Now it is in this refractoriness that we discern the seed and
principle of phystcal evil, as far as it arises from that which
is external to us.

Civil evils, or the evils of civil life, are mulek more easily

disposed of than physical evils ; because they are, in truth,
of much less magnitude, and also because they result bya
kind of necessity, not only from the constitution of our na-
ture, but from a part of that constitution which no one
would wish to see altered. The case is this. Mankind
will in every country breed up to a certain point of distress.
That point may be different in different countries or ages
according to the established usages of life in each. It will also
shift upon the scale, so as to admit of a greater or less number
ef inhabitants, according as the quantity of provision which
is either produced in the country or supplied to it from other
countries may happen to vary. But there must always be such
a point, and the species will alweys breed up to it. The or-
der of generation proceeds by something likea geometrical
progression. ‘The increase of provision, under circumstan-
ces even the most advantageous, can only assume the form
of an arithmetic series. Whence it follows, that the pop-
ulation will always overtake the provision, will pass beyond
the line of plenty, and will continue to increase till check-
ed, by the difficulty of procuring subsistence.* Such diffi-
culty, therefore, along with Jts attendant circumstances,
must be found in every old country ; and these circumstan-
ces constitute what we call poverty, which, necessarily,
imposes labour, servitude, restraint.

It seems impossible to people a country with inhabitants
who shall be all in easy circumstances. For suppose the
thing to be done, there would be such marrying and giving

in marriage amongst them, as would in a few years change

* See a statement of this subject, in a late treatise upon population.

q
f
'

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. QRY

the face of affairs entirely ; i. e. as would increase the con-
sumption of those articles, which supplied the natural or
habitual wants of the country, to such a degree of scarcity,
as must leave the greatest part of the inhabitants unable to
procure them without toilsome endeavours, or, out of the dif-
ferent kinds of these articles, to procure any kind except that
which was most easily produced. And this, in fact, de-
scribes the condition of the mass of the community in all
countries; a condition unavoidably, as it should seem, re-
sulting from the provision which is made in the human, in
common with all animal constitutions, for the perpetuity
and multiplication of the species.

It need not however dishearten any endeavours for the
public service, to know that population naturally treads up-
on the heels of improvement. If the condition of a people
be meliorated, the consequence will be either that the mean
happiness will be increased, or a greater number partake of
it; or, which is most likely to happen, that both effects will
take place together. There may be limits fixed by nature
to both, but they are limits not yet attained, nor even ap-
proached, in any country of the world. ,

And when we speak of limits at all, we have respect on-

' ly to provisions for animal wants. There are sources, and
means, and auxiliaries, and augmentations of human hap-
piness, communicable without restriction of numbers; as
capable of being possessed by a thousand persons, as by
one. Such are those which flow from a mild, contrasted
with a tyrannic government, whether civil or domestic ; those
which spring from religion; those which grow out of a
sense of security; those which depend upon habits of vir-
tue, sobriety, moderation, order; those, lastly, which are
found in the possession of well directed tastes and desires,
compared with the dominion of tormenting, pernicious, con-
tradictory, unsatisfied, and unsatisfiable passions.

The distinctions of civil life are apt enough to be re-
garded as evils, by those who sit under them: but in my
opinion, with very little reason.

In the first place the advantages which the higher con-
ditions of life are supposed to confer, bear no proportion in-
value to the advantages which are bestowed by nature.
The gifts of nature always surpass the gifts of fortune. How
much, for example, is activity better than attendance ; beau-
ty, than dress ; appetite, digestion, and tranquil bowels, than
all the studies of cookery, or than the most costly compila-
tion of forced or farfetched dainties ?

AA

IS2 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. SAM

Nature has a strong tendency to equalization. Habit,
the instrument of nature, is a great leveller; the familiari-
ty which it induces, taking off the edge both of our pleasures
and our sufferings. Indulgencies which are habitual keep
us in ease, and cannot be carried much turther. So that,
with respect to the gratifications of which the senses are
capable, the difference is by no means proportionable to the
apparatus. Nay, so far as superfluity generates fastidious-
ness, the difference 1s on the wrong side.

it is not necessary to contend, that the advantages de-
rived from wealth are none, (under due regulations they
are certainly considerable) but that they are not greater than
they ought to be. Money is the sweetener of human toil,
the substitute for coercion, the reconciler of labour with

liberty. It is, moreover, the stimulant of enterprise in all -

projects and undertakings, as well as of diligence in the
most beneficial arts and employments. Now did affluence,
when possessed, contribute nothing, to happiness, or noth-
ing beyond the mere supply of necessaries ; and the secret
should come to be discovered ; we might be in danger of
losing great part of the uses, which are, at present, derived
to us through this important medium. Not only would the
tranquillity of social life be put in peril by the want of a
motive to attach men to their private concerns ; but the sa-
tisfaction which all men receive from success in their res-
pective occupations, which collectively constitutes the great
mass of human comfort, would be done away in its very
principle.

With respect to station, as it is distinguished from rich-
es; whether it confer authority over others; or be invested
with honours which apply solely to sentiment and imagin-
ation, the trath is, that what is gained by rising through
the ranks of life, is not more than sufficient to draw forth
the exertions of those who are engaged in the pursuits which
ead to advancement, and which, in general, are such as
ought to be encouraged. Distinctions of this sort are sub-

jects much more of competition than of enjoyment; andin~

that competition their use consists. It is not, as hath been
rightly observed, by what the Lord Mayor feels in his coach,
but by what the apprentice feels who gazes at him, that the
public is served.

As we approach the summits of human: greatness, the
comparison of good and evil, with respect to personal com-
‘fort,becomes still more problematical ; ; even allowing toam-
bitien allits pleasures, The peet asks, ‘‘ What is orandeur,

ee

A ,
THE GOODNESS OF FHE DEIFY. 283

what is power?” The philosopher answers, ‘‘ Constraint
and plague ; et in maxima quaque fortuna minimum licere.”
One very common error misleads the opinion of mankind
upon this head, viz. that, universally, authority is pleasant,
submission painful. In the general course of human affairs,
the very reverse of this is nearer to the truth. Command
is anxiety, obedience ease.

Artificial distinctions sometimes promote real equality.
Whether they be hereditary, or be the homage paid to office, |
or the respect attached by public opinion to particular pro-
fessions, they serve to confront that grand and unavoidable
distinction which arises-from property ; and which is most
overbearing where there is no other. it is of the nature of
property, not only to be irregularly distributed, but to rua
into large masses. Public laws should be so constructed as
to favour its diffusion as much as they can. But all that
can be done by laws, consistently with that degree of gav-
ernment over his proverty which ought to be left to the sub-
jeet, will not be sufficient to counteract this tendency.
‘There must always therefore be the difference between rich
and poor: and this difference will be the more grinding,
when no pretension is allowed to be set up against it.

So that the ee if evils they must be calied, which
spring either from the necessary subordinations of civil life,
or from the distinctions which have, naturally, though not
necessarily, grown up ta most societies, so long as they are
unaccompanied by privileges injurious or oppressiv:- to the
rest of the community, are such, as may, even by the most
depressed ranks, be endured, with very little prejudice to
their comfort.

The mischiefs of which mankind are the occasion to one
another, by their private wickedness and cruelties ; by ty-
rannical exercises of power, by rebellions against just ‘author-
ity, by wars, by national jealousies and competitions opera-
ting to the destruction of their countries, or by other instan-
ees of misconduct either in individuals or societies, are all
to be resolved into the character of man, asa free agent.
Free agency in its very essence contains liability to abuse.
Yet, if you deprive man of his free agency, you subvert his
mature. You may have order from him and regularity, but
you put an end to his moral character, to virtue, to merit,
to accountableness, to the use indeed of reason. To which
must be added the observation, that even the bad qualities
of mankind have an origin in their good ones. 'The case is
#his. Hnman passions are either necessary to human wel-

284 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. !

fare, or capable of being made, and, in a great majority of
instances, in fact made, conducive to its happiness) ‘These
passions are strong and general, and, perhaps, would not
answer their purpose unless they were so. But strength and
generality, when it is expedient that particular circum-
stances should be respected, become, if left to themselves,
excess and misdirection. From which excess and misdi-
rection the vices 'of mankind (the causes no doubt, of much
misery) appearto spring. ‘This account, whilst it shows us
the principle of vice, shows us, at the same time, the prov-
ince of reason and of self-government ; the want also of ev-
ery support which can be procured to either from the aids
of religion; and that, without having recourse to any na-
tive gratuitous malignity in the human constitution. Mr.
Hume in his posthumous dialogues, asserts, indeed, of ¢dle-
ness or aversion to labour, (which he states to lie at the root
of a considerable part of the evils which mankind suffer,)
that it is simply and merely bad. But how does he distin-
guish idleness from the love of ease? or is he sure, that the
love of ease in individuals is not the chief foundation of so-
cial tranquillity? It will be found, I believe, to be true,

that in every community there is a ‘large class of its mem-
bers, whose idleness is the best quality about them, being
the corrective of other bad ones. If it were possible, in
every instance, to give a right determination to industry,
we could never have too much of it. But this is not possi-
ble, ifmen are to be free. And without this, nothing would
be so dangerous, as an incessant, universal, indefatigable
activity. In the civil world as well as in the material, it is
the vis tnerti@ which keeps things in their places.

Natura, Turotoay has ever been pressed with this
question. Why, under the regency of a supreme and be-
nevolent will, should there be, in the world, so much as
there is, of the appearance of chance ?

The question in its whole compass lies beyond our reach,
but there are not wanting, as in the origin of evil, answers
which seem to have considerable weight in particular cases,
and also to embrace a considerable number of cases.

I. There must be chance in the midst of design: by
which we mean, that events which are not designed, ne-
cessarily arise from the pursuit of events which are design-
ed One man travelling to York meets another man trav~

_,PHE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 285,

_ elling to London, ‘Their meeting is by chance, is acciden-
tal, and so would be called and reckoned, though the jour-
-meys which produced the meeting, were both of them, un-
dertaken with design and from-deliberation. The meeting,
though accidental, was nevertheless hypothetically necessa-
ry,/(which is the only sort of necessity that is intelligible ;)
for, if the two journeys were commenced at the time, pur-
sued in the ,direction, and with the speed, in which and -
with which they were in fact begun and performed, the
meeting could not be avoided. There was not, therefore,
the less necessity in it for its being by chance. Again,
the meeting might be the most unfortunate, though the er-
rands, upon which each party set out upon his journey, |
were the most innocent or the most laudable. The by
effect may be unfavourable, without impeachment of the
‘proper purpose, for the sake of which, the train, from the
operation of which these consequences ensued, was put in
motion. Although no cause act without a good purpose,
ee consequences, like these, may be either good or
ad.

II. The appearance of chance will always bear a pro-
portion to the ignorance of the observer. The cast of a
die, as regularly follows the laws of motion, as the going of
a watch; yet, because we can trace the operation of those
Jaws through the works and movements of the watch, and
cannot trace them in the shaking and throwing of the die,
(though the laws be the same, and prevail equally in both
cases,) we call the turning up of the number of the die,
chance, the pointing of the index of the watch, machinery,
order, or by some name which excludes chance. It is the
same in those events which depend upon the will of a free
and rational agent. ‘The verdict of a jury, the sentence of
a judge, the resolution of an assembly, the issue of a con-
tested election, will have more or less of the appearance of
chance, might be more or less the subject of a wager, ac-
cording as we were less or more acquainted with the rea~
sons which influenced the deliberation. 'The difference
resides in the information of the observer, and not in the
thing itself; which, in all the cases proposed, proceeds

from intelligence, from mind, from counsel, from design.

Now when this one cause of the appearance of chance,
viz. the ignorance of the observer, comes to be applied te
the operations of the Deity, it 1s easy to foresee how fruit-
ful it must prove of difficulties, and of seeming confusion.

A a2

is

IRG ‘THE GOODNESS OF THE DEIPY.

It is only to think of the Deity to perceive, what variety of
objects, what distance of time, what extent of space and ae-
tion, his counsels may, or rather must, comprehend. Can.
it be wondered at, that, of the purposes which dwell in suck
a mind as this, so small a part should be known tous? It
is only necessary therefore to bear in our thought, that, in
proportion to the inadequateness of our information, ‘will be
the quantity, in the world, of apparent chance:

Ill. Ina great variety of cases, and of cases compre-
hending numerous subdivisions, it appears, for many rea-.
sons, to be better, that events rise up by chance, or, more
properly speaking, with the appearance of chance, than ac-
cording to any observable rule whatever. This is not sel-
dom the case even in human arrangements. Hach person’s
place and precedency ina public meeting may be deter-
mined by Jot. Work and labour may be allotted. Tasks
and burthens may be allotted.

Operumque laborem
Partibus equabut justis, aut sorte trahebat.

Military service and station may be allotted. The dis-
tribution of provision may be made by Joé, as i1 Is in a sail-
or’s mess; in some cases also, the distribution of favours
may be made by lot. In all these cases it seems to be ac-
knowledged, that there are advantages in permitting events
to chance, superior to those which would or could arise
from regulation. In all these cases also, though events
rise up in the way of chance, it 1s by appointment that they
elo so.

In other events, and such as are independent of human
will, the reasons tor this preference of uncertainty to rule
appear tobe still stronger. For example, it seems to be
expedient, that the period of human life should be wneertain.
Did mortality follow any fixed rule, it would produce a se-
curity in those that were ata distance from it, which would

lead to the greatest disorders, and a horror in those who -

approached it, similar to that which a condemned prisoner
feels on the night before his execution. But, that death be

uncertain, the young must sometimes die, as well asthe -|

eld. Also were deaths never sudden, they, who are in
health, would be too confident of life. The strong and the
active, who want most to be warned and checked, would
live without apprehension or restraint. On the other hand ;
were sudden deaths very frequent, the sense of constant
jeopardy would interfere too much with the degree of ease

‘RHE GOODNESS OF THE DEIVY. ~ 287

and enjoyment intended for us; and human life be teo pre,
earious for the business and interests which belong to. it.
' There could not be dependence either upon our own lives,
er the lives of those with whom we were connected, sufhi-
eient to carry on the regular offices of humansociety. The
manner, therefore, in which death is made to occur, con-
duces to the purposes.of admonition, without overthrowing
the necessary stability of human affairs. |

Disease being the forerunner of death, there is the same
reason for its attacks coming upon us’ under tiie appear-
ance of chance, as there is for uncertainty in the time of
death itself. | |

The seasons are a mixture of regularity and chance.
‘They are regular enough to authorize expectation, whilst
their being, in a considerable ‘degree, irregular, induces on
the part of the cultivators of the soil a necessity for person-
al attendance, for activity, vigilance, precaution. It is this
necessity which creates farmers; which divides the profit of
the soil between the owner and the occupier ; which, by
requiring expedients, by increasing employment, and by
rewarding expenditure, promotes agricultural arts and ag-
ricultural life, of all modes of life the best, being the most
conducive to health, to virtue, to enjoyment. | I believe it to
be found in fact, that where the soil is the most fruitful and
the seasons the most constant, there the condition of the
cultivators of the earth is the most depressed. Uncer-
tainty, therefore, has its use even to those who sometimes
complain of it the most. Seasons of scarcity themselves
are not without their advantage. They call forth new ex-
ertions; they set contrivance and ingenuity at work ; they
give birth to improvements in agriculture and economy ;
they promote the investigation and management of publie
resources.

Again; there are strong, intelligible reasons why there
should exist in human society great disparity of wealth
and station ; not only as these things are acquired in dif-
ferent degrees, but at the first setting out in life. In order,
for instance, to answer the various demands of civil life,
there ought to be amongst the members of every civil soci-
ety 4 diversity of education, which can only belong to an
original diversity of circumstances. ‘As this sort of dispar-
ity, which ought to take place from the beginning of life,
must, ex hypothesi, be previous to the merit or demerit of
the persons upon whom it falls, can it be better disposed of
than by chance? Parentage is that sort of chance: yet it

288 THE GOODNESS OF THE DPITY.

is the commanding circumstance, which in general fixes

each man’s place in civil life, along with every thing which
appertains to its distinctions. It may be the result of a
beneficial rule, that the fortunes or honours of the father
devolve upon the son ; and, as it should seem, ofa still more
necessary rule, that the low or laborious condition of the
parent be communicated to his family ; but with respect to
the successor himself, it is the drawing of a ticket in a lot-
tery. Inequalities, therefore, of fortune, at least the great-
est part of them, viz. those which attend us from our birth,
and depend upon our birth, may be left, as they are left, to
ehance, without any just cause for questioning the regency
of a Supreme Disposer of events.

But not only the donation, when by the necessity of the
ease they must be gifts, but even the acquirability of civil
advantages, ought perhaps, in a considerable degree, to lie
at the mercy of chance. Some would have all the virtuous
rich, or, at least, removed from the evils of poverty, with-
out perceiving, I suppose, the consequence, that all the poor
must be wicked. And how such a society could be kept
im subjection to government has not been shown ; for the
poor, that is, they who seek their subsistence by constant
manual labour, must still form the mass of the community ;
otherwise the necessary labour of life could not be carried
on; the work would not be done, which the wants of man-

kind in a state of civilization, and still more in a state of

refinement require to be done.

It appears to be also true, that the exigencies of social
life call not only for an original diversity of external circum-
stances, but for a mixture of different faculties, tastes, and
tempers. Activity and contemplation, restlessness and qui-
et, courage and timidity, ambition and contentedness, not
to say even indolence and dulness, are all wanted in the
world, all conduce to the well going on of human affairs,
just as the rudder, the sails, and the ballast of a ship, all
perform their part in the navigation. Now since these
characters require for their foundation, different original
talents, different dispositions, perhaps also different bodily
constitutions ; and since, likewise, it is apparently expedi-
ent, that they be promiscuously scattered amongst the dif-
ferent classes of society, can the distribution of talents, dis-
positions, and the constitutions upon which they depend, be
better made than by chance ?

The opposites of apparent chance, are constancy and
sensible interposition ; every degree of secret direction be~

?
OP

THD GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 289

ing consistent with it. Now of constancy, or of fixed and
known rules, we have seen in some cases the inapplicabili-
ty : and inconveniences, which we do not see, might attend
their application in other cases.

Of sensible interposition, we may be permitted to remark,
that a Providence, always and certainly distinguishable,
would be neither more nor less than miracles rendered fre-
quent and common. It is difficult to judge of the state
into which this would throw us. It is enough to say, that
it would cast us upon a quite different dispensation from
that under which we live. It would be a total and rad-
ical change. And the change would deeply affect, or per-
haps subvert, the whole conduct of human affairs. I can
readily believe, that, other circumstances being adapted to
it, such a state might be better than our present state.
It may be the state of other beings : it may be ours hereafter.
But the question with which we are now concerned is, how
far it would be consistent with our condition, supposing it
in other respects to remain as it is? And in this question
there seems to be reasons of great moment on the negative
side. For instance, so long as bodily labour continues, om
so many accounts, to be necessary for the bulk of mankind,
any dependency upon supernatural aid, by unfixing those
motives which promote exertion, or by relaxing those hab-
its which engender patient industry, might introduce negli-
gence, inactivity and disorder, into the most useful occupa-
tions of human life; and eae deteriorate the condition
of human life itself. |

As moral agents we should experience a still greater al-
teration, of which more will be said under the next article.

Although, therefore, the Deity, who possesses the power
of winding and turning, as he pleases, the course of causes
which issue from himself, do, in fact, interpose to alter or
intercept effects, which without such interposition, would
have taken place, yet it is by no means incredible, that his
Providence, which always rests upon final good, may have
made a reserve with respect to the manifestation of his in
terference, a part of the very plan which he has appointed
for our terrestrial existence, and a part conformable with,
or, in some sort, required by, other parts of the same plan.
It is at any rate evident, that a large and ample province
remains for the exercise of Providence, without its being
naturally perceptible by us ; because obscurity, when appli-
ed to the interruption of laws, bears a necessary proportion
fo the imperfection of our knowledge when applied to

290 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

!

the laws themselves, or rather to the effects, which these —
laws, under their various and incalculable combinations,
would of their own accord produce. And if it be said, that
the doctrine of divine Providence, by reason of the ambigu-
ity under which its exertious present themselves, can be
attended with no practical influence upon our conduct;
that, although we believe ever so firmly that there isa Prov-
idence, we must prepare, and provide, and act, as if there
were none; I answer, that this is admitted: and that we
further allege, that so to prepare, and so to provide, is con-
sistent with the most perfect assurance of the reality of a
Providence : and not only so, but that it is, probably, one ad-
vantage of the present state of our information, that our
provisions and preparations are not disturbed by it. Or if
at be still asked, of what use at all then is the doctrine, if it
neither alter our measures nor regulate our conduct? [ an-
swer again, that it is of the greatest use, but that, it 1s a
doctrine of sentiment and piety, not (immediately at least)
of action or conduct; that it applies to the consolation of
men’s minds, to their devotions, to the excitement of grat-
itude, the support of patience, the keeping alive and the
strengthening of every motive for endeavouring to please
our Maker; and that these are great uses.

Of all views under which human life has ever been con-
sidered, the most reasonable, in my judgment, is that which
regards it asa state of probation. If the course of the
world were separated from the contrivances of nature, I do
not know that it would be necessary to look for any other
account of it, than what, if it may be called an account, is
contained in the answer, that events rise up by chance.
But since the contrivances of nature decidedly evince inten-
#ion; and since the course of the world and the contrivan-
ees of nature have the same author ; we are, by the force
ef this connexion, led to believe, that the appearance, un-
der which events take place, is reconcilable with the sup-
position of design on the part of the Deity. It is enough -
that they be reconcilable with this supposition (and it is un-
doubtedly true, that they be reconcilable, though we cannot
reconcile them :) the mind, however, which contemplates
the works of nature, and, in those works, sees so much of
means directed to ends, of beneficial effects brought about
by wise expedients, of concerted trains of causes terminat-
ing in the happiest results; so much, in a word, of counsel,
intention, and benevolence: a mind, I say, drawn into the
habit of thoaght which these observations exeite, can hardly

THE GOOPNESS OF THE DEITY. 291

turn its view to the condition of our own species, without
endeavouring to suggest to itself some purpose, some de-
sign, for which the state in which we are placed is fitted,
and which it is made to serve. Now we assert the most
probable supposition to be, that it is a state of moral proba-
tion; and that many things in it suit with this hypothesis,
which suit no other. It is not a state of unmixed hap-
piness, or of happiness simply : it is not a state of designed
misery, or of misery simply : it is not a state of retribution :
it is notastate of punishment. It suits with none of these
suppositions. It accords much better with the idea of its
being a condition calculated for the production, exercise,
and improvement of moral qualities, with a view to a future
state, in which these qualities, after being so produced,
exercised and improved, may, by a new and more favour-
ing constitution of things, receive their reward, or become
their own. If it be said, that this is to enter upon a reli-
gious rather than a philosophical consideration, I answer,
that the name of religion ought to form no ‘objection, if it:
should turn out to be the case, that the more religious our
views are, the more probability they contain. The degree
of beneficence, of benevolent intention, and of power, ex-
ercised in the construction of sensitive beings, goes strongly
in favour, uot only of a creative, but of a continuing care,
-that is, of a ruling Providence. The degree of chance
which appears to prevail in the world requires to be recon-
ciled with this hypothesis. Now it is one thing to maintain
the doctrine of Providence along with that of a future:state,
and another thing without it. In my opinion the two doc-
trines must stand or fall together. For although more of
this apparent chance, may perhaps, upon other principles,
be accounted for, than is generally supposed, yet a future
state alone rectifies all disorders; and if it can be shown
that the appearance of disorder, is consistent with the uses
of life, as a preparatory state, or that in some respects it
promotes these uses, then, so far as this hypothesis may be
accepted, the ground of the difficulty is done away.
In the wide scale of human condition, there is not per-
haps one of its manifold diversities, which does not bear
upon the design here suggested. Virtue is infinitely various.
There is no situation in which a rational being is placed,
from that of the best instructed Christian, down to the con-
dition of the rudest barbarian, which affords not room for
moral agency ; for the acquisition, exercise, and display of
voluntary qualities, good and bad. ‘Health and. sickness,

292 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY: .

enjoyment and suffering, riches and poverty, knowledge
and ignorance, power and subjection, liberty and bondage,
civilization and barbarity, have all their offices and duties,
all serve for the formation of character ; for, when we speak
of a state of trial, it must be remembered, that characters
are not only tried, or proved, or detected, but that they are
generated also, and formed, by circumstances. The best
dispositions may subsist under the most depressed, the most
afflicted fortunes. A Wes: Indian slave, who, amidst his
wrongs, retains his benevolence, I for my part look upon,
as amongst the foremost of human candidates for the re-
wards of virtue. The kind master of such a slave, that is,
he, who, in the exercise of an inordinate authority, post-
pones, in any degree his own interest to his slaves’ comfort,
is likewise a meritorious character ; but still he is inferior
to hisslave. All however which I contend for, is, that these
destinies, opposite as they may be in every other view, are
both trials, and equally such. The observation may be
applied to every other condition ; to the whole range of
the scale, not excepting even its lowest extremity. Sava-
ges appear to us all alike; but it is owing to the distance
at which we view savage life, that we perceive in it no dis-
crimination of character. I make no doubt, but that moral
qualities, both good and bad, are called into action as much,
and that they subsist in as great a variety, in these inartificial
societies, as they are, or do. in polished life. Certain at least
it is,that the good or ill treatment which each individual meets
with, depends more upon the choice and voluntary conduct of
those about him, than it does, or ought to do, under regu-
lar civil institutions and the coercion of public laws. So
again, to turn our eyes to the other end of the scale, name-
ly, that part of it, which is occupied by mankind, enjoying
the benefits of learning, together with the lights of revela-
tion, there also, the advantage is all along probationary.
Christianity itself, I mean the revelation of christianity, is
not only a blessing, but a trial. It 1s one of the diversified
means by which the character is exercised; and they who
require of christianity, that the revelation of it should be
universal, may possibly be found to require, that one spe-
cies of probation should be adopted, if not to the exclu-
sion of others, at least to the narrowing of that variety
_which the wisdom of the Deity hath appointed to this part
of his moral economy.* bor

* The reader will observe, that I speak of the revelation of Christian-
ity as distinct from Christianity itself. The dispensation may already

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 293

- Now if this supposition be well founded ; that is, if it be

- true, that our ultimate, or most permanent happiness, will

depend, not upon the temporary condition into which we
are cast, but upon our behaviour in it; then is it a much
more fit subject of chance than we usually allow or ap-
prehend it to be, in what manner, the variety of external
circumstances, which subsists in the human world, is dis-—
tributed amongst the individuals of the species. "« This
life being a state of probation, it-is immaterial,” says Rous-
seau, “‘ what kind of trials we experience in it, provided
they produce their effects.” Of two agents, ‘who stand
indifferent to the moral Governor of the universe, one may
be exercised by riches, the other by poverty. The treat-
ment of these two shall appear to be very opposite, whilst
in truth it isthe same: for though in many respects there
be great disparity between the conditions assigned, in one
main article there may be none, viz. in that they are alike
trials: have both their duties and temptations, not less ar-
duous or less dangerous, in one case than the other: so that
if the final award follow the character, the original distribu-
tion of the circumstances under which that character is
formed, may be defended upon principles not only of jus-
tice but of equality. What hinders, therefore, but that man-
kind may draw lots for their condition ? They take their
portion of faculties and opportunities, as any unknown
cause, or concourse of causes, or as causes acting for other
purposes, may happen to set them out, but the event is gov-
erned by that which depends upon themselves, the applica-
tion of what they have received. In dividing the talents,

no rule was observed, none was necessary: in rewarding

the use of them, that of the most correct justice. The chief
difference at last appears to be, that the right use of more

talents; i. e. of a greater trust will be more highly reward-
ed than the right use of fewer talents, i. e. of a less trust.

And since, for other purposes, it is expedient, that there be an

inequality of concredited talents here, as well probably, as

an inequality of conditions hereafter, though all remuner-

be universal. That part of mankind which never heard of Christ’s

name, may nevertheless be redeemed, that is, be placed in a better con-

dition with respect to their future state, by his intervention ; may be the

objects of his benignity and intercession, as well as of the propitiatory

virtue of his passion. But this is not “ Natural Theology,” therefore
I will not dwell longer upon it.
BB

294 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

atory—can any rule, adapted to that inequality, be more
agreeable evento our apprehensions of distributive justice,
than this is ?

We have said, that the appearance of casualty, which
attends the occurrences and events of life, not only does
not interfere with its uses, as a state of probation, but that
it promotes these uses.

Passive virtues, of all others the severest and the most
sublime ; of all others, perhaps, the most acceptable to the
Deity ; would, it is evident, be excluded from a constitution,
in which happiness and misery regularly followed virtue
and vice. Patience and composure under distress, afflic-
tion and pain; a steadfast keeping up of our confidence in
God, and of our reliance upon his final goodness, at the
time when every thing present is adverse and discouraging ;
and, (what is no less difficult to retain) a cordial desire for
the happiness of others, even when we are deprived of our
own: these dispositions, which constitute, perhaps, the
perfection of our moral nature, would not have found their
proper office and object in a state of avowed retribution ;
and in which, consequently, endurance of evil would be
only submission to punishment.

Again; one man’s sufferings may be another man’s tri-
al. ‘The family of a sick parent is a school of filial piety.
The charities of domestic life, and not only these, but all
the social virtues, are called out by distress. But then,
misery, to be the proper object of mitigation, or of that be-
nevolence which endeavours to relieve, must be really or
apparently casual. It is upon such sufferings alone that
benevolence can operate. For were there no evils in the
world, but what were punishments, properly and intelligibly
such, benevolence would only stand in the way of justice.
Such evils, consistently with the administration of moral
government, could not be prevented or alleviated; that is to
say, could not be remitted in whole or in part, except by
the authority which inflicted them, or by an appellate or
superior authority. ‘This consideration, which is founded.
in our most acknowledged apprehensions of the nature of
penal justice, may possess its weight in the Divine councils.
Virtue perhaps is the greatest of all ends. In human be-
ings, relative virtues form a large part of the whole. Now
relative virtue presupposes, not only the existence of evil,
without which it could have no object, no material to work
upon, but that evils be, apparently at least, misfortunes ;

CONCLUSION. | 295

that is, the effects of apparent chance. It may be in pur-
suance, therefore, and in furtherance of the same scheme
of probation, that the evils of life are made so to present
themselves. }

I have already observed that, when we let in religious
considerations, we often let in light upon the difficulties of
nature. So in the fact now to be accounted for, the degree
of happiness, which we usually enjoy in this life, may be bet-
ter suited to a state of trial and probation, than a greater de-
gree would be. ‘The truth is, we are rather too much delight-
ed with the world, than too little. Imperfect, broken, and
precarious as our pleasures are, they are more than suff-
cient to attach us to the eager pursuit of them. A regard
to a future state can hardly keep its place as it is. If we
were designed, therefore, to be influenced by that regard,
might not a more indulgent system, a higher or more unin-
terrupted state of gratification, have interfered with the de-
sion? At least it seems expedient, that mankind should
be susceptible of this influence, when presented to them ;
that the condition of the world should not be such, as to
exclude its operation, or even to weaken it more than it
does. Ina religious view (however we may complain of
them in every other) privation, disappointment, and pao
are BCE without the most salutary tendencies.

rr @OO<1- ;
CHAPTER XXVII.
CONCLUSION.

In all cases, wherein the mind feels itself in danger of
being confounded by variety, itis sure to rest upon a few
strong points, or perhaps upon a single instance. Amongst
a multitude of proofs, it is one that does the business. If.
we observe in any argument, that hardly two minds fix up-
on the same instance, the diversity of choice shows the
strength of the argument, because it shows the number and
competition of the examples. There is no subject in which
the tendency to dwell upon select or single topics is so usu-
al, because there is no subject, of which, in its full extent,
the latitude is so great, as that of natural history applied to
the proof of an intelligent Creator. For my part, I take
my stand in human anatomy: and the examples of mechan-

296 CONCLUSION.

ism I should be apt to “draw out from the copious catalogue

which it supplies, are the pivot sae which the head turns,
the ligament within the socket of the hip joint, the pulley
or trochlear rauscles of the eye, the epiglottis, the bandages
which tie down the tendons of the wrist and instep, the slit

~ or perforated muscles at the hands and feet, the knitting of

the intestines to the mesentery, the course of the chyle into
the blood, and the constitution of the sexes as extended
throughout the whole of the animal creation. ‘To these
instances, the reader’s memory will go back, as they are
severally set forth in their places; there is not one of the
number which I do not think decisive; not one which is

‘not strictly mechanical: nor have I read or heard of any

solution of these appearances, which, in the smallest degree,
shakes the conclusion that we build upon them.

But, of the greatest part of those, who, either in this book
or any other, read arguments to prove the existence of a
God, it will be said, that they leave off only where they be-
gan; that they were never ignorant of this great truth, nev-
er doubted of it; that it does not therefore appear, what is
gained by researches from which no new opinion is learnt,
and upon the subject of which no proofs were wanted.
Now I answer, that, by znvestigatzon, the following points
are always gained, in favour of doctrines even the most gen-
erally acknowledged, (supposing them to be true,) viz. sta-
bility andimpression. Occasions will arise to try the firm-
ness of our most habitual opinions. - And, upon these occa-
sions, it is a matter of incalculable use to feel our founda-

tion ; to find a support in argument for what we had taken

up upon authority. In the present case, the arguments
upon which the conclusion rests, are exactly such, asa
truth of universal concern ought to rest upon. ef They are
sufficiently open to the views and capacities of the unlearn-
ed, at the same time that they acquire new strength and
lustre from the discoveries of the learned.” Ifthey had
been altogether abstruse and recondite, they would not have
found their way to the understandings of the mass of man- —
kind ; if they had been merely popular, they might have
wanted solidity.

But, secondly, what is gained by research in the stability
of our conclusion, is also gained from it in impression.
Physicians tell us, ‘that there is a great deal of difference
between taking a medicine, and the medicine getting into
the constitution. A difference not unlike which, ob-

CONCLUSION. . BOF
\ ‘
tains with respect to those great moral propositions, which
ought to form the directing principles of human conduct.
It is one thing to assent to a proposition of this sort, anoth-
er, and a very different thing, to have properly imbibed its
influence. I take the case to be this. Perhaps almost every
an living has a particular train of thought, into which his
hind glides and falls, when at leisure from the impressions
and ideas that occasionally excite it; perhaps, also, the
train of thought here spoken of, more than any other thing,
determines the character. It is of the utmost consequence,
therefore, that this property of our constitution be well reg-
ulated. Now itis by frequent or continued meditation upon
a subject, by placing a subject in different points of view,
by induction of particulars, by variety of examples, by ap-
plying principles to the solution of phenomena, by dwelling
upon proofs and consequences, that mental exercise is drawn
into any particular channel. Itis by these means, at least, .
that. we have any power over it. ‘The train of spontaneous
thought and the choice of that train, may be directed to
different ends, and may appear to be more or less judiciously
fixed according to the purpose, in respect of which we con-
sider it: but, in a moral view, I shall not, I believe, be con-
tradicted when I say, that, if one train of thinking be more
desirable than another, it is that which regards the:phenom-
ena of nature with a constant reference to a Supreme In-
telligent Author. ‘I'o have made this the ruling, the habit-
ual sentiment of our minds, is to have laid the foundation
of every thing which is religious. The world thence-
forth becomes a temple, and life itself one continued act of
adoration. ‘The change, is no less than this, that, whereas
formerly God was seldom in our thoughts, we can now
scarcely look upon any thing without perceiving its relation
to him. Every organized natural body, in the provisions
which it contains for its sustentation and propagation testi-
fies a care on the part of the Creator, expressly directed to
these purposes. We are on all sides surrounded by such
bodies ; examined in their parts, wonderfully curious ; com-
pared with one another, no less wonderfully diversified. So
that the mind, as well as the eye, may either expatiate in
variety and multitude, or fix itself down to the investiga-
tion of particular divisions of the science. And in either
case it will rise up from its occupation, possessed by the
subject, in a very en aur and with a very differ-
. B

298 . CONCLUSION.

ent degree of influence, from what a mere assent to any
verbal proposition which can be formed concerning the ex-
istence of the Deity, at least that merely complying assent
with which those about us are satisfied, and with which we
are too apt to apt to satisfy ourselves, will or can produce
upon the thoughts. More especially may this difference
be perceived, in the degree of admiration and of awe, with
which the Divinity is regarded, when represented to the
understanding by its own remarks, its own reflections, and
its Own reasonings compared with what is excited by any
language that can be used by others. ‘The works of nature
want only to be contemplated. When contemplated, they
have every thing in them which can astonish by their great-
ness ; for, of the vast scale of operation, through which our
discoveries carry us, at one end we see an intelligent Pow-
er arranging planetary systems, fixing, for instance, the
trajectory of Saturn, or constructing a ring of two hundred
thousand miles diameter, to surround his body, and be sus-
pended like a magnificent arch over the heads of his inhab-
Itants; and, at the other, bending a hooked tooth, concert-
ing and providing an appropriate mechanism, for the clasp-
ing and reclasping of the filaments of the feather of the hum-
ming bird. We have proof, not only of both these works
proceeding from an intelligent agent, but of their proceed-
ing from the same agent: for, in the first place, we can
trace an identity of plan, a connexion of system, from Sat-
urn to our own globe; and when arrived upon our globe,
we can, inthe second place, pursue the connexion through
all the organized, especially the animated, bodies which it
supports. Wecan observe marks of a common relation,
as well to one another, as to the elements of which their
habitation is composed. ‘Therefore one mind hath planned,
or et least hath prescribed a general plan for all these pro-
ductions. One Being has been concerned in all.

Under this stupendous Being we live. Our happiness,
our existence, is in his hands. All we expect must come
from him. Nor ought we to feel our situation insecure.
In every nature, and in every portion of nature, which we
can descry, we find attention bestowed upon even the mi-
nutest parts. ‘The hinges in the wings of an earwig, and
the joints of its antennz, are as highly wrought, as if the
Creator had nothing else to finish. We see no signs of
diminution of care by multiplicity of objects, or of distrac-

>

rd

CONCLUSION. ! | 299
/

tion of thought by variety. We have no reason to fear,
therefore, our being forgotten, or overlooked, or neglected.
The existence and character of the Deity, is, in every
view, the most interesting of all human speculations. Im
none, however, is it more so, than as it facilitates the be-
lief of the fundamental articles of Revelation. It is a step
to have it proved, that there must be something in the world

‘more than what we see. Itis a further step to know, that,

amongst the invisible things of nature, there must be an in-
telligent mind concerned in its production, order and support.

These points being assured to us by Natural Theology, we
may well leave to Revelation the disclosure of many particu-
lars, which our researches cannot reach, respecting either the
nature of this Being as the original cause of all things, or
his character and designs as a moral governor ; and not on--
ly so, but the more full confirmation of other particulars, of
which, though they do not lie altogether beyond our rea-
sonings, and our probabilities, the certainty is by no means
equal to the importance. The true theist will be the first
to listen to any credible communication of divine knowls
edge. Nothing which he has learnt from Natural Theolo-
gy will diminish his desire of further instruction, or his
disposition to receive it with humility and thankfulness.
He wishes for light: he rejoices in light. His inward ven-
eration of this great Being, will incline him to attend with
the utmost seriousness, not only to all that can be discover-
ed concerning him by researches into nature, but to all that
is taught by a revelation, which gives reasonable proof of
having proceeded from him.

But, above every other article of revealed religion, does
the anterior belief of a Deity bear with the strongest force,
upon that grand point, which gives indeed interest and im-
portance to all the rest—the resurrection of the human
dead. ‘The thing might appear hopeless, did we not see
a power at work adequate to the effect, a power under the
guidance of an intelligent will, and a power penetrating the
inmost recesses of all substance. I am far from justifying
the opinion of those, who ‘ thought it a thing incredible
that God should raise the dead; but I admit that it. is first
necessary to be persuaded, that there 7s a God to do so.
This being thoroughly settled in our minds, there seems to
be nothing in this process (concealed and mysterious as we
confess it to be,) which need to shock our belief. ‘They
who have taken up the opinion, that the acts of the human

300 CONCLUSION.

mind depend upon organization, that the mind itself indeed
consists in organization, are supposed to find a greater dif-
ficulty than others do, in admitting a transition by death to

a new state of sentient existence, because the old organiza-

tion is apparently dissolved. But I do not see that any im-
practicability need be apprehended even by these: or that
the change, even upon their hypothesis, is far removed
from the analogy of some other operations, which we know
with certainty that the Deity is carrying on. In the ordi-
nary derivation of plants and animals from one another, a
particle, in many cases, minuter than all assignable, all con-
ceivable dimension : an aura, an effluvium, an infinitesimal ;
determines the organization of a future body: does no less

than fix whether that which is about to be produced, shall °

be a vegetable, a merely sentient, or a rational being ; an
oak, a frog, or a philosopher; makes all these differences ;
gives to the future body its qualities, and nature, and spe-

cies. And this particle, from which springs, and by which

is determined a whole future nature, itself proceeds from,
and owes its constitution to, a prior body: nevertheless,
which is seen in plants most decisively, the incepted organ-
ization, though formed within, and through, and by a pre-
ceding organization, is not corrupted by its corruption, or
destroyed by its dissolution, but, on the contrary, is some-
times extricated and developed by those very causes; sur-
vives and comes into action, when the purpose, for which
it was prepared, requires itsuse. Now an economy which
nature has adopted, when the purpose was to transfer an
organization from one individual to another, may have some-
thing analogous to it, when the purpose is to transmit an
organization from one state of being to another state: and
they who found thought in organization, may see something
in this analogy applicable to their difficulties; for whatev-
er can transmit a similarity of organization, will answer
their purpose, because, according even to their own theory, it
may be the vehicle of consciousness, and because conscious-
ness carries identity and individuality along with it through
all changes of form or of visible qualities. In the most
general case, that, as we have said, of the derivation of
plants and animals from one another, the latent organiza-
tion is either itself similar to the old organization, or
‘has the power of communicating to new matter the old
organic form. But itis not restricted tothisrule. There
are other cases, especially in the progress of insect life, in

CONCLUSION. 301

which the dormant organization does not much resem-
ble that which encloses it, and still less suits with the sit-
uation in which the enclosing body is placed, but suits
With a different situation to which it is destined. In
the larva of the libellula, which lives constantly, and has
still long to live, under water, are descried the wings of a
fly, which two years afterwards is to muunt into the air.
Is there nothing in this analogy? It serves at least to show,
that, even in the observable course of nature, organizations
are formed one beneath another: and amongst a thousand
other instances, it shows completely, that the Deity can
mould and fashion the parts of material nature, so as to
fulfil any purpose whatever which he is pleased to appoint.

They who refer the operations of mind to a substance
totally and essentially different from matter, as, most cer-
tainly, these operations, though affected by material causes,
hold very little affinity to any properties of matter with

which we are acquainted, adopt, perhaps, a juster reasoning

and a better philosophy : and by these the considerations
above suggested are not wanted, at least in the same de-
gree. But to such as find, which some persons do find, an
insuperable difficulty in shaking off an adherence to. those
analogies, which the corporeal world is continually suggest-
ing to their thoughts; to such, I say, every consideration
will be a relief, which manifests the extent of that intelli-
gent power which Is acting in nature, the fruitfulness of its
resources, the variety, and aptness, and success of its
means; most especially every consideration, which tends
to show, that in the translation of a conscious existence,
there is not even in their own way of regarding it, any
thing greatly beyond, or totally unlike, what takes place in
such parts (probably small parts) of the order of nature, as
are accessible to our observation.

Again : if there be those who think, that the contracted-
ness and debility of the human faculties in our present state,
seem ill to accord with the high destinies which the expec-
tations of religion point out to us, I would only ask them,
whether any one, who saw a child two hours after its birth,
could suppose that it would ever come to understand flur-
zons ;* or who then shall say, what farther amplification of
intellectual powers, what accession of knowledge, what ad-
vance and improvement, the rational faculty, be its consti-

* See Search’s Light of Nature, passim.

302 CONCLUSION.

tution what it will, may not admit of, when placed amidst
new objects, and endowed with a sensorium, adapted, as it
undoubtedly will be, and as our present senses are, to the
perception of those substances, and of those properties of
things, with which our concern may lie.

Upon the whole, in every thing which respects this awful,
but, as we trust, slorious change, we have a wise and pow-
erful Being, (the author, in nature, of infinitely various ex-
pedients for infinitely various ends,) upon whom to rely for
the choice and appointment of means, adequate to the exe-
cution of any plan which his goodness or his justice may
have formed, for the moral and accountable part of his ter-
restrial creation. ‘That great office rests with him: be it
ours to hope and to prepare ; under a firm and settled per-
suasion, that living and dying, we are his; that life is pass-
ed in his constant presence, that death resigns us to his
merciful disposal.

a

ma 9 VOCABULARY.

——_{ip—

A.

Abdomen, the cavity of the belly.
Accretion, a growth; increase in size or extent.
Adipose, fatty, containing fat.

Alkalies, a peculiar class of.chemical substances which have the prop-
erty of combining with and neutralizing the properties of acids.

Anconeus, the name of one of the muscles which extend the elbow
joint.

Baal, a term applied to one of the fins of fish, situated near the anus
or vent.

Anhelation, breathing hard or panting.

Annular, in the form of a ring.

Annuli, rings—applied to the muscular fibres which surround the bod-
ies of some animals like rings.

Antennae, organs of touch, situated near the mouths of insects having
many joints.

Antherae, small bodies which contain the pollen or fertilizing dust of
flowers; the antherae are fixed generally on the ends of slender fil-
aments, and surround the germ or seed vessel.

Alorta, the main artery of the body, which receives the blood direct-
ly from the heart and distributes it to the body.

Aluricle, a cavity of the heart. Its external shape gives it the appear-
ance of an appendage to the organ, and its name is derived from its
supposed resemblance to an ear, (auricula.)

Automaton, a machine having a power of motion within itself, but
destitute of life.

B.

Buccinator, the principal muscle of the check.
Biceps, one of the muscles which bend the elbow joint.

Bivalve, consisting of two valves or shells, as in shell-fish—e. g. the
oyster.

Brachiezus, the name of two muscles moving the arm.

Brevis, short.

Cc. ’

Calyx, the flower cup; the external or outermost part of the flower,
generally resembling the leaves in colour, and containing the other
parts of the flower within it. It is often wanting.’

Camera obscura, or dark chamber. An optical instrument in which
the rays of light from external objects are made to pass through a
convex lens into a dark box where they are received upon a screen,
and produce a representation of external objects.

304 VOCABULARY.

Capsule, the seed vessel of plants.
Carnivorous, feeding or living on flesh.
Carotid, thename of the arteries which pass up the neck on each side
of the windpipe, and convey the blood to the head. ae.
Cartilaginous, gristly ; formed from or consisting of gristle.

Cellular, consisting of cells. :

Centripetal, having a tendency towards the centre. All bodies on the
surface, have a tendency to fall towards the centre of the earth.

Cetaceous, of the whale kind.

Chrysalis, an insect in the second stage of its metamorphosis.

Cicatrix, a scar.
Comminuted, broken up into small pieces.

Conatus, attempt, endeavour, effort.

Condyles, prominences at the ends of some of the bones which are in- -
tended to afford surfaces for the formation of joints.

Congeries, a heap or pile of bodies accumulated together.

Connate, produced or being born together; having their origin at
the same time, and from the same cause.

Convolution, the turning, rolling, or winding of any thing. The
convolutions of a snail’s shell are the spiral windings of the tube in
which it exists around a central pillar or basis.

Cornea, the transparent coat at the front part of the eye, through
which we see the pupil and the iris.
Corolla. This term includes what are commonly called the leaves of
the flower, viz. the various coloured leaves which give their beau-
ty and fragrance to most flowers.

Cretaceous, formed of, or consisting of chalk. It is applied not mere-
ly to substances consisting of chalk, commonly so called, but to a
variety of others which resemble it merely in having the same
chemical composition, such as the shells of shell-fish, &c..

Cubital, an anatomical term used to designate parts in, and relating to,
the cubit or fore-arm, which extends from the elbow to the hand.

D.

Deglutition, the act of swallowing.

Diaphragm, a muscular membrane which is stretched completely
across the cavity of the body like a curtain, and divides the chest
from the belly, and by its contraction performs an important part in
the act of respiration. |

Dioptric, a term applied to that part of the science of optics which
treats of the passage of light through, and its refraction by means of,
transparent substances.

Dorsal, appertaining to the back.

Ductus arteriosus, a duct or canal leading from the pulmonary arteries
to the aorta, by which the blood is before birth conveyed from the
pulmonary arteries to the aorta without passing through the lungs.
It is closed after birth.

Duodenum, the first of the small intestines, being the next in order
to the stomach, and receiving the food from it.

VOCABULARY. 305
“i BE.

E lytra, the external, hard, scaly wings of many insects, such as the
beetles.

' Entomology, the science relating to insects.

" Epiglottis, a valve which covers the passage from the mouth into
the windpipe.

Eruca labra, the name of an insect.

Eustachian, applied to parts first discovered by Eustachius.

Exility, slenderness, smallness.

Eixuviae, the cast off skins, shells, or other coverings of animals.

Exsiceation, drying, parting with moisture to air or heat.

Evagation, wandering, deviation from an appointed course.

F.

farina. This word is sometimes used instead of pollen for the fertil-
izing dust produced from the stamens and anthers of flowers, and
collected by bees. It is so used by our author.

Fibula, a small long bone, extending from the knee to the ankle joint,
parallel to and connected with the tibia or principal bone of the leg
on its outside. The lower end of it forms the outer ankle.

Foramen ovale, or oval hole, an opening in the foetal state, between
the two ventricles of the heart, permitting the passage of blood from
one to the other. It is closed after birth.

Fusee, see Plate of the parts of the watch.

baie 7, G.

Gallinaceous. Birds of a particular order, living generally upon grains
or seeds of plants, of a stately aspect, and confined powers of flight.
Such are the common domestic fowl, the turkey, the peacock, &c.

Gestation, the act of carrying the young within the body of the pa-
rent, whether in the state of the egg or of the living foetus.

Graminiworous, living or feeding upon grass.

Granivorous, living or feeding upon grains and seeds.

Gregarious, herding together—flocking together—assembling in herds
and companies.

Hi. °

Halitus, the watery vapour which is thrown out from the lungs with
the air at every act of respiration.

Hemiplegia, a paralysis or palsy of one half of the body, consisting in
a loss of the sense of feeling, or of the power of voluntary motion ;
or of both.

Herbivorous, living upon herbs, or rather upon vegetable substances
in general. A term used in contra-distinction to carnivorous.

Homologous, having the same relation or proportions. Lines drawn
through any two similar bodies of different sizes, are said to be ho-
mologous when they are drawn through corresponding parts of each.

Hybernacula, the habitations, coverings, or retreats in which animals
pass the winter. Animals when residing in them are generally in
a torpid state.

Hydrocanthari, a name of insects.

I.

Ignited, a chemical term applied to a body raised to a high degree of
heat.

Inertia, a property of all matter which disposes it to remain in the
state in which it is, whether of motion or rest.

Tris, plural Irides ; the coloured ring surrounding the pupil of the eye.

Ce

© NO, ae

306 VOCABULARY,

L.

Lachrymal, appertaining to or relating to the tears, or to the apparatus
for their production.

Lacteals, capillary or hair-like vessels opening upon the internal sur-
face of the intestines, absorbing the chyle or nutritious fluid pre-
pared by the digestive organs from the food, and conveying it through
the mesentery to the thoracic duct and thence into the circulating
mass of the blood.

Lamella, a thin plate or edge.

Laminae, thin plates or layers.

Larynx, the upper part of the windpipe,'including the organs of voice.

Lens, a circular glass whose surfaces are either convex or concave.
It is also applied to any other transparent body of the same shape, as
ice, crystal, or diamond.

Levitation, the making an object lighter; giving to ita buoyant ten-
dency. :

pag ieee long. A name applied to several muscles of the body on ac-
count of their length when compared with other muscles.

Lubricity, facility of the slipping or gliding of one surface over an-
other without friction, whether in consequence of the smoothness
of the surfaces, or the interposition of some soft, slippery fluid or
substance. ate

Lubricate, to give lubricity.

Lucxation, dislocation of a bone, throwing a bone out of joint.

Lymphatics, small vessels in the bodies of animals carrying lymph.

M.

Masseter, a.strong muscle which closes the jaw in chewing, situated
at the back part of the cheek towards the ear. It may be felt in
chewing.

Mediastinum, a fold of the membrane lining the chest, by which it
is divided into two cavities. i

Medullary, formed or consisting of marrow. Applied to the substance
of the brain and nerves, and to that in the cavities of some of the bones.

Menstruum, any liquid or fluid in which another body is disselved.

Mesentery, a double fold of the membrane lining the abdomen and
covering the intestines, by which the latter are suspended, and are
connected to the walls of the cavity. It gives passage to vessels,
nerves, and to the lacteals.

Monopetalous, applied to flowers consisting of a single petal or flowe
cup.

N.

Nectaria, that part of the corolla of plants which produces honey.

Nictitating, winking. Applied generally to the third eyelid of birds

and some other animals.

Nigella, the name of a plant.

Nymphae, insects in the second preparatory state, before their final
transformation.

0.

Oblate. A sphere flattened at the poles is said to be oblate.

Oesophagus, the tube or canal which conveys food from the mouth
to the stomach.

Omentum, the caul; a kind of apron formed of fat and membrane
which hangs down and covers the intestines within the abdomen.

+ VOCABULARY. 307

Os hyoides, the bone of the tongue and throat.
Os pubis, the bone which arches forward from the pelvis, and supports

_ the lower part of the belly.
Ossification, a change of structure into bone.
Oviparous, bringing forth or bearing young by means of eggs.

P.

Palmated, having a palm like that of the hand.

Pancreas, a gland within the abdomen, just below the stomach, and
providing a fluid to assist in digestion.

Papillae, little projections on the surface of organs, as on the tongue,
which are the seats of sensation.

Papilionaceous, of or resembling butterflies. Applied to a certain
tribe of flowers on account of their resemblance in shape to those
insects.

Pectoral, of or relating to the chest.

Pelvis, the broad flat basin, constituting the lower part of the abdomen,
composed principally of the broad flat bones usually called the hip
and haunch bones.

Peritonaewm, a membrane lining the cavity of the abdomen and_giv-
ing a close covering to all its contents.

Peristaltic, applied to the crawling, worm-like motion of the intestines.

Pericardium, the bag containing the heart.

Pericarpium, a kind of seed vessels of plants.

Periostewm, the membrane which adheres to, and closely invests the
surface of bones.

Petals, the flower leaves, or leaves of the corolla of plants.

Pharynz, the cavity at the back part of the mouth which receives the
food just before swallowing, and transmits it to the Oesophagus.

Phosphoric, of or resembling phosphorus.

Pisiil, the part of a flower intended to receive the pollen or fertilizing
dust of the stamens.

Piston, a moveable cylinder in the tube of some machines, intended
to take off by its motion the pressure of the air, or to receive the
impulse froin steam; as in the pump and steam-engine.

Plantule, a little plant. Applied to the part which fist sprouts from
the seed when it begins to grow. It refers to the same part wit
Plumule.

Pleura, the membrane lining the chest.

Plumule, see plantule.

Pneumatic, of or relating to the air or wind.

Pollen, the fertilizing dust of flowers, produced by the stamens and
falling upon the pistils in order to render a flower capable of pro-
ducing seed or fruit.

Primordial, original,

R.

Radicle, the little root which is first sent out by a seed when it begins
to grow.

Refraction, generally applied to the change of direction which takes
place when a ray of light moves from one medium into another of a
different density.

Renitency, resistance.

Retina, a very sensible and delicate membrane at the back part of the
eye, intended to receive the images of objects like the screen of a
camera obscura. Supposed to be an expansion of the nerve of the eye.

Rictus, the extent of the mouth when opened widely as in gaping.

308 VOCABULARY.

Ss. F im be

Sanguiferous, carrying blood. fe

Sensorium, the seat or centre of sensations, to which all the impres-
sions made upon the external organs of sense are transmitted, and
where they are perceived.

Spheroid, approaching in form to, or resembling a sphere.

Spiculae, spines or sharp projections.

Sternum, the breast bone.

Stigma, plural, stigmata; the extremity of the pistil of plants.

Storgee, the sentiment or instinct of parental affection.

Stum, an unfermented mass of liquor.

Subclavian, a term applied to parts which are situated beneath the
clavicle or collar bone as the subclavian artery, &c.

Sugescent, employed in sucking.

Sui generis, of a peculiar kind or character.

Sutures, the union of bones by their edges, without moveable joints,
as in the flat bones of the skull. The “edges i in this case are often
notched like the teeth of a saw, and the ‘line of union resembles a
seam. Whence called a suture.

Synovia, the liquid which lubricates the internal surfaces of the joints
to give facility of motion.

i 8

Telum imbelle, a harmless weapon.

Thorax, the chest.

Tibia, the main bone of the leg, extending from the knee to the foot.
Its projecting extremity forms the inner ankle, and its ends enter into
the formation of both the knee and ankle joints.

Trachea, the wind pipe.

Tubercle, a swelling or prominence.

F U.

Umbilical, proceeding from or relating to the navel or umbilicus.

Univalve, consisting of a single valve or shell, such as the snail, cockle.

Urachus, a vessel leading from the bladder to the navel before birth,
which is converted into a ligament after birth.

Ureter, the tube conveying the urine from the kidneys to the bladder.

V.

Vailisneria, the name of a plant.

Valvulae conniventes, folds formed by the internal membrane of the
intestines, constituting partial valves, and intended to retard the pas-
sage of the food.

Vascular, containing or consisting of vessels.

Vena cava, one of the great veins which brings the blood fon the
extremities of the body to the heart.

Ventral, of or appertaining to the belly.

Ventricle,a term applied to several small internal cavities in the body,
as the ventricles of the brain and of the heart.

Vertebrae, the separate bones constituting the back bone.

Viseus, plural Viscera; the internal organs of the body, as lungs,
heart, stomach, liver, brain, &c.

Viviparous, producing or bringing forth young alive. -

Vortex, plural Vortices ; any thing whirled round. The heavenly
bodies have been formerly supposed to be carried around in their
orbits by certain vortices or whirlpools which were imagined to exist.

james PAXTON’S

ILLUSTRATIONS;

WITH

MCScvipitows,

CHAPTER I.
Tas. 1L—THE WATCH.

Fie. 1. The box, or barrel, containing the main spring, which is the
first power; and the chain, which communicates the power to—

Fic. 2. The fusee and great whecl. The fusee is tapered at the
top to correct the irregular recoil of the spring. The great wheel
turns—

Fre. 3. The centre wheel and pinion, which makes one revolution
in an hour, carries the minute hand, and turns—

Fie. 4. The third wheel and pinion, which turns the contrate wheel.

Fie. 5. The contrate wheel, which makes one revolution in a min-
ute, and turns the balance or escape wheel.

Fie. 6. The balance wheel, which acts upon the pallats of the
verge, and escapes or drops from one pallat to another alternately,
thereby keeping the balance in constant vibration.

Fic.'7. The balance verge and balance or pendulum spring, which
regulates the whole machine.

Fie. 8. The cannon pimon, affixed to the centre wheel arbour, on
which the minute hand is placed.

Fre. 9. The minute wheel.

Fic. 10. The hour wheel. The two last mentioned wheels are
turned by the cannon pinion and having a greater number of teeth,

move much slower than the cannon pinion, and mark the hour by the
hand on the dial.

The above is a description of the several wheels alluded to by Pa-
ley. Their relative situation, and combined movement, may be seen
by the simple inspection of a watch.

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CHAPTER III.
Tas. I].—tTHE EYE.

Fic. 1. The crystalline lens of a fish; it is proportionably larger
than in other animals, and perfectly spherical.

Fie. 2. A section of the human eye. - It is formed of various coats,
or membranes, containing pellucid humours of different degrees of
density, and calculated for collecting the rays of light into a focus, up-
on the nerve situated at the bottom of the eye-ball. —

The external membrane, called sclerotic, is strong and firm, and is
the support of the spherical figure of the eye: it is deficient in the
centre, but that part is supplied by the cornea, which is tranparent and
projects like the segment of a small globe from one of larger size.
The interior of the sclerotic is lined by the choroid, which is covered
by a dark mucous secretion, termed pigmentum mgrum, intended to
absorb the superfluous rays of light. The choroid is represented in
the plate by the black line. The third and inner membrane, which is
marked by the white line, is the retina, the expanded optic nerve.

Within these coats of the eye, are the humours. a, the aqueous

humour, a thin fluid like water; 6, the crystalline lens, of adense ~

texture; c, the vitreous humour, a very delicate gelatinous substance,
named from its resemblance to melted glass. Thus the crystalline is
more dense than the vitreous, and the vitreous more dense than the
aqueous humour: they are all perfectly transparent, and together
make a compound lens, which refracts the rays of light issuing from
an object, d, and delineates its figure e, in the focus upon the retina,
inverted.

Fie. 3. The lens of the telescope.

Fie. 4. The crystalline lens, or, as it has been called, the crystalline
humour, of the eye.

Fig. 5, 6. A plan of the circular and radiated fibres which the iris
is supposed to possess ; the former contracts, the latter dilates the pupil,
or aperture formed by the inner margin of the iris. ;

Fic. 7. a, a, a, a, the four straight muscles, arising from the bot-

tom of the orbit, where they surround, c, the optic nerve; and are -

inserted by broad, thin tendons at the fore part of the globe of the eye
into the tunica sclerotica.

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CHAPTER III.
Tas. II].—THE EYE OF BIRDS AND OF THE EEL.

Fie. 1,2. The flexible rim, or hoop, of the eye of birds, consist-
ing of bony plates, which occupy the front of the sclerotic; lying
close together and overlapping each other. These bony plates in gen-

eral form a slightly convex ring, Fig. 1, but in the accipitres they ~

form a concave ring, as in Fig. 2, the bony rim of a hawk.

Fia. 3, 4, 6. Exhibit the marsupiwm ; it arises from the back of the
eye, proceeding apparently through a slit in the retina; it passes ob-
liquely into the vitreous humour, and terminates in that part, as in the
eagle. Fig. 3, a section of the eye of the falco chrysaetos. In some

species it reaches the lens, and is attached to it as in Fig. 4,6. In the

plate the marsupium is marked with a *.

Fic. 5. The head of an eel; the skin is represented turned back;
and as the transparent, horny covering of the eye, a, a, is a cuticular
covering, itis separated with it. Other fish have a similar, insensible,
dense, and thick adnata, which is designed to protect the eye; and it
seems especially necessary, as fish have ne eye-lids.

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CHAPTER III. :

Tas. I1V.—THE LACHRYMAL APPARATUS AND NICTITATING
MEMBRANE.

Fie. 1. a, the lachrymal gland, the source of the tears; 6, itssev-
eral ducts, diffusing this fluid over the eye; c, c, the puncta lachry-
malia, which convey the tears into the lachrymal sac, terminating
in the nostril.

Fie. 2. The nictitating membrane, or third eyelid; it is a thin
semi-transparent fold of the conjunctive, which, in a state of rest, lies
in the inner corner of the eye, with its loose edge nearly vertical, but
can be drawn out so as to cover the whole front of the globe. In this
figure it is represented in the act of being drawn over the eye. By
means of this membrane, according to Cavier, the eagle is enabled to
look at the sun.

Fre. 3. The muscles of the nictitating membrane are very singular |
in their form and action, they are attached to the back of the sclerotic;
one of them, a, which from its shape is called guadratus, has its ori-
gin from the upper and back part of the sclerotic; its fibres descend
towards the optic nerve, and terminate in a curved margin with a cy-
lindrical canal in it. The other muscle, 6, which is called pyramida-
lis, arises from the lower and back part of the sclerotic. It has along
tendinous chord, c, which passes through the canal of the quadratus, a,
as a pulley, and having arrived at the lower and exterior part of the
eye-ball, is inserted into the loose edge of the nictitating membrane.
This description refers also to Fig. 4, a profile of the eye, and Fig. 5,
the membrane and its muscles detached from the eye.

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CHAPTER III.

Tas. V.—THE HUMAN EAR, AND TYMPANUM OF THE
ELEPHANT.

Fic. 1. The organ of hearing; a, the external ear; b, the meatus
anditorius externus, or outward passage of the ear; leading to c, the
membrana tympani, or drum; d, the ossicula auditus, or little bones
of the ear; e, the semicircular canals ; f, the cochlea; g, a section of
the eustachian tube, which extends from the cavity of the tympa-
num, to the back of the mouth or fauces.

Fic. 2. The bones of the ear magnified. a, the malleus, or mal-—
let, connected by a process to the tympanum; the round head is lodged
in the body of, b, the ineus, or anvil, and the incus is united to, c, the
os orbiculare, or round bone, and this to, d, the stapes, or the stirrup.
These bones are named from their shape, and the names assist in con-

‘veying an idea of their form. They are united by ligaments, and form
an uninterrupted chain to transmit the vibrations of the atmosphere.

Fig. 3. The labyrinth, so named from the intricacy of its cavities;
it is situated in the petrous part of the temporal bone, and consists of
the vestibule, or central cavity, three semicircular canals, and cochlea,
sonamed from its resemblance to the windings of a snail shell, and is
best explained by the plate, Fig. 1, and 3.

The vibrations of sounds, striking against the membrana tympani,
are propagated by the intervention of these four little bones, to the
water contained within the cavities of the labyrinth; and by means
of this water the impression is conveyed to the extremities of the au-
ditory nerve, and finally to the bra‘n.

Fish require no tympanum, nor external opening to the ear; the
fluid in which they live is the medium for conducting sounds through
the bones of the head. an

Fic. 4. The tympanum of the elephant, of its natural size, showing
its radiated fibres, supposed to be muscular.

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CHAPTER VII.
Tan. VL—TROCHLEAR MUSCLE OF THE EYE, AND KIDNEY.

Fic. 1. The trochlear or superior oblique muscle, arises with the
straight muscles from the bottom of the orbit. Its muscular portion,
a, is extended over the upper part of the eye-ball, and gradually as-
sumes the form of a smooth, round tendon, ), which passes through |
the pulley, c, and is fixed to the inner edge of the orbit, d, then turn-
ing backwards and downwards, e, is inserted into, f, the sclerotic mem-
brane. The use of this muscle is to bring the eye forwards, and to
turn the pupil downwards and upwards.

Fie. 2. A section of the human kidney; a, the emulgent artery,
which conveys the blood to, b, the papillz, where the peculiar fluid
is secreted ; from whence it passes by tubes into, c, the pelvis ; d, the
emulgent vein which returns the blood; e, the wreter, or tube which —
conducts the secretion to its receptacle.

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CHAPTER VIII.
Tas. VII.—vVERTEBRZE OF THE HUMAN NECK.

Fra. 1. A representation of the head and the neck; the latter is
composed of seven bones called vertebrae.

Fie. 2. Exhibits the first and second vertebre, with their mode of
connexion. The uppermost vertebra, termed the atlas, from its sup-
porting the globe of the head, has an oval concave surface on either
side, a, a, for the reception of two corresponding conver surfaces plac-
ed on the lower part of the head, in such a manner as only to admit of
the action of bending and raising the head.

Fie. 3. The atlas.

Fig. 4. The second vertebra, called dentata, has two plane surfaces,
a, a, adapted to the planes, a, a, Fig. 3, of the atlas: and this manner
of articulation provides for the turning of the head laterally in almost
_ every direction. Fig. 2. and 4, b, b, show the tooth-like process
which affords a firm pivot for the production of the lateral motion just
’ described. This process is received into a corresponding indentation
of the atlas, Fig. 8, b, and a strong ligament passes behind it serving as
an effectual security against dislocation, and consequent compression
of the spinal marrow. Fig. 4, d, marks the situation for the spinal
marrow, which passes through the ring of each vertebra. The letter,
Cc, indicates a perforation in the lateral process; and as there is a cor-
responding perforation in each lateral, or as it is termed, transverse
process of the seven cervical vertebre, a continuous passage is thus
formed for the protection of two important blood-vessels destined to
supply the brain.

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CHAPTER VIII.
Tas. VIII._—sBonrEs oF THE ARM.

Fie. 1. a, the humerus; the head, b, is a portion of a sphere, and
exhibits an example of the ball and socket, or universal joint; c, the
hinge joint, instanced in the elbow; d, the radius; e, the ulna. The
radius belongs more peculiarly to the wrist, being the bone which sup-
ports the hand, and which turns with it in all its revolving motions.
The ulna principally belongs to the elbow joint, for by it we perform
all the actions of bending or extending the arm.

Fic. 2. a, the humerus: 6, shows the connexion of the radius, with
c, the ulna, at the elbow. The mode of articulation at the wrist is
seen, Fig. 1.

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CHAPTER VIII.
Tas. IX.—THE SPINE.

Fie. 1. The human spine, so named from the series of sharp pro-
cesses projecting from the posterior part of the vertebre. The spine
consists of seven vertebre of the neck, distinguished by the perfora-
tions in their transverse processes; of twelve belonging to the back,
and marked by depressions for the heads of the ribs; and, lastly, of
five belonging to the loins, which are larger than the other vertebra.

Fic. 2. A separated dorsal vertebra: a, the body of the vertebra;
b, the ring through which the spinal marrow passes: 6, ¢c, the articu-
lating surfaces to which the ribs are united.

Fic. 3. The vertebra of a very large serpent, drawn from a speci-
men belonging to the Anatomy School of Christ Church, Oxford.
This figure shows the socket of the vertebra.

Fig. 4. The ball or rounded joint, evidently calculated for extensive
motion.

Fie. 5. A part of the spine of the same reptile; it is exceedingly
strong, each bone being united to the other by fifteen surfaces of ar-~
ticulation.

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CHAPTER VIII.
Tas. X:—THE CHEST, PATELLA, AND SHOULDER-BLADE.

Fie, 1. The spine, ribs, and sternum, constitute the frame work of
the chést or thorax. Referring, however, to the plate, or to nature,
we observe that the ribs are not continued throughout from the spine
to the sternum, but intervening cartilages complete the form of the
chest, by connecting the end of the rib to the breast bone. This is a
further provision, relative to the mechanical function of the lungs, de-
serving notice. The muscles of respiration enlarge the capacity of
the chest by elevating the ribs; and during the momentary interval
of muscular action the cartilages, from their great elasticity, restore —
the ribs to their former position.

Fie. 2. Represents the true shape of the patella, the anterior sur-
face convex. Fig. 3, the posterior surface, has two concave depres-
sions adapted to the condyles of the thigh bene. The projection of the
patella, as a lever, or pulley, removes the acting force from the centre
of motion, by which means the muscles have a greater advantage in
extending the leg. That this bone is ‘“ unlike any other in the body,”
is a mistake; such bones are numerous, though less obvious, for they —
do not exceed the size of a pea: these are called sesamoid bones, and
are formed in the flexor tendons of the thumb, and sometimes in the
fingers. They are frequently found under the tendons of some of the
muscles. Two of these sort of bones are constantly found under the
articulation of the great toe with the foot.

Fig. 4. The shoulder-blade (scapula) is joined to the collar bone
by ligaments, and to the thorax by powerful muscles which are capa-
ble of sustaining immense weights, and whose action gives the vari-
ous directions to the arm, and enables it freely to revolve at the
shoulder joint.

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CHAPTER VIII.
Tas. XI.—THE HIP, KNEE AND ANKLE JOINTS.

Fig. 1. The capsular ligament is here opened in order to show the
ligament of the hip, named the round ligament. It allows considera-
ble latitude of motion, at the same time that it is the great safe-guard
against dislocation.

Fie. 2. and 4. The crucial or internal ligaments of the knee-joint
arise from each side of the depression between the condyles of the
thigh bone; the anterior is fixed into the centre, the posterior into
the back of the articulation of the tibia. This structure properly lim-
its the motions of the joint, and gives the firmness requisite for violent
exertions. Viewing the form of the bones, we should consider it one
of the weakest aud most superficial, but the strength of its ligaments
renders it the most secure, and the least liable to dislocation of any joint
in the whole body.

Fie. 3. One of the interarticular cartilages of the knee, from their
shape called semilunar; it is also represented in situ, Fig. 2. The
outer edge of each cartilage is thick, the inner concave edge thin;
the sockets for the condyles of the thigh bone are thus rendered deep-
er, and the cartilages are so fixed as to allow a little play on the tibia,
by which the joint moves with great freedom.

A moving cartilage is not common, but is peculiar to those joints
whose motions are very frequent, or which move under a great
weight. It is a contrivance found at the inner head of the collar bone
and the articulation of the wrist, as well as at the knee. The obvious -
use is to lessen friction and facilitate motion. ;

Fic. 4. Exhibits the formation of the ankle joint; a, the fibula; 6,
the tibia. :

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CHAPTER IX.

Tax. XII.—THE SARTORIUS AND OBLIQUE MUSCLES OF THE
HEAD.

Fre. 1. a, a, the sartorius, is the longest muscle of the whole hu-
man fabric: it is extended obliquely across the thigh from the fore
part of the hip, to the inner side of the tibia. Its office is to bend the
knee, and bring the leg inwards.

Fria. 2. There are two pairs of oblique muscles; a, a, the obliquus
capitis superior, arising from the transverse process of the atlas, and
inserted into the occipital bone; 5,0, the obliqguus capitis inferior,
arising from the spinous process of the dentata, and inserted into the
transverse process of the atlas. These muscles roll the head on one
side, and draw it backwards. ¢

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CHAPTER XI.
Tas. XIII.—THE MUSCLES OF THE ARM.

Fie. 1. a, the biceps, (biceps flexor cubiti) arise by two portions
trom the scapula; they form a thick mass of flesh in the middle of the
arm, which is finally inserted into the upper end of the radius; 6, the
brachieus internus, arises from the middle of the os humeri, and is
inserted into the ulna. Both these muscles bend the fore-arm. , the
longus et brevis brachieus externus ; these are better named as one
muscle, triceps extensor cubiti. It is attached to the inferior edge of
the scapula, and to the os humeri, by three distinct heads, which unite
and invest the whole back part of the bone, becoming a strong tendon
which is implanted into the elbow. It is a powerful extensor of the
fore-arm. d, the anconeus, a small triangular muscle, situated at the
outer side of the elbow: it assists the last muscle.

Fig.l and 2. e, e, the annular ligament of the wrist, under which
. pass the tendons of the muscles of the fingers.

Fic. 1. f, the deltoid muscle ; the muscle at the shoulder by which
the arm is raised.

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CHAPTER IX.

Tas. XIV.—THE MUSCLES THAT RAISE THE EYE-LIDS, AND
SPHINCTER OR CIRCULAR MUSCLES.

Fig. 1. A front view of this muscle, named levator palpebre supe-
rioris: Fig. 2. a profile of the same in its natural position. This mus-
cle arises within-the orbit, and is inserted by a broad tendon into the
upper eye-lid. Its name is expressive of its use.

Fie. 3. Exhibits examples of sphincter muscles : a, a, the orbieu-
laris palpebrarum, encircling the eyelid; it closes the eye, and com-
presses it with spasmodic force, when injured by particles of dust, &c.
b, the orbicularis oris, surrounding the mouth; it chief use is to con-
tract the lips.

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CHAPTER IX.

Tap. XV.—THE DIGASTRIC MUSCLE.

Fie. 1 and 2. The digastric muscle has its origin, a, at the
lower part of the temporal bone; it runs downwards and for-
wards, and forms a strong, round tendon, b, which passes
through a perforation in the stylo-hyoideus, f; it is then fixed
by astrong ligament, c, to the os hyoides,d ; it again becomes
fleshy, runs upwards, and is inserted into, e, the chin. This
description differs from Dr. Paley’s, and it will be found by
reference to dissections or the plate, that the os hyoides fur-
nishes a stay or brace instead of a pulley, and that the loop or
ring is in the stylo-hyoideus muscle.

—

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” CHAPTER IX.

Tas. XVI.—tTHE TENDONS OF THE TOES.

Fic. 1. a, the tendon of the long flexor of the toes, which
divides about the middle of the foot into four portions, pass-
ing through the slits in, b, the short jiexor tendons. Fig. 2. ex-
plains a similar contrivance belonging to each finger: a, a
tendon of the flexor sublams ; b, a tendon of the flexor profun-
dus, passing through it. | :

Fig. 3. a, b, tendons of the extensor muscles of the toes; c,
a tendon of a flexor of the foot. These are bound down and
retained in situ by, e, the annular ligament of the instep,
which consists of two distinct cross bands, going from the
outer ankle to the inner ankle and neighbouring bones.

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CHAPTER X.
Tas. XVII.—rTHE HEART.

Fie. 1. A section of the human heart; a, a, the superior and
mmferror vena cava, the veins which convey the blood to the, b,
right auricle; and thence into, ¢, the corr esponding ventricle ;
from this ventricle the blood is impelled through, e, the pul-
monary artery into the lungs; and returning by f,f, the pul-
monary veins, it is received into, g, the left auricle; it flows
next into, h, the left ventricle; which by its contraction dis-
tributes the blood through the general arterial system :—y, the
aorta, the great artery which transmits blood to the different
parts of the body, from whence it is returned by veins to the
cavae; k, the right subclavian; 1, the right carotid arteries,
originating from one common trunk ; m, the left carotid; n,
the left subclavian; d, the valves of the right; 1, the valves
of the left ventricle.

Fic. 2. The valves of the right side (éricuspid valves) sep-
arated from the heart; a, a, a, the carnace columne, or muscu-
lar fibres of the valve ; b, b, b, the chorde tendinee, or tendi-
nous filaments which are attached to, c, the valves.

Fie. 3. Exhibits the artery cut open with the form of the
semilunar valves.

Fic. 4. A portion of the artery filled, showing how effect-
ually the valves prevent the retrograde motion of the blood
in the aorta and pulmonary artery.

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CHAPTER X.
Tas. XVIII.—tTHE sTOMACH, GALL BLADDER, &c.

Fie..1. a, the stomach; b, the cardia; c, the pylorus. The
gastricjuice is a secretion derived from the inner membrane of
the stomach, and digestion is principally performed by it. In
the various orders of animated beings it differs, being adapt-
ed to the food on which they are accustomed to subsist. The
food, when properly masticated, is dissolved by the gastric
fluid, and converted into chyme; so that most kinds of the in-
gesta lose their specific qualities; and the chemical changes
to which they would otherwise be liable, as putridity and ran-
cidity, &c. are thus prevented.

In this plate, h, the liver is turned up, in order to show the
gall-bladder which is attached to its concave surface; d, the
duodenum; e, part of the small intestines; f, the pancreas ;
and g, the spleen.

Fig. 2. Explains the several ducts and their communica-
tion with the duodenum; a, the gall-bladder; 6, the ductus
eysticus ; which uniting with, c, the ductus hepaticus, forms, d,
the ductus communis ; which, after passing between the mus-
cular and inner coats of the intestine, opens into it ate. (f,
the pancreatic duct. The bile is said to become more viscid,
acrid, and bitter, from the thinner parts being absorbed during
its retention in the gall-bladder.

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CHAPTER X.
Tas. XIX.—THE LACTEALS, AND THORACIC DUCT.

The figure in this plate represents the course of the food,
from its entrance at the mouth to its assimilation with the
blood; a, the esophagus, extending from the pharynx to, b, the
stomach ; where the alimentary matter, having undergone the
digestive process, is coverted into chyme, a soft, homogeneous
substance, and escapes at c, the pylorus, into, d, the intestines.
In this plate a large portion of the latter is spread out to show
a part of the absorbent system, called lacteals: these collect
and imbibe the chyle, or milky juice from the chyme, and
transmit it through e, e, the mesenteric glands, into one general
receptacle, f, (receptaculum chyli,) from which, g, the thoracic
duct ascends in a more or less tortuous direction to the lower
vertebre of the neck, and after forming an arch, it descends
and enters h, the left subclavian vein, at the point where that
vein is united with the internal jugular. The absorbents of
the right side frequently form a trunk, which enters the right
subclavian vein.

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CHAPTER X.
Tas. XX.—THE PAROTID GLAND.

Fic. 1. A dissection to exhibit the parotid gland.

Fig. 2. Explains the former; a, a, the integuments’ turned
back; 6, the parotid gland; c, its pipe or duct passing over the
masseter, then perforating, d, the buccinator muscle, and opening
into the mouth opposite. the second molar tooth. The flow
of saliva into the mouth is incessant, and-it-is one of the most
useful digestive fluids. . It is favourable to the maceration and
division of the food, it ‘assists it in deglutition and transforma-

_ tion into chyme; it also renders more easy the motions of the
tongue in speech and singing.

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CHAPTER X.
Tas. XXI.—THE LARYNX.

Fie. 1. The larynz, pharynx, &c. a, the os hyoides, b, the
epiglottts pressed down, thus covering the glottis, or opening
of the larynx ; as it does in the act of deglutition.

Fig. 2. Exhibits the larynz, and trachea; whichis a contin-
uation of the former; b, the epiglottis ; g, the arytenoid carti-
lages ; e, the thyroid cartilage, exceedingly strong, for the pro-
tection of the upper part of the air tube ; d, the cartilaginous
ringlets of the trachea or wind-pipe, each forming nearly two-
thirds of a circle, and completed by a soft membrane, which,
from its apposition to, e, Fig. 1, the esophagus, accommodates
itself to the substances passing into the stomach.

* Fig. 3. The larynx or upper part of the wind-pipe of a bird.

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CHAPTER XI.
Tas. XXII.—pacKAGE OF THE VISCERA, AND MESENTERY.

Fig. 1. In this plate the parietes of the chest and abdomen,
with the omentum, are removed to show the viscera in situ ;
a, the heart; b, the aorta; c, the descending vena cava; d, the
lungs divided by the mediastinum into two portions; three
lobes belong to the right, and two to the left portion of the
lungs; e, the diaphragm, or that muscle which separates the
thorax from the abdomen; f, the liver; g, the gall-bladder ; h,
the stomach ; 1, the spleen; k, the large intestines ; l, the small
intestines ; m, the bladder.

The viscera of the thorax and abdomen, i. e. the viscera of
organic life, are irregularly disposed. The agents of volition
are double, but the instruments of involuntary motion, namely,
ne interior life, are single, and at least are irregular in their

orm.

The several viscera are correctly described in the Theol-
ogy, and sufficient is said for the purposes for which they are
introduced. 'To the supposed use of the spleen only an objec-
tion must be taken: various hypotheses have been entertain-
ed as to its office, but none are conclusive ; the most probable
is, that it is a source of supply of blood for furnishing the
_ gastric secretion, or that the blood undergoes some important
change in it.

Fic. 2. The mesentery. This membrane is formed by a re-

flection of the peritoneum from each side of the vertebra ; it ~

connects the intestines loosely to the spine, to allow them a
certain degree of motion, yet retains them in their places;
and furnishes their exterior covering. Between the laminz
of, a, the mesentery, are received the glands, vessels, and nerves ;
and its extent admits of a proper distribution of each.

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CHAPTER XII.

.

Tas. XXIIJ.—NeERVES OF THE BILL OF A DUCK, VALVULE
CONNIVENTES. CHAP. XIII. AIR-BLADDER OF A FISH, AND
FANG OF THE VIPER.

Fig. 1. The upper mandible of the duck, on which are dis-
tributed the first and second branches of the fifth pair of
nerves; the former passing through the orbit to the extremi-
ty of the bill, and, together with the latter, supplying the
whole palatine surface.

Fie. 2. A small portion of the human intestine cut open in
order to show the valvule conniventes.

Fie. 3. The air-bladder in the roach. This vessel differs in
size and shape, in different species of fish; generally commu-
nicating, by one or more ducts, either with the wsophagas or
stomach; by which means the fish receives or expels the air,
thus sinking or rising without effort: but as some are desti-
tute of this organ, it is considered as an accessary instrument
of motion.

Fic. 4. The head of a viper of the natural size.

Fie. 5. The fang magnified, at the root of which is the
gland which secretes the venom: a hair is represented in the -
tube through which the poison is ejected.

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CHAPTER XIII.
Tan: XXIV.—tTHE OPOSSUM.

Fic. 1. The American opossum; (didelphis marsupialis.)
The body of the animal is of a greyish yellow colour, some
hairs entirely black, with others entirely white; the tail fur-
nished with scales; the hands, nose, and ears naked. The ~
female has the whole length of the belly cleft or slit, and ap-
pears like a person’s waistcoat buttoned only at the top and
bottom. This cavity the animal has the power of firmly
closing. Within are thirteen teats, extremely small, one in
the centre, and the rest ranged round it.

Fie. 2. One of the young of the opossum.

Fie. 3. The pelvis of the opossum; a, a, the two bones
(ossa marsupialia) placed on the anterior part called the ossa
pubis.

The kangaroo and several other animals of New Holland
have a similar structure.

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TAB. XXIV,

CHAPTER XIII

Tas. XXV.—cLAW OF THE HERON, AND BILL OF THE
SOLAND GOOSE.

Fie. 1. The middle claw of the heron.

Fig. 2. The head of the Soland goose, (pelicanus bassanus)
drawn from a specimen in the Ashmolean Museum, Oxford.
This bird inhabits the coldest parts of Great Britain, more
especially the northern isles of Scotland.

Len,

OPPS SOLO

CHAPTER XIII.
Tas. XXVL—stomach or THE CAMEL.

The figure in this plate exhibits the cells in the stomach of

the camel, from a preparation in the museum of the Royal

College of Surgeons, London. In the camel, dromedary, and
lama, there are four stomachs, as in horned ruminants; but
the structure, in some respects, differs from those of the lat-
ter. The camel tribe have in the first and second stomach
numerous ceils, several inches deep, formed by bands of mus-
cular fibres crossing each other at right angles; these are

constructed so as to retain the water, and completely exclude ~

the food. Ina camel dissected by Sir E. Home, the cells of
the stomach were found to contain two gallons of water; but
in consequence of the muscular contraction, which had taken
place immediately after death, he was led to conclude this
was a quantity much less than these cavities were capable of
receiving in the living animal. See Lectures on Compara-
tive Anatomy, by Sir E. Home, vol. i. p. 168.

Mr. Bruce states, in his Travels, that he procured four gal-
lons of water from a camel, which from necessity he slaugh-
tered in Upper Egypt.

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CHAPTER XIII.

Taz. XXVIIL—rToNGUE OF THE WOODPECKER, AND SKULL
OF THE BABYROUESSA.

Fic. 1. The head of the woodpecker, (picus viridis.)
Fig. 2. The tongue, the natural size.
Fie. 3. The claw of the same bird, referred to in Chap. V.

Fie. 4. The skull of the babyrouessa, from a specimen in the
Anatomy School, Christ Church, Oxford. -

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CHAPTER XIV.
Tas. XXVIII—TEMPORARY AND PERMANENT TEETH.

Fic. 1. The gums and outer plate of the bone are removed,
showing the teeth of the infant, as they exist at the time of
its birth; they are without roots, and contained in a capsule
within the jaws.

Fie. 2. In this figure, also, the outer alvelolar plate of the
jaws has been removed to show the succession of teeth. This
is the state at six years of age. The temporary teeth are all
shed between the ages of seven and fourteen, and are suppli-
ed by the permanent teeth, already nearly perfectly formed,
and situated at the roots of the former.

CHAPTER XIV.
Tas. XXIX.—FORAMEN OVALE, AND DUCTUS ARTERIOSUS.

Fie. 1. A view of the foetal heart ; a, the ascending, b, the
descending vena cava; c¢, the right auricle ; d, e, f, mark the
elevated ring of the foramen ovale, or the opening between
the two auricles.

Fie. 2. The feetal heart; a, the pulmonary artery ; }, 5, its
branches; c, the ductus arteriosus, or canal for transmitting
the blood into, d, the aorta. As the lungs are useless in the
foetus, unless as a “ prospective contrivance,” the heart has to
carry on a single circulation only: the free communication
between the two auricles identifies them as one cavity; and
the ventricles also force the blood into one vessel, the aorta.

Cut

CHAPTERS XV. & XVI.
Tas. XXX.

Fre. 1. Is the fore extremity of the mole; a, the os humeri, is pe-
culiar, not only for its shortness, but in being articulated by 5, one
head to the scapula, and by c, another to the clavicle; it is aliogether
of such a nature as to turn the palm outwards for working.

The foot, or we may name it the hand, has eleven bones in the
carpus or wrist, which is two more than in the carpus of man. One
of which, d, is remarkable, and from its shape is called the falciform
bone ; it gives the shovel form to the hand.

Fig. 2. The head of the Llephant.
Fig. 3. and 4. The digitated extremity of the proboscis.

Fig. 5. A transverse section of the proboscis, showing, a, a, the two
tubes or nostrils. Between the external integuments and the tubes
are two sets of small muscles; an inner one running in a transverse,
and an outward one in a longitudinal direction: 0,6, the transverse
faciculi of muscles, some of which run across the proboscis, others in
a radiated, and some in an oblique direction: c, c, the radiated, and d,
d, the oblique fibres approximate the skin and the tubes, without con-
tracting the cavity of the latter. The others, which pass across the
proboscis, contract both the surface of the organ, and the canals it
contains; they can, at the same time, elongate the whole or a part of
it: e, e, the longitudinal faciculi, forming four large muscles, which
occupy all the exterior of the organ.

Fic. 6. The extended wings of the bat. Ostrologically considered,
they are hands, the bony stretches of the membrane being the finger
bones extremely elongated: a, a, the thumb, is short, and armed
with a hooked nail, which these animals make use of to hang by, and
to creep. The hind feet are weak, and have toes of equal length,
armed also with hooked nails; the membrane constituting the wing,
is continued from the feet to the tail.

Fig. 7. The upper mandible of the parrot, which is articulated with
the cranium by an elastic ligament, admitting of a considerable degree
of motion.

Fic.8. An eye compounded of a number of lenses. The eyes of
insects differ widely from ¥ertebrated animals, by being incapable of
motion; the compensation, therefore, is a greater number of eyes, or
an eye compounded of a number of lenses. Hook computed the
lenses in a horsefly to amount to 7,000, and Leuwenhoek found the
almost incredible number of 12,000 in the dragon-fly.

Fie. 9. The eyes of a spider, drawn from nature. The number of
eyes in insects varies from two to sixteen. The spider here referred
to answers the description of the garden spider, (Epeira Diadema,)
the eyes of which are planted on three tubercles, four on the central
one, and two on each side of the lateral ones.

a

He.

LTS Lit

LS Gtale

CHAPTER XVI.
Tap. XXXI.—THE CHAMELEON, AND GUT OF THE SEA-FOX.

a

Fre. 1. The chameleon, drawn from one of the species pre-
served in the Anatomy School, Christ Church, Oxford. The
eyes of this creature are very peculiar: they are remarkably
large, and project more than half their diameter. They are
covered with a single eye-lid, with a small opening in it op-
posite the pupil.- The eye-lid is granulated like every part of
the surface of the body, with this difference, over the eye the
granulations are disposed in concentric circles which form
folds in that part to which the eye is turned: and as the lid is
attached to the front of the eye, so it follows all its move-
ments. The neck is not “inflexible,” but its shortness, and
the structure of the cervical vertebre exceedingly limit the
motion; this, however, is admirably compensated by the not
less singular local position than motion of the eye, as the an-
imal can see behind, before, or on either side, without turning
the head. -

Fie. 2. The spiral intestine of the sea-fox cut open; taken
from a preparation in the museum of the Royal College of
Surgeons, London. The sea-fox is not, as Paley supposes, a
“ quadruped ;” but a species of shark, (squalus vulpes.) The
convoluted intestinal tube is also found in some other genera
of fish. In this specimen the internal membrane is convert-
ed into a spiral valve, having thirty-six coils, so that the ali-
mentary substances, instead of passing speedily away, by
proceeding round the turns of the valve, traverse a very con-
siderable circuit: an extensive surface for the absorbents is
thus provided.

Fie. 3. The spiral valve removed, showing the mode of its
coiling.

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CHAPTER XIX.

Tas. XXXII]—tTHE WINGS OF THE BEETLE, AWL, STING OF
THE BEE, PROBOSCIS, Xe.

- Fie. 1. Is an instance of the horny and gauze wings in one
of the most beautiful of the beetle class of this country, the
cetonia aurata, or rose chafer; showing the expanded elytra,
a, a: the true wings, b,»b.

Fie. 2. A specimen of the elytra covering half the body in
the ear-wig, (forficula auricularia:) one of the elytra is extend-
ed, and the membranous wing unfolded ; showing the nume-
rous diverging nervures, or “muscular tendons,” which run in
horny tubes, to keep the wing extended. ‘

Fig. 3. The awl of the estrum bovis, or gad-fly, highly mag-
nified. It is formed of corneous substance, consisting of four
joints, which slip into each other: the last of these terminate
in five points, three of which are longer than the others, and
are hooked: when united, they form an instrument like an
auger or gimblet, with which the skin is pierced in a few sec-
onds.

Fie. 4. One of the hooks.

Fie. 5. The sting of a bee, drawn from nature as it appears
by means of a magnifier of very high powers: a, a, a, a, the
apparatus for projecting the sting ; 6, the exterior, c, the inte-
rior sheath of, d, the true sting, which is divided into two
parts barbed at the sides ; e, the bag which contains the povson.

Fie. 6. The proboscis of a bee extended; a, a, the case or

sheath ; 6, the tube; c, the exterior ; d, the interior fringes; e,

the tongue; ff, f, the exterior, g, g, the interior palpi.

Fie. 7. The appearance of the proboscis when contracted,
and folded up.

Fig. 8. The head of a butterfly, showing the coiled eae

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CHAPTER XIX.
Tas. XXXII.

Fic. 1. The organs for forming the silk consist'of two.long vessels.
They unite to form the spimneret (fusulus) through which the larva
draws the silken thread employed in fabricating its cocoon. “ee a, the
silk bags, b, the spinneret.

Fie. 2. The web of spiders is also a kind of silk, remarkable for its
lightness and tenuity ; it is spun from four or six anal: spinnefets, the
fluid matter forming the web being secreted in adjacent vessels. . a,b,
ec, d, the spinnerets.

Fig.3. Panorpa communis, (Linn.) is an insect frequently seen in
meadows during the early part of summer. It is a long-bodied fly, of
moderate size, with four transparent wings, elegantly variegated with
deep brown spots.

Fic. 4. The female glow-worm.

Fic. 5. The male of the same insect.

Fie. 6. The larva of some dragon-flies (eshna and libellula, F.)
swim by strongly ejecting water from the anus. By first taking in the
water, and then expelling it, they are enabled to swim. This may be
seen by putting one of these larva into a plate with water. We find
that while the animal moves forward, a current of water is produced
by this pumping in a contrary direction. Sometimes it will raise its
tail out of the water, when a stream of water issues from it.

Fie. 7. The spiracula, or breathing pores of insects, are small ori-
fices in the trunk or abdomen, opening into a canal called the trachea ;
by which the air enters the body, or is expelled from it. Inthe larve
or caterpillars, a trachea runs on each side of the body, under the
skin, and generally opens externally by nine or ten apertures or spira-
cule; from these the same number of air-vessels of a silver colour

pass off to be dispersed through the body. a, a, spiracula; 6, 6, tra-
chea.

Fie, 8. The pupe of gnats suspend themselves on the surface of
the water, by two auriform respiratory organs on the anterior part of
the trunk, their abdomen being then folded under the breast; when
disposed to descend, the animal unfolds it, and with sudden strokes
which she gives with it and her anal swimmers to the water, she swims ~

from right to left, as well as upwards and downwards, with the great-
est ease.

Fie. 9. This is a well known fly, (stratyonis chameleon, F.) chame-
leon fly. in its first state it inhabits the water, and often remains
supported by its radiated tail, consisting of beautiful feathered hairs or
plumes, on the surface, with its head downwards.. But when it
is disposed to seek the bottom or to descend, the radii of the tail is
formed into a concavity including in it an air bubble; this is its swim
bladder, and by the bending of its body from right to left, contracting
itself into the form of the letter S, and then extending itself again in-

* to a straight line, it moves itself in any direction.

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CHAPTER XX.

Tas. XXXIV.—THE CAPSULE, PISTIL, STAMINA, NIGELLA,
PLUMULE, AND RADICLE.

Fic. 1. The capsule or seed-vessel of the poppy: (papaver
somniferum :) it is divided to exhibit its internal structure.

Fie. 2. Is an instance of an erect flower, the agave Ame-
ricana; in which the pistil is shorter than the stamina. a,
the pistil; 5, the stigma; c, the stamina; d, the antherae.

Fie. 3. A flower of the crown-imperial. The relative length
of the parts is now inverted. a, the pistil; 6, the stamina.

Fie. 4. A blossom of the nigella.

Fie. 5. A grain of barley, showing the plumule and radicle
growing from tt. .

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CHAPTER XxX.

Tas. XXX V.—VALLISNERIA,.

Fie. 1. Vahsneria spiralis. The female plant, the flowers

of which are purple. This is drawn from a specimen in the
possession of Dr. Ogle. ;

Fic. 2. The male plant, producing white flowers; these
when mature rise like air bubbles, and suddenly expanding
when they reach the surface of the water, float about in such
abundance as to cover it entirely. “Thus their pollen is
scattered over the stigmas of the first mentioned blossoms,
whose stalks soon afterwards resume their spiral figure, and
the fruit comes to maturity at the bottom of the water.”

Fie. 3. One of the separated male flowers magnified.

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CHAPTER XX.
Tas. XXXVI.—cuscura EUROPEA.

This plant is a native of our own country, and is found in
hedges, on clover, or on beans, where it proves exceedingly
injurious to the crop. It flowers from June to August. The
drawing was taken from a specimen which grew in the Physie
Gardens, Oxford. It is represented twining about some net-
tles, on which it annually attaches itself.

“Of all the parasitical plants, the dodder (cuscuta) tribe
are the most singular, trusting for their nourishment entirely
to those vegetables about which they twine, and into whose
tender bark they insert small villous tubercles serving as
roots, the original root of the dodder withering away entire-
ly, as soon as the young stem has fixed itself to any other
plant ; so that its connexion with the earth is cut off.’ Eng-
lish Botany, p. 55. :

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CHAPTER XX.
Tas. XXXVIIIL—tTHE DIONEA MUCIPULA.

Venus’s fly-trap. Some parts of this plant are so remark-
able as to deserve a particular description. It is a native of
North Carolina; the root perennial; leaves all radical, sup-
ported on long fleshy and strongly veined footstalks, leaving
a small portion of this next the leaf naked: the leaf itself
consists of two semi-oval lobes jointed at the back, so as
to allow them to fold close together; they are fleshy, and
when viewed through a lense glandular, sometimes of a red-
dish colour on the upper surface ; the sides of both lobes are
- furnished with a row of cartilaginous cilize which stand near-
ly at right angles with the surface of the leaf, and lock into
each other when they close. Near the middle of each lobe
are three small spines, which are supposed to assist in de-
stroying the entrapped insect. In warm weather the lobes
are fully expanded and highly irritable, and if a fly or other
insect at this time light upon them they suddenly close, and
the poor animal is imprisoned till it dies. See Curtis’s Bo-
tanical Magazine, No. 785.

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CHAPTER XX.
Tas. XXXVIL—rHE AUTUMNAL CROCUS.

The colchicum autumnale. This plant before us exhibits a
mode of fructification scarcely paralleled among British veg-
etables. The flowers appearing very late in autumn, the im-
pregnated germen remains latent under ground close to the
bulb till the following spring, when the capsule rises above
the surface accompanied by several long upright leaves, and
the seeds are ripened about June, after which the leaves de-—
cay. See British Botany, vol. i. p. 133. The plant is repre-
sented as it appears in spring; the root is divided to show
the seed vessel near the bulb. The flower is remarkable for
the length of its tube.

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CHAPTER XXII.
Tap. XXXIX.

Fie. 1, 2. The remarkable ring which surrounds the planet
Saturn.

Fie. 3. The earth an oblate soherard. See p. 221.
Fig. 4. See p. 224.

Fie. 5. See p. 226.

Fic. 6. Centripetal forces illustrated. pp. 222, 229.

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