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PALEY’S THEOLOGY, WITH ILLUSTRATIONS

NATURAL THEOLOGY:

OK,

EVIDENCES

OF THE EXISTENCE AND ATTRIBUTES OF THE DEITY.
COLLECTED FROM THE APPEARANCES
OF NATURE,

WILLIAM PALEY, D. D.

ILLUSTRATED BY

THE PLATES, AND BY A SELECTION FROM THE NOTES

JAMES PAXTON.

WITH

ADDITIONAL NOTES, ORIGINAL AND SELECTED, FOR THIS EDITION,
AND A VOCABULARY OF SCIENTIFIC TERMS.

BY JOHN WARE, M. D.

BOSTON:

aOUED AND LINCOLN,

59 'WASHINGTOtT STREET.

NEW YORK: SHELDON AND COMPANY.
CINCINNATI : GEO. S. BLANCHARD,
1860.

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1854, by
GOULD AND LINCOLN,

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of Massaebaaottn

PUBLISHERS’ NOTICE.

Several years since the publishers of this valuable and very popnlaf
work engaged the services of Dr. John Ware, of this city, to prepare an
improved edition, by the addition of forty elegant pages of the illustra-
tions of Paxton, “with references to the same in the- text; extensive
notes, original and selected ; a vocabulary of scientific terms, etc. ; with
a view of adapting it more perfectly to the wants of our colleges and
schools, so as thereby to increase its circulation and usefulness.

The sale, with these additions and improvements, has been gradually
on the increase, until it has become very generally introduced into our
best schools and colleges throughout the country ; and having passed
through some forty or more editions, the publishers found the plates, by
constant use, very much worn, and in some cases imperfect. They
have consequently procured an entirely new and beautiful set of illus-
trations, which, with other improvements, render the work all that can
be desired, and in view of which they anticipate a wider and still more
extensive sale of the work.

Boston, January, 1854.

rmiTTED BT

GEORGE C. RAND & AVERY.

PKEFACE

TO THE

REVISED AMERICAN EDITION.

The present edition of the Natural Theology of Dr. Paley was under*
taken witn the view of making this admhable work more extensively
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 sensi
bly felt the disadvantage under which they labor in comprehending the
descriptions; and of course the arguments of the author, from the want
of jL knowledge of the subjects to which they relate. No man could so
well supply the want of this knowledge, by clearness of statement and
description, as Dr. Paley; and it is probable that fevV other writers would
have made a book so intelligible, which relates to subjects remote from
common observation, without the aid of plates and illustrations. Still it
must be imperfectly comprehended in many important parts, except by
those acquainted with the sciencqs from which his illustrations are drawn.
Enough it is true may be understood by all, to carry them along with the
argument, and produce a general conviction of its truth. But the concep-
tions 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 tho Natural Theology fell into their hands, containing, beside the
plates, a considerable number of Notes. From these Notes a selection has
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
L^scful Knowledge ; a tract which cannot be too highly recommended
^ fo the perusal of those who take pleasure in studying the indications of a
^ wise and benevolent Providence in the works of creation.

A few additional Notes have also been subjoined, which have not b»®^
before published.

PREFACE.

It seems to be supposed by some, that the progress made in science
since the writing of this work must have furnished ample materials foi
valuable additions to it. It will readily appear, however, upon reflection,,
that this is not likely to be the case, and that no particular advantage to
the argument is to be expected from bringing it down, as it is often ex-
pressed, to the present state of science. The object of the work is, not
to teach science in its connexion with Natural Theology, 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,
wherewith to construct an argument for the existence and attributes of
God. The excellence of such a work, then, will not consist in the num-
ber of illustrations, or in the copiousness and completeness of the materi-
als, 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 strengtn
will be given to it by new discoveries in science. As Dr. Paley has him-
self admitted, a single case thoroughly made out, proves all that can be
proved, and, generally speaking, the most familiar instances 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, there-
fore, which is necessary for the completeness and strength of the argu-
ment 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 affected
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 enforcing the
argument, and holding it up in every possible light, than has been attempt-
ed 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 readings
have been adopted, which appeared best to comport with that familiarity,
and originality of expression, which gives its principal charm, and its
great force and clearness to Dr Paley’s style.

J W

TO THE

RIGHT HONORABLE AND RIGHT REVEREND

S H U T E BARRINGTON, L L. IK

LORD BISHOP OF DURHAM.

MY LORD,

The following work was undertaken at your Lordship’s recom-
mendation; 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 favor of my first and ever honored
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 ex-
cellent 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 reason-
able ambition. In the meantime, a weak, and, of late, a painful state
of health, deprived me of the power of discharging the duties of my sta-
vion, 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
Inat 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 call in 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
importance of the subject, or to any skepticism concerning it with which
the present times are charged, as I do, to its connexion with the subjects
treated of in my former publications. The following discussion alone was
wanted to make up my works into a system : in which works, such as
they are, the public have now before them, the 3vidence3 of natural reli-

DEDICATION.

gion, 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 volume to your Lordship’s protection, not
only as, in all probability, my last labor, but as the completion of a con
sistent and comprehensive design.

Hitherto, my Lord, I have been speaking of myself and not of my Pa-
tron. 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 solicitude,
nevertheless, accompanied with that candor of mind, which suffers no
subordinate differences of opinion, when there is a coincidence in the main
intention and object, to produce an alienation of esteem, or diminution of
favor. It is fortunate for a country, and honorable 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, 1 beg
leave to subscribe myself, with great respect and gratitude,

My Lord,

Your Lordship’s faithful

And most devoted servant,

WILLIAM PALEY

TO THE

HONORABLE AND RIGHT REVEREND

SHUTE BARRINGTON, LL. D

LORD BISHOP OF DURHAM.

MY LORD,

To your suggestion the world is indebted for the existence of Dr.
Paley’s valuable work on Natural Theology. The universal and perma-
nent esteem in which it has been held in this country, and its favorable
reception in France, even after the desolating influence of the Revolution,
have abundantly approved your Lordship’s selection 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 suggcstor 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 honor 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 v, liter, I shall consider it the highest gratification.

I am, my Lord,

With great veneration.

Your Lordship’s most obliged.

And obedient servant.

JAMES PAXTON.

Chapter

1. State of the Argument, . • • • •

2. Stale of the Argument, continued, • • •

3. Application of the Argument, • • • •

4. Of the succession of Plants and Animals, • • •

5. AppJ'cation of the Argument, continued, • • • •

6. The Argument cumulative, . . • • •

7. Of the mechanical and immechanical parts and functions of

Animals and Vegetables,

8. Of mechanical Arrangement in the human Frame— Of the

Bones,

9. Of the Muscles,

10. Of the Vessels of animal Bodies, ....

11. Of the animal Structure, regarded as a Mass, . •

12. Comparative Anatomy,

13. Peculiar Organizations,

14. Prospective Contrivances, . . • • • •

15. Relations, . . ..•••••

16. Compensation, .

17. The Relation of animated Bodies to inanimate Nature,

IS. Instincts, .......

19 Of Insects, •

20 Of Plants, •

21 Of the Elements, .... • . .

22 Astronomy, ....••••

23. Personality of the Deity, . . ...

24. Of the Natural Attributes of the Deity, • • .

25. The Unity of the Deity, • . •

26. The Goov^ness of the Deity, .....

27. Conclusim, . . * • • ; •

Vocabulary,

Pag*

109

122

137

145

149

157

166

170

180

193

207

212

229

246

249

252

292

299

NATURAL THEOLOGY

CHAPTER 1.

STATE OF THE ARGUMENT.

In crossing a heath, suppose I pitched my foot against
a stonsy and were asked how the stone came to be tliere;
I might possibly answer, that, for anything I knew to the
contrary, it had lain there forever: nor would it perhaps
oe very easy to show the absurdity of this answer. But
suppose I had found a walcli 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 anything 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 dis-
cover 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 different
parts had been differently shaped from what they are, of a
dilTerent size from what they are, or placed after any otlier
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 ono
result: [See Plate L] — We see a cylindrical box containing
a coiled elastic spring, which, by its endeavor to relax itself,
turns round the box. We next observe a flexible chain (ar-
tificially wrought for the sake of flexure) communicating the
action of 4 he sj ring from the box to the fusee. We then

STATE OF THE ARGUMENT.

find a series of wheels, the teeth of which catch in, and
apply to each other, conducting the motion from the fusee
to the balance, 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 springs 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 in the room of
which, if there had been any other than a transparent sub-
stance, the hour could not be seen without opening the
case. This mechanism being observed (it requires indeed
an examination of the instrument, and perhaps some pre-
vious knowledge of the subject, to perceive and understand
it; but being once, as we have said, observed and under-
stood,) the inference, we think, is inevitable ; that the
watch must have had a maker ; that there must have exist-
ed, at sometime, and at some place or other, an artificer or
artificers, who formed it for the purpose which we find it
actually 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 oi.ir opinion of the unseen and unknown artist’s sldll,
if he be unseen and unknown, but raises no doubt in our
minds of the existence and agency of such an 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 diflerent species, or an agent possessing, in
some respects, a different nature.

II. 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
case supposed would be evident, in whatever we ac-

STATE OF THE ARGUMENT.

counted for the irregularity of the movement, or whether
we could account for it or not. Jt 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.

III. 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 ascci-
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 pre-
judice 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, nust 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 structure.

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 foim to
himself an idea of what is meant by a principle of order
distinct from the intelligence of the watchmaker.

VI. Sixthly, he would be surprised to hear that the
mechanism of the watch was no proof of contrivance, only
a motive t'^ induce the mind to think so.

STATE OF THE ARGUMENT.

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 anything.
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 areffiolh dis-
tinct from itself, the laiu 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-
hahle 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; Dr 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,
affect not the certainty of his reasoning. The conscious-
ness of knowing little need not beget a distrust of that
which he does know.

CHAPTER II.

STATE OF THE ARGUMENT CONTINUED.

Suppose, in the next place, that the person wffio found
the watch, should, after sometime, 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-
ly and separately calculated for this purpose; let us in-
quire, what effect ought such adiscoi ery to have uoon his
forme conclus DU.

STATE OF THE ARGUMENT.

I. The first cfiect would be to increase his admiration
of the contrivance, and his conviction of the consummate
skill of ’'he contriver. Whether he regarded the ob-
ject of f.ie 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
luiZ/iownhis 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
farther property, the crown and perfection of all the rest.

II. He would reflect, that though the watch before him
were, in some sense^ the maker of the watch which was
fabricated in the course of its movements, yet it was in a
very difterent sense from that in which a carpenter, for
instance, is the maker of a chair ; the author of its con-
trivance, 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
neither more nor less than this ; by the application of an
unintelligent 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 tlie
st'*eam cannot be said to be the cause or author of txie
eflect, 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
corn; yet is this share the same as that which the watch
would have contributed to the production of the new watch,
upon the supposition assumed in the last section. There-
fore,

III. Though it be now no longer probable, that the
individual watch which our < bserve:; had found was made

STATE OF THE ARGUMENT.

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 n:)w 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 color 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 a ase,
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 a
contriver; order, without choice; arrangement, without
anything 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 in
accomplishing that end, without the end ever having been
contemplated, or the means accommodated to it. Arrange-
ment, disposition of parts, subserviency of means to an end,
relation of instruments to a use, imply the presence of in-
telligence and mind. No one, therefore, can rationally be-
lieve, 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. All these properties, therefore, are as much
unaccounted for as they were before.

IV. Nor is anything gained by running the difficulty
farther back, i. 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
by this supposition, nor dispensed with. If the difficulty
were diminished the farther 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, ihere, by supposing the
number of terms to be what is ^ ailed infinite, we may con-

STATE OF THE ARGUMENT

ceive the limit to be attained: but where there is n j such
tendency, or approach, nothing is effected 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
wc are assured, (though we never can have tried the ex-
periment,) because, by inci easing the number of links,
from ten, for instance, to a hundred, from a hundred to a
thousand, Slc. 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
machine 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 thi^ 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, ccntrivaiice 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-
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 tG
show that such substance could not have existed from eter-
nity, either in succession (if it were possible, which I think

STATE OF THE ARGUMENT.

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 ir-
resistibly 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 or 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 a use, (all
which we discover in a watch,) 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 of the phenomena, still less any series of causes eithei
finite or infinite. Here is contrivance, but no contriver;
proofs of design, but no designer.

V. Our observer would farther also reflect, that the
maker 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
watch in the course of the movements which he had given
to the old 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, and
designed its use. This conclusion is invincible. A second
examination presents us with a new discovery. The watch

. “ APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT.

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 or organization, separately calculated for that
purpose. What effect would this discovery have or ought
it to hive, 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 Inis,
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-
out absurdity? Yet this is atheism.

CHAPTER III.

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT.

This 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, subtilty, and curiosity of the mechanism; and still
more, if possible, do they go beyond them in number an^^
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 that of comparing a single thing with a single thing ;
an eye, for example, with a telescope. As far as the ex-
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 arc
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
'cays of light, in passing from water into the eye, should be

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT.

refracted by a more convex surface than when it passes
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 II. fig. 1.]
What plainer manifestation of design can there be than this
difference ? What could a mathematical instrument-maker
have done more, to snow his knowledge of his principle,
his application of that knowledge, his suiting of his means
to his end; I will not say to display the compass or excel*
lejice of his skill and art, for in these all comparison is
indecorous, but to testify counsel, choice, consideration,
purpose ?

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 other an unperceiving instru-
ment. The fact is, that they are both instruments. And,
as to the 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 consti-
tution of the eye is. [Plate II. fig. 2.] It is necessary, in
order to produce distinct vision, that an image or picture of
the object be formed at the bottom of the eye. Whence this
necessity 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 mxechanism to a certain point,
and then we are stopped; either the mechanism becoming
loo subtile for our discernment, or something else beside
Ihe known laws of mechanism taking place: whereas, in
.he 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 in the other. In the example before us, it is a
matter of certainty, because it is a 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 alficts the dis-
tinctness of the image, affects the distinctness of the vision.
The formation then of such an image being necessary (no

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT.

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,
[Plate II. fig. 3, 4.] and the humours of the eye, bear a
complete resemblance to one another, in their figure, their
position, and in their power ^ver the rays of light, viz. in
bringing each pencil to a point at the right distance from
the lens; namely, in the eye, at the exact place where the
membrane is spread to receive it. How is it possible, un-
der circumstances of such close affinity, and under the
operation of equal evidence, to exclude contrivance from
the one, yet to acknowledge the proof of contrivance hav-
ing been employed, as the plainest and clearest of all pro-
positions, in the other

The resemblance between the two cases is still more ac-
curate, and obtains in more points than we have yet repre-
sented, or than we are, on the first view of the subject,
aware of In dioptric telescopes there is an imperfection
of this nature. Pencils of light, in passing through glass
lenses, are separated into different colors, thereby tinging
the object, especially the 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 managed in the eye; in which there was exactly the
same difficulty to contend with as in the telescope. His
observation taught him, that, in the eye, the evil was cur-
ed by combining lenses composed of diflJerent substances,
i. e. of substances which possessed different refracting
powers. Our artist borrowed thence his hint, and pro-
duced a correction of the defect by imitating, in glasses

* The comparison with the lens of the telescope is not perfectly exact
for the crystalline lens is a substance composed of concentric layers, of
unequal density, the hardness of which increases from the surface to the
centre/ and hence possesses a more refractive power than any artificial
lens. Mr. Ramsden supposes that this texture tends to correct the aber-
ration occasioned by the spherical form of the cornea, and the focus of
each oblique pencil of rays fails accurately on the concave surface of
the rotira — Paxton,

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT.

Hiade from different materials, the effects of the different
humours through which the rays of light pass before they
<each 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 farther; 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 in 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,
to 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 eye, both these cases were to be provided for; and for
the purpose of providing for them a subtile and appropriate
mechanism is introduced: —

* “ It does not appear that the hint of this discovery was taken by
IMr. Dollond from the structure of the eye, as supposed l)y our author,
but was obtained in a different manner. '^I'his circumstance does not
however lessen the force of the reasoning. '1 he principle thus applied
in the construction of achromatic telescopes, has been since carried still
farther, and in its new application, illustrates more strongly, if possible,
the point so well insisted on by Dr. i’aley, namely, the resemblance be-
tween the eye and our optical instrutiients. Tn the best achromatic tele-
scopes, composed of the different kinds of glass, according to the discov-
ery of Mr. Dollond, white or luminous objects are not i^\\o\\\\‘pe7'fectIy free
from color, their edges being tinged on one side with a claret colored,
and on the other with a greenish fringe. M his remaining imperfection
has been got rid of by the combination p.uUd and finid lenses in the
object and eye-glasses of telescopes. For this beautif^ul discovery science
is indebted to Dr. Blair of i\linburgb, who found that by placing a con-
cave lens of muriatic acid with a metallic solution, between two convex
lenses of glass, a combined lens was Ibrrned which refracted rays with
perfect regularity and equality. A lens lil>:e this has been used with
great advantage. '1 he most important [)oint is, however, to consider
this improvement in iu applic.ition to the argument, and it will be seen
how much nearer this construction brings tin.* telescope to the eye. In
Dollond’s telescope there is a combination of srdid lenses of diflerent
substances. — In idair's, a combination oi' fluid and solid ; which is ex-
actly the case in the human eye. 'I be oidy ditference is, that in the eye
there is a solid lens between two fluid ones ; and in the telescope a fluid
between two solid, d he combination is closely similar, and the final
cause in both probably the same, namely, to correct the unequal refrac-
tion ofligh." — See Kdinhvr^h Journal of Science, iXo. viii p 212 :
Rjid Library of Useful Knowledge, iXo 1 & 12. \^Ed.

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT.

J. 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 light 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 far-
ther also, in the human subject, to be observed, that this
hole 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 8c 6.] |

* As the rays of light flowing from all the points of an object through
the pupil of the eye, by the relVaction of the lens and humours of the
eye, form an exact representation at the bottom of the eye on the retina ;
80 the camera obscura, by means of a lens refracting the rays, exhibits a
picture of the scene before it on the opposite wall. — Paxton,

t Some eminent anatomists have doubted the muscularity of the iris,
and have given very diflerent explanations of its motions, attributing the
contraction and dilatation either to the varied impulse of the blood in its
vessels, or to its own vita propria. The enlightened physiologist Magen-
die aflirms, that the latest researches upon the anatomy of the iris proves
its muscular structure, and that it is composed of two layers of fibres, the
external, Plate II. (Fig. 5.) radiated^ which dilate the pupil, the other
(Fig. 6.) circular, which contract the pupil. The external circular
fibres appear to' be supported by a species of ring, which each of the ra-
diated fibres contribute to form, and in which they slide during the alter-
nate contractions and relaxations of the pupil. — Paxton.

There is a curious circumstance, in the way in which light produces the
contraction of the opening of the iris, which strengthens very much the ar-
gument derived from design manifested in its structure and adaptation to its
purpose. The object of the iris, it is to be observed, has reference to the
quantity of hght to be admitted upon the retina or expansion of ''he optic
nerve. It is the state of the retina then which regulates the motmns of the
iris, and it is the action of the lighten the retina which causes those mo-
tions and not its action upon the iris itself. This has been shown by a very
delicate experiment. If a ray 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 contraction of the aperture takes place; but if it

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT.

II. The second difficulty which has been stated, was the
suiting of the same organ to the perception of objects tha.
lie near at hand, within a few inches, we will suppose, of
the eye, and of objects which are placed at a considerable
distance from it, that, for example, of as many furlongs;
(I 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, i. e. be made to form an image,
in the same place wdth 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 other things remaining the same,
this point, by the immutable properties of light, is carried
farther 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 changing, as the occasion required, his lens or his tele-
scopes; 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, or by what means it was effected, (for if the known

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 the iris alone occasions no contraction,
although it is the part which really contracts when the same liglit falls
upon a distant part. The d-esign here is too obvious to need being en-
larged 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 ? — [ Ed.

* 'J lie focus of the refracted rays must fall exactly on the retina, so
that the point of vision may be neither produced beyond it, nor shorten-
ed 80 as not to reach it. 'The latter defect exists in short-sighted per
sons, from too great convexity of the cornea or lens. "J'he former is the
defect of long-sighted persons, in whom there is an opposite conforma-
tion of tliose parts. — Paxton.

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT.

/s 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. Chough sufficient for the purpose, is 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 haA e ascertained the mechanical alteration which the
parts of the eye undergo. It is found, that by the action of
certain muscles [PI. II. 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-
justment required. The cornea, or outermost coat of the
eye, is rendered more round and prominent ; the crystalline
lens underneath is 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 such 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 in a
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 had a
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 conctrned; yet these parts so in fact adjusted, as t<?

^iO

ArPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT.

produce, not by a simple action or effect, but by a combi-
nation of actions and effects, the result which is ultimately
wanted. And forasmuch as this organ would have to ope-
rate under different circumstances, with strong degrees of
light and with weak degrees, upon near objects, and upon
remote ones, and these differences demanded, according tc
the laws by which the transmission of light is regulated, 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 delinea-
ted, 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 occa-
sionally changed, and a most artificial apparatus provided
to produce that change. This is far beyond the common
regulator of a watch, which requires the touch of a foreign
hand to set it; but it is not altogether unlike Harrison's con-
trivance for making a watch regulate itself, by inserting
within it a machinery, which, by the artful use of the dif-
ferent 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 praised.
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
of their beak; and, the distance between the eye and the
point of the beak being small, ii becomes necessary that
they should have the power of seeing very near objects
distinctly. On the other hand, from being often elevaled
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 a great distance; a power, of which, in birds
of rapine, surprising examples are given. The fact ac-
cordingly is, that two peculiarities are found in the eyes
of birds, both tending to fctcililofe the change upon which
the adjustment of the eye to diflerent distances depends.
The one is a bony, yet, in most species, a flexible rim or

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT.

hoop,* [Plate III. fig. 1, 2.] surrounding the broadest part
of the eye; which, confining the action of the muscles to
vhat part, increases the effect of their lateral pressure upon
the orb, by which pressure its axis is elongated for the pur-
pose of looking at very near objects. The o^her is an ad-
ditional muscle, called the marsupium, [Plate III. fig. 3, 4,
D.] to draw, upon occasion, the crystalline lens hack, and
to fit the same eye for the viewing of very distant objects
By these means, the eyes of birds can pass from one ex
tieme to another of their scale of adjustment, with mere
case 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 adap-
ted to their state and element. We have already ob-
served upon the figure of the crystalline compensating by
its roundness the density of the medium through which
their light passes. To which we have to add, that the eyes
of fish, in their natural and indolent state, appear to he
adjusted to near objects, in this respect differing from the
human eye, as well as those of quadrupeds and birds. The
ordinary shape of the fish’s eye being in a much higher
degree 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

* The flexible rini, or hoop, consists of bony plates, which in all
birds occupy the front of the sclerotic; lying close together and overlap-
ping each other. These bony plates in general 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. It is a principle in optics, that the rays of light,
passing through a lens, will be refracted to a point or focus beyond the
lens, and this focus will be less distant in proportion as the lens approach-
es to a sphere in shape. This principle is very naturally applied to the
explanation of the use of this apparatus. These scales partly lying over
each other, so as to allow of motion, will, on the contraction of the
straight muscles inserted into and covering them, move over each other,
and dinnnish the circle of the sclerotica; and thus the cornea, w^hich is
immediately within the circle made by these scales, must be pressed
forward* and rendered more convex, from the focus of the eye becoming
altered, oy its axis being elongated. This consequent convexity of the
cornea renders small objects near the animal very distinct. Without this
structure a bird would be continually liable to dash itself against tree‘s
when flying in a thick forest, and would be unable to see the minn'
objects on which it sometimes feeds. — Paxton,

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT.

througli sand and gravel, the roughest and harshest sub-
stances, there is placed before the eye, and at some dis-
tance from it, a transparent, horny, convex case or cover-
ing, which, without obstructing the sight, defends the or-
gan. To such an animal, could anything be more wanted,
or more useful?

Thus, in comparing the eyes of different kinds of ani-
mals, we see, in their resemblances and distinctions, one
general plan laid down, and that plan varied with the vary-
ing 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 unperceived by both eyes at
the same time.

In considen ng 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 subtilty 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; y^t the multitude of
objects which it contains, are all preservi^d; are all discrim-
inated in their magnitudes, positions, figures, colors. The
prospect from Hampstead-hill is compressed into the com-
pass of a sixpence, 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 distinctly per-
ceived throughout its whole progress; for it is qnly by
means of that perception that the motion of the coach it-
self is made sensible to the eye. If anything 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
lie hands of the Creator, great and little are nothing.

Sturmius held, that the examination of the eye was
a cure for atheism. Besides that conformity to optical
principles which its internal constitution displays, and
which alone amounts to a manifestation of intelligence hav
ing been exerted in the structure; besides this, which forms

* The eve of tie seal or sea-calf, I understand, is an exception. — Mem
Acad Paris, 1701, p. 123.

APPLICATION OF TUE ARGUMENT.

no doubt, the leading character of the organ, there is to be
seen, in everything 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 its tenderness. It
is lodged in a strong, deep, bony socket, composed by the
junction of seven different bones,* hoik wed out at their
edges. In some few species, as that of the coatimondi, f
the orbit is not bony 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 embedded in fat, of
all animal substances the best adapted both to its repose
and motion. It is sheltered by the eyebrows; an arch of
hair, which, like a thatched penthouse, prevents the sweat
Und moisture of the forehead from running down into it.

But it is still better protected by its lid. 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. J 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 m^echanical ^ If it be overlooked
by the observer of nature, it can only be because it is ob-
vious and familiar. This is a tendency to be guarded
against. We pass by the plainest instances, whilst we are
exploring those which are rare and curious; by which con-
duct of the uiderstanding, 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 through a 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 \varm air, which, in the course of respiration, is con*

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

t The muscles which accomplish these actions are seen in Tab. XIV.
Fig. 1, 2. The eyelids also moderate the force of a too brilliant light,
and exclude, by a partial closure, that excess of it wdiich would oifend
the eye. The eyelashes have a similar office, that of regulating the
quantity of light: and it is believed, that they protect the eye from the
■mail particles of dust that float in the air. — Paxton.

APPLICATION OF THE ARC ITMENT.

tinually passing over it. Can any pipe or outlet for cany
ing off' the waste liquor from a dye-house or a 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 v/hich it is discharged, — a hole through a bone?

It is observable, that this provision is 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 apiece
of mechanism, without noticing that most exquisite of all
contrivances, the niclitaiing membrane , which is found in
the eyes of birds and of many quadrupeds. [Plate IV. fig.
2.] Its use is to sweep the eye, which it does in an in-
stant; to spread over it the lachrymal humour; to defend
it also from sudden injuries: yet not totally, when drawn
upon the pupil, to shut out the light. The commodious
ness with which it lies folded up in the inner 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 ot
two different kinds of action, by which the motion of this
membrane is performed. It is not, as in ordinary cases,
by the action of two antagonist muscles, one pulling for-
ward and the other backward, that a reciprocal change is
effected; but it is thus: The membrane itself is an elastic
substance, capable 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, in order to fit it up for its office, it is connected
by a tendon or thread with a muscle in the back part of
the eye: this tendon or thread, though strong, is so fine
as not to obstruct the sight, even when it passes across it;
and the muscle itself, being placed in the hack part of the
eye, [Plate IV. fig. 3, 4, and 5,] derives from its situation
the advantage, not only of being secure, but of being out
of the way; which it would hardly have been in any posi-
tion that could be assigned to it in the anterior part of the
orb, where its function lies. When the muscle behind the
eye contracts, tire membrane, by means of the communi-
cating thread, is instantly drawn over the forc-])art 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 membrane brings it back again

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT.

10 its position. Does not this, if anything can do it, be-
speak an artist, master of his work, acquainted 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 need only to be
looked upon to discover the reasons of its motion and ac-
tion.”!

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, in 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 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,
answers the end; but, still farther, it makes an angle,
not round a fixed pivot, but round a loop formed by another
muscle; which second muscle, whenever it contracts, of
course twitches the first muscle at the point of inflection
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 p^'ecise
laws; then, a complex organ, an intricate and artificial ap-
paratus, in order, by the operation of this element, and in
conformity with the restrictions of these laws, to produce an
image upon a membrane communicating with the brain

*Phil. Tran. 179(5.

t Memoirs for a Natural History of Animals y the Royal Academy
of Sciences at Paris, done into English by ’order of the Royal Society.
1701, p. 249.

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT.

Wherefore all this? Why make the difficulty in order
to surmount it? If to perceive objects by some other
mode than that of touch, or objects which lay out of
the reach oT that sense, were the thing purposed; could not
a simple volition of the Creator have communicated tie 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-
trition, secretion, respiration; to the economy of vegeta-
bles; and indeed to almost all the operations of nature.
The question, therefore, is of very wide extent; and
amongst 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, could 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 ofobservation, 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
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 reaction; 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 to 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 interposition of an apparatus, correspond-
ing with these law'^, and suited to the exigency whicli re-
sults from them, that thp purpose is at length attained. As
we have said, therefore, God prescribes linfits to his power,

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT

that he may let in the exercise, and thereby exhibit demon-
strations of his wisdom. For then, i. e. such laws and lim-
itations being 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 thesG 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. W e 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 laws to another. It hats 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.

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-
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 is an instrument
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 ? [Pl.V.fig.l.] An external ear, (the concha,) calcu-
lated, like an ear-trumpet, to catch and collect the pulses of
which we have spoken; in large quadrupeds, turning to
the sound, and possessing a configuration, as well 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-

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT.

munication, and the only communication that can be ob-
served, between the membrane last mentioned and the m-
terior channels and recesses of the skull: of cavites, sirri-
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 of 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 anything I am acquainted with in
animal bodies. [PI. 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 name of the ‘‘ drum of the ear.'’
The compages of bones consists of four, which are so dis-
posed, and so hinge upon one another, as that if the mem-
brane, the drum of the ear, vibrate, all the four 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 wliich it plays, and
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 anything which
communicates a vibratory motion to the stapes, though not,
as in all ordinary cases, through the intervention of the
iiiembrana 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 ajipears 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. Either
in the natural or preternatural state of the organ, the use
of the chain c f bones is to pro 'ugate the impulse in a di

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMEN'*'

rec^ion towards the brain, and to propagate it with the ad-
vantage of a lever; which advantage consists in increasing
the force and stiength of the vibration, and at the same
time diminishing the space through which it oscillates;
both of which changes may augment or facilitate the still
deeper action of the auditory nerves.

The benefit 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
suificient for the passage of air, leading from this cavity
into the back part of the mouth. Now, it would not have
done to have had 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 this cavity a commu-
nication with the external air. In one word; it exactly
answers the purpose of the hole in a drum.

The mernbrana 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 everything 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. Tension 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,
i^vol i.) Sir Everard Home has given some curious observa

APPL CATION OF THE ARGUMENT.

tions upon the ear, and the drum of the ear of an elephant
[PI. 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 mry 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: ‘Hhat this mode
of adapting the ear to different sounds, is one of the most
beautiful applications of muscles in the body; the median-
ism is so simple, and the variety of 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 who retained the sense of hearing, not in a
perfect, but in a very considerable degree, notwithstanding
he almost total loss of the membrane we have been de-
scribing. In one of these cases, the use here assigned to

* As the ear of man and fish has been described, it may not be im-
proper in this place to state, that the other classes of animals are no less
admirably provided with an ear, adapted to their peculiar habits and
economy.

In amphibious animals the organ of hearing has an intermediate struc-
ture; in some species of this class, the ear resembling fish, in others it
more resembles the formation of terrestrial animals.

There is an important addition to this organ in birds: viz. a cochlea ar.d
proper tympanum.

In quadrupeds we find a more complicated organization; to collect the
vibrations of sound, they have an external ear, and all those parts, though
of a different figure, which belong to the human ear.

The capacity for enjoyment of music is mental, but all the cufona
varieties of sound, which are the source of this enjoyment, are communi-
gated by the mechanical provisions of the ear. We are astonished at the
varieties of sensation; the ear is capable of perceiving four or five hundred
Virialions of tone in sound.

“ Hence we may conceive a prodigious variety in the same tone,
arising from irregularities of it occasioned by constitution, figure, situation
or manner of striking the sonorous body; from the constitution of the
elastic medium, or its being disturbed by other motions; and from the
constitution of the ear itself, upon which the impression is made. A
flute, a violin, a hautboy, a French horn, may all sound the same tone,
and be easily distinguishable. Nay, if twenty human voices sound the
same note, and with equal strength, there will be some diflerence. **
Reid's Enquiry, page 98. — Paxton.

PLANTS AND ANIMALS.

that inembrane, of modifying the impressions of sound by
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
istened to anything which he did not distinctly hear;
ivhen 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 the 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.

CHAPTER IV.

OF THE SUCCESSION OF PLANTS AND ANIMALS.

The 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 watch
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 connexion, 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. To begin with the fructificatioii of plants. Can it be
doubted but that the seed contains a particular organiza-

OF THE SUCCESSION OF

tioii? 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 anything more to (i
with that organization, than the watch would have Iiad 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 conimvancel 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, producing
tlieir 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, as the
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 o.
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. If there 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
cm])loyed. The animal function and the vegetable func
tion are alike destitute of any design which can operate upon

PLANTS AND ANIMALS.

.he 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 hears 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 farther 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, antheras, 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 chair. What then are the filaments,
antherae, and stigmata of plants, but instruments strictly
so called.^ *

III. We may advance from animals which bring forth
eggs, to animals which bring forth their young alive: and
of this latter class, from the lowest to the highest; from
irrational to rational life, from brutes to the human species;

* Nearly akin to the reproduction of plants and animals by generation,
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 pro-
cess by which a new eye is formed, the apparatus, instruments and
materials, employed, bear no resemblance to the organ to be farmed. The
small capillary vessels of the root of the eye, construct a new 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
ll:e blood out of which it is made, no more resemblance to it 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 exist-
ing in a whole race of animals, for the accomplishment of a purpose
which it is 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 argurrents for the existence of God, referred to in the next
chapter, as w 3II as in various other parts of this volume, he will fina that
they signally fail in their application to this case. — JEd,

PLANTS AND ANIMALS.

without perceiving, as we proceed, any alteiatioii A'natever
in the terms of the comparison. The rational animal does
not produce its offspring with more certainty or success
.han the irrational animal; a man 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 wdiich has already so often 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 w#^
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 want a contriver. 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 w^e are in search of,
a cause of relation, and of subserviency of parts to their use,
which relation and subserviency we see in the procreated
body, than we can refer the internal conformation 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 diflerence, as far
as argument is concerned, between an intelligence wliich
i« not exerted, and a intelligence which does not exist.

APPLICATION &r:

CHAPTER V.

application of the ARGUMENl CONTINUED.

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

I. When we are inquiring simply afler 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 in the execution, into 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 provision
employed in fulfilling that intention, hot 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,
wffiich 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 likewise it is in the works of nature.
Irregularities and imperfections are of little or no ^veight
in the consideration, when that consideration relates sim-
ply to the existence of a Creator. When the argument re-

APFLICATION OF THE

spects his attributes, they are of weight; but are then to
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, and variety, be
such, and may so overpower apparent blemishes, as to in-
duce us, upon the most reasonable ground, to believe, tliat
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 use, is unknown.
These form different causes; for the operation may be un-
known, yet the use be certain. Thus it is 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 maybe 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-
tains in the economy of our bodies. There 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 which it 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 function. Instances
o’f *he 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 tliose of
V Inch the use is evident, they are beneath any assignable

ARGUMENT CONTINUED

proportion; and, perhaps, have never be.n submitted to a
trial and examination sufliciently 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
vigor and perfection, be performed, or how ong preserv-
ed, without the extirpated organ, does not seem to be as-
certained by experiment. But to this case, even were it
fully made out, may be applied the consideration which we
suggested concerning the watch, viz. that these superfluous
parts do not negative the reasoning which we instituted
concerning those parts which are useful, and ot' 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 n Bcessarily have had some form, 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 substan«e,Ti’om the 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
lit behind these lenses, so as to r.eceive the image forn:;ed
y 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 'ndividual out
of many thousand individuals, like the great [rize in a lot-

APPLICATION OF THE

teiy, 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 augmentation. 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 uo longer to be comput-
ed what the chances were against it. This is always to be
computed, when the question is, whether a useful or imi-
tative conformation be the produce of chance, or not: I de-
sire no 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
every organized body which we see, are only so many out
of nossiblo varieties and combinations of being, which

ARGUMENT CONiiNUED.

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 otlier species having perished, be-
ing by the defect of their constitutions incapable of preser-
va.mn, or of continuance by generation. Now there is no
foundation whatever for this conjecture in anything 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 conformations, 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. All these, and a thousand
other imaginable varieties, might live and propagate. We
may modity 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 ail 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-
butien of each into genera and species, which distribution
is not an arbitrary act of the mind, but founded in the
order which prevails in external nature, appear to me to
contiadict the supposition of the present world being the
remains of an indefinite variety of existences; of a variety
which rejects all plan. The hypothesis teaches, that every

APPLICATION OF THE

possible 'variety of being hath, at one time or other, found
its wav 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 is inconsistent with this phenomenon.

The hypothesis, indeed, is hardly deserving of the con -
sideration which we have given to it. What should we
think of a 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 de-
riving their curious structures from the thought and design
of their inventors and contrivers, in truth derive them from
no other origin than this, viz. that a mass of metals and oth-
er materials having run when melted into all 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 maga-
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 bo
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. To the marks of contrivance discoverable in animal
bodies, 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 dogfish 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 cabinet-maker’s workshop, as well as the fish skin,
were substances accidentally configurated, which he had
picked up, and converted to his use; that liis adzes, saws,
places and gimlets, were not mad 3, as wc suppose, to hew

ARGUMENT CONTINUED.

CUV, 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 perceiveo 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 it
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 ofit.^ The same
question may be asked of the ear; the same of all the
senses. None of the senses fundamentally depend iipo’^
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
he 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-
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 substance
by which the animal was surrounded. They would, others

APPLICATION OF THE

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
to swim in? The strong hooked bill, and sharp talons,
of one species of bird, determine it to prey upon animals,
the soft straight mil, and weak claws, of another species,
determine 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, [PI. XXVII. fig. 1,
2, 3] determines that bird to search for his food amongst
the insects lodged behind the bark, or in the wood, of de-
cayed 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? Facul-
ties 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 in-
tention.

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

VI. Others have chosen to refer everything to a princi^
pie 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, car.
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 negatived by the observation, that order
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
ordei is wanted, there we find it; where order is not want-
ed, i e. when* if it prevailed, it would be useless, there we

ARGUMENT CONTINUED.

do not find it. In the structure ofthe eye, (fc r we adhere to
our example,) in the figure and position of itw several parts,
the most exact order is maintained. In the forms of rocks
and mountains, in the lines which bound the coasts of con-
‘nents 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, bounds
ing the channel of the ocean by geometrical curves, oi
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
shaken, as it is sometimes attempted to be done, by bring-
ing forward to our view our own ignorance, or rather the
general 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
under our notice. True fortitude of understanding consists
in not suffering what we know to be disturbed by what we
do not know. If we perceive a 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 which is more so,) ought it to prejudice the infer-
ence which we draw from these premises, that we cannot
expla’n the use of the spleen } Nay, more ; if there be parts
ofthe 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, tha
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
should be inclined to doubt, or ought to doubt, about ^he
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 cf which we did not comprehend. I take it to be a
general way f f infusing doubts and scruples into the mind

THE ARGUMENT CUMULATIVE.

to recur tc 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 fall in with our con-
sciousnesses, as sometimes to produce a general distrust of
aur faculties and our conclusions. But this is an unfound-
ed jealousy. The uncertainty of one thing, does not ne-
cessarily affect the certainty of another thing. Our ig-
norance of many points need not suspend our assurance of
a few. Before we yield, in any particular instance, to the
skepdeism 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 lests. Other points are nothing. Our ignorance of
other points may be of no consequence to these, though
they be points, in various respects, of great importance.
A just reasoner removes from his consideration, npt only
what he knows, but what he does not know, touching mat-
ters not strictly connected with his argument, i. e. not
forming the very steps of his deduction; beyond these,
his knowledge and his ignorance are alike relative.

CHAPTER VI.

THE ARGUME'NT 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 experi-
ence, turn out to be true or false. Its coats and humours
constructed as the lenses of a telescope are constructed,
for the refraction of rays of light to a point, which forms
Uie proper office of the organ: the provision in its muscles
for turning its pupil to the object, similar 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 farther provision for its
defence, fo^ its constant lubricity and moisture, which we
see ir its socket ard its lids, in its gland for the secretion

FUNCTIONS OF ANIMALS, SlC.

of the matter of tears, its outlet or communication with the
nose for carry ng off the liquid aftor 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, un ler the title
of the present chapter, to observe is, that if other parts
of nature were inaccessible to our inquiries, or even if
other parts of nature presented nothing to our examination
out 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 any 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 different kinds of machines foi
drawing water, or a thousand different kinds for othei
purposes. Of this point, each machine is a proof, inde-
pendently of all the rest. So it is with the evidences of si
divine agency. The proof is not a conclusion which liea
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 falls; but it is an argument separately
supplied by every separate example. An error in stating
an example affects only that example. The arg ament 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 de-
sign is shown, the mind may set itself at rest; no future
consideration can detract anything from the force of he
example.

CHAPTER VII.

OF THE MECHANICAL AND IMMECHANICAL PARTS AND I UNC-
TIONS OF ANIMALS AND VEGETABLES.

It is not that every part of an animal or vegetable has
not proceeded from a contriving mind; or that every part
is not constructed w’th a view to its proper end and pur-

MECHANICAL AND IMMECHANICAL PARTS

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 whilft it operates according to these laws; but it
is because these laws themselves are not in all cases equal-
ly understood; or, what amounts to nearly the same thing,
are not equally exemplified in more simple processes, and
more simple machines; that we lay down the distinction,
here proposed, between the mechanical parts and ether
parts of animals and vegetables.

For instance; the principle of muscular motion, viz,
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 muscles 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 mechar ical.
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
no doubtfulness into our observations upon the sequel of
the process: Which observations relate, 1st, to the con-
stitution of the muscle; in consequence of which consti-
tution, the swelling of the belly or middle part is neces-
sarily and mechanically follow^ed by a retraction of the
tendons: 2dly, to the number and variety of the muscles, and
the corresponding number and variety of useful pow ers —
which they supply to the animal ; which is astonishingly
great: 3dly, to the judicious, (if we may be permitted to
use that erm, ir speaking of the author or of the works

AND FVNCTIDNS OF ANIMALS, &C.

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 is a 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, exact y
in the same manner as a rope in a ship is carried over a
block or round a stay, in order to make it pull in the direction
which is wanted. [PI. V. fig. 1.] All this, as we have
said, is mechanical; and is accessible to inspection, as ca-
pable of being ascertained, as the mechanism of the au-
tomaton in the Strand. Suppose 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, oi
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 to
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
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 neither truth noi
justice in endeavouring to bring a cloud over our under-
standings, or a distrust into our reasonings upon this sub-
ject, by suggesting that w^e 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

MECHANICAL AND IMMECHANICAL PARTS

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 I 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 te conduct us to
the same conclusion.

There is what may be called the chemti.al 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 in a 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 menstrua, 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 a uniform pulp, milk, or mucilage. It seizes upon
everything, it dissolves the texture of almost everything
that comes in its way. The flesh of perhaps all animals;
the seeds and fruits of the greatest number of plants ; the
roots, and stalks, and leaves of many, hard and tough as
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. Com
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 it is made to sup-

AND FUNCTIONS OF ANIMALS, &C

ply itself, and you will confess it to be entitled tc a name,
which it has sometimes received, that of “tie 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
wdl act in the manner in which the gastric juice acts, we
may be able to ascertain the chemical principles upon
which its efticacy 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 eflicacy, its invaluable
use, authorises us to draw in respect of a creative design?

Another most subtile 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 o4*gans is but too well at-
tested by the diseases, which an excessive, a deficient, or a
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, color,
and consistency, the most unlike one another that is possi-
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 odors. Of
these the greater part, as the gastric juice, the saliva, the
bile, the slippery mucilage 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 utilites 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

50 MECHANrCAL AND IMMECHANICAL PARTS

cannot tell) is shown by the consequence of the sepaiation
being long suspended; which consequence is disease and
death. Akin to secretion, if riot 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
Mlier 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 divison, 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 inquiries. In a few, and only
a few instances, we can discern a little of the constitution
of a gland. In the kidneys of large animals, we can trace
the emulgent artery dividing itself into an infinite number
of branches; their extremities everywhere communicating
v/ith 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. (PI. VI. fig. 2.) We can discern
these pipes joining and collecting together into larger pipes;
and when so collected, ending in innumerable papillae,
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 w^e know
nothing of animal secretion, or nothing satisfactorily, and
wdth that concise remark to dismiss the article from our
argument, would be to dispose of the subject very hastily
and very irrationally. For the purpose w^hich 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, io the gland. We see an organized apparatus, be
its construction or action what it may, 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, i. 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 impoi-

AND FUNCTIONS OF ANIMALS.

^ant and intelligent 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 unmechanical look-
er-on, who stands by a stocking-loom, a corn-mill, a card-
mg-machine, or a threshing-machine, at work, the fabric
md mechanism of which, as well as all that passes within,
fS hidden from his sight by the outside case; or, if seen,
would be too complicated for his uninformed, uninstructed
understanding to comprehend. And what is that situation?
This spectator, ignorant as he is, sees at one end a mate-
rial enter the machine, as unground grain the mill, raw cot-
ton the carding-machine, sheaves of unthreshed corn the
threshing-machine; and, when he casts his eye to the other
end of the apparatus, he sees the material issuing from it
in anew state; and, what is more, in a state manifestly
adapted to future use&; 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 ne-
cessary that this man, in order to be convinced that design,
that intention, that contrivance has been employed about
the machine, should be allowed to pull it to pieces; should
be enabled to examine the parts separately; explore their
action upon one another, or their operation, whether simul-
taneous or successive, upon the material which is presented
to them? He may long to do this, to gratify his curiosity;
he may desire to do it to improve his theoretic know-
ledge ; or he may have a more substantial reason for re-
questing it, if he happen, instead of a common visiter, to
be a mill wright by profession, or a person sometimes call-
ed in to repair such-like machines when out of order; but,
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, abundantly
testify, be the concealed part of the machine or of its con-
struction what it may, the hand and agency of a contriver.

If any confirmation were wanting to the evidence which
the animal secretions afford of design, it may be derived,
as has 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 difference exactly
adapted to the work which is to be' done, or the end to be
answei ed. No account can be given of this, without re-

LIBRARY

UNIVERSITY OF ILLlNOiS

OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT

sorting 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 sepa-
rate 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 mu-
cilaginous; the bile bitter, stimulating, and soapy? Why
does the juice which flows into the stomach, contain pow-
ers, which make that organ the^reat laboratory, as it is by
its situation the recipient, of the materials of future nutri-
tion? These are all fair questions; and no answer can be
given to them, but what calls in intelligence and intention.

My object in the present chapter has been to teach three
things: first, that it is a mistake to suppose that, in reason-
ing 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 most proper to be alle'ged as proofs
and specimens of design.

CHAPTER VIIJ.

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, cO postpone both these recommendations to a third;
that of the example being capable of explanation without
places, or figures, or technical language.

OF THE bones.

1 challenge any man to produce, in the joints and
pivots of the most con^plicated or the most flexible ma
•fliine that was ever contrived, a construction more artifi

IN THE HUMAN FRAME.

cial, or more evidently artificial, than that which is seen
in the vertebrce 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 to a 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; [PI. VII.
fig. 2, 3, 4.] First, the head rests immediately upon the
uppermost of the vertebrm, 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 thing required. — But
then the rotatory motion is unprovided for. Therefore,
secondly, to make the head capable of this, a farther 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
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, w^e 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 ^ the in
Btrument 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.

^Ve may add, that it was. on another account also, ex-
pedient, that the motion of the head backward and for-

OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT

ward should be performed upon the upper surface of the
first vertebrae : for, if the first vertebrae 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.

II. 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. [PI. 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; and a rotatory motion, by which the
palm of the hand, as occasion requires, may be turned up-
ward. How is this managed.^ The fore-arm, it is well
known, consists of two bones lying alongside 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, 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 time that the les-
ser 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 observable
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 mechanism, any person may
convince himself, who puts the ease and quickness, with
whiol. he can shake his liand at the wrist circularly, (mov-

IN THE HUMAN FRAME.

ing likewise, if he pleases, his arm at the elbo;v at the
same time,) in competition with the comparatively slow and
laborious motion with which his arm can be made to turn
round at the shoulder, by the aid of a ball and socket joint.

Ill The spine, or back bone, is a chain of joints of very
wondtrful construction. [PI. IX. fig. 1, 2.] Various, dif-
ficult, 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;
lor by firmness I mean, not only strength, but stability:)
film, to support the erect position of the body ; flexible, to
allow of the bending of the trunk in all degrees of curva-
ture. It was farther also (which is another, and quite a
distinct purpose from the rest) to become a pipe or conduit
for the safe conveyance from the brain, of the most important
fluid* of the animal frame, that, namely, upon which all
voluntary motion depends, the spinal marrow ; a substance
not only of 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 considerable 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 subdivided, 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 want-
ed 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, cylindrical bones, to which they can be fastened:
and, likewise, which is a similar use, to furnish a suppoil
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

* It seems proper to remark here, that the form of expression made
use of in this case implies what is not strictly true. The spinal marrow, 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 distribute ! to all parts of the body. Dr. 1‘aley in this instsaice prob-
ably had in view the animal spirhs, a subtile fluid, which was formerly
oelieved to be seated in tho >rain, ind carried through the nerves to thu
different par's. — Ed,

OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT

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 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 was 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 con-
tiguous 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, as
d settled posture is inconsistent with its use, a great diffi-
culty still remained, which was to prevent the vertebrm
shifting 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 provided
against. The vertebrre, 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 position nearly un-
altered; 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 ad-
mits of all the motion which is necessary to be performed
upon them, without any chasm being produced by a separa-
.ion of the parts. I say, of all the motion which is necessa-
ry; for although we bend our backs to every degree almost
of inclinaiion, the motion of each vertebrm is very small:
such is the advantage we receive from the chain being
mposed ol'so many links, the spine of so many bones

IN THE HUMAN FRAME.

FTad it consisted of three or four bones only, in bendiLg
the body the spinal marrow must have been bruised at
every angle. The reader need not be told, that these inter-
vening cartilages are gristles; and he may see them in
perfection in a loin of veal. Their form also favors 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
vertebrae nearer to the being parallel with one another than
they were before, instead of increasing the inclination of
their planes, which must have occasioned a fissure or open-
ing between them. Thirdly, for the medullary canal giv-
ing out in its course, and in a convenient order, a supply
of nerves to different parts of the body, notches are made
in the upper and lower edge of every vertebra, two on
each edge, equi-distant on each side from the middle line
of the back. When the vertebras are put together, these
notches, exactly fitting, form small holes, through which
the nerves, at each articulation, issue out in pairs, in order
to se*nd 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 insertion
of the bases of the muscles, and the support of the ends
of the ribs; and for this fourth purpose, especially the for
mer 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 projec
tion might have wounded the adjacent viscera, they run
out behind, and on each side, into lopg processes, to which
processes the muscles necessary to the motions of the trunk
are fixed; and fixed with such art, that, whilst the verte-
brae supply a basis for the muscles, the muscles help to
keep these bones in their position, or by their tendons to
tie them together.

That most important, however, and general property, viz
the strength of the compages, and the security againt 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 oi
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, a

OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT

to secure the body of the vertebrje, not only from accident-
ally slipping, but even from being pushed out of its place
by any violence short of that which would 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 ti e animals which come upon his table. Let him
take, for example, into his hands, apiece of the clean-pick-
ed bone of a hare’s back; consisting, we will suppose, of
three vertebree. 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
farther fortifying expedient, in the mode according to
which the ribs are annexed to the spine. Each rib rests
upon two vertebrae. 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 vertebrae, the ridge ap-
plying itself to the intervening cartilage. Now this is the
very contrivance v/hich 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 across the joints, by which the
pieces composing each arch are united. Each cross-bar
rests upon two of these pieces cat their place of junction;
and by tliat position resists, at least in one direction, any
tendency in either piece to slip out of its place. Thus
perfectly, by one 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 that
. line, a strong membrane runs from one end of the chain tv:
the other, sulficient to resist any force wliich is ever likel}
to act in the direction of the back, or parallel to it, ana
consequently to secure the wliolc combination in their
olaces. The general result is, that not only the motions of
’’he human body necessary for tlic ordinary otlices of life

IN THE HUMAN FRAME.

are performed with safety, but that it is an accident hard-
ly ever heard of, that even the gesticulations of a harlequ in
distort his spine.

Upon the whole, and as a guide to those who may be in-
clined to carry the consideration of this subject farther,
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 observations
by a very eminent anatomist and surgeon now living, who has lately
considered the subject of Animal Mechanism in its connexion with Natu-
ral Theology, and has presented some striking and original views.
These observations have been published as one of the treatises of the
Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge, which forms the ninth
number of the series. These extracts will be the more histructive asgiv
ing views of a professional observer in confirmation of those of our au-
thor ; 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 between all the parts of the skeleton; it forms a tube
for the lodgement of the spinal marrow, a part of the nervous system 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
ts fellow; all yielding in a slight degree, and, consequently, permitting
m 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 vertebrae; at
each interstice between these bones, there is a peculiar gristly substance,
which is squeezed out from between 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 bor-
der of the one next it. When a weight is upon the body, the soft giistK
is pressed out, and the membrane yields: the moment the weight is remo^

ON MECHANICAL ARRAN DEMENT

The structure of the spine is not in general different in
different animals. In the serpent tribe, however, it is con-
ed, the membranes recoil 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 tliis
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 be-
tween the different pieces of a column to prevent the edges (technically
called arrises) of the cylinders from coming in contact, 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, perfectly
straight, be pressed between the hands from its extremities, it will resist,
notwithstanding its elasticity, and when it does give way, it will be with
a jerk.

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 yiel^neither to one side nor to the other; and, consequently,
there would be a resistance from the pressure on all sides 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 col-
umn 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 without 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, vi-
brate to the interior of the head, and jar on the brain.

We have hinted at a comparison between the attachment of the spine
to the pelvis and the insertion of the mast of a ship into the hull. 7'he
mast goes directly through the decks without touching them, and the heel
of the mast goes into the step, which is formed of large solid 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 for enlarging the base on which the mast resk-
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 slirouds
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 d(»es not bear upon the deck or on the beams of the ship; in-
deed there is iC space cover v.‘4 with canvass between the deck and the
mas*

IN THE HUMA.I FRAME.

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

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; for if she were overtaken
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 in this manner. There are no boats 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 con •
trivances of the ship-builder, however different from the provisions of na-
ture, show what object is to 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 provisions of nature for
giving security to^he 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 sa-
crum (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 sacrum is as the
step on which the base of the pillar, like the heel of the mast, is socket-
ed or morticed. The spine is tied to the lateral parts of the pelvis by
powerful ligaments, which may be compared to the shrouds. They se-
cure 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 whether
by the exertion of the lower extremities, the spine is to be carried forward
upon the pelvis, or whether the body stops suddenly in running, 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 di-
minished.

For example, the sacrum, or centre bone of the pelvis, being carried
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 bones stand
with a very slight degree of obliquity to the line of motion; the shock
communicated from the lower to the second bone of the vertebrae is still in
a direction very nearly perpendicular to its surface 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 distrib-
uted over a considerable portion of the column; and in point rf fact, this
part of the spine never gives way. Indeed, we should be inclined to of-

OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT

quadrupeds the number of vertebrae is from thirty o forty
in the serpent it is nearly one hundred and fifty where-
as in men and quadrupeds the surfaces of the bones are
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 seipents, 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 fusee,) which aims at the same
properties, is but a bungling piece of workmanship in com-
parison with that of which we speak. ^

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 backbone, or rather to its side

fer 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, w^hy the fore mast
stands upright, whilst the main and mizzen masts stand oblique to the deck
or, as the phrase is, rake aft or towards the stern of the ship.

The main and mizzen masts incline backwards, because the strain is
greatest in the forward pitch of the vessel ; for the mast having received
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 supe-
rior advantage gained in working the ship; the sails upon this mast act
more powerfully in swaying the vessel round, and the perpendicular posi-
tion 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, irore apt to spring.

These considerations give an interest to the fact, that the human spine,
from its utmost convexity near its base, inclines backwards.” — BelVs
Treatise on Animal Mechanics,

* 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 containing u viscid
fluid, which keeps the bones from approaching nearer to each other than
the mean state of the elasticity of the lateral ligaments ; the fluid is in-
compressible, therefore forms a ball round which the bony cups mov*» ;
the ball having no cohesion, the centre of motion is always adapted t Jie
change which the joint undergoes without producing friction. — Pac jn.

IN THE HUMAN FRAME.

projections 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 conseauence of the obliquity, or the inclination down-
wards, is, that when they come to move, whatever pulls
the ribs upwards, necessarily, at the sam.e 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, the" efore, of the elevating muscles does
the business; whereas, if the ribs had been articulated with
the bodies of the vertebrse at right angles, the cavity of the
thorax could never haye been farther enlarged by a change
of their position. If each rib had been a rigid bone, ar-
ticulated at both ends to fixed bases, the whole chest had
been immoveable. Keill has observed, that the breastbone
in an easy inspiration, is thrust out one-tenth of an inch*
and he calculates that this, added to what is gained to the
space within the chest by the flattening or descent of the
diaphragm, 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 made by any artiflcer.J

* For the mode of articulation of the ribs with the vertebrae, see Plate
IX. Fig. 1 and 2.

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 v^ertebral column, or spine, on the back part, the ribs on
either side, and the breastbone, 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 breastbone,
by the interposition of cartilages, or gristle, 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 con-
tinue without this support.

If the ribs were complete circles, formed of bone, and extending from
the spine to the breastbone, life would be endangered by any accidental
f-acture; and even the rubs and jolts to which the human frame is con
t> lually exposed, *muld be too much for their delicate and brittle texture

OF MECHANICAL ARRAN(?EMENT

V The patella, or kneepan is a curious little bone; iu
its form and office, unlike any other bone of the body. [PI.
X. fig. 2, 3.] It is circular: the size of 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 into it, (or rather it makes a part of their continu-
ation,) from their origin in the thigh to their insertion in

Ouf these evils .ire avoided by the interposition of the elastic cartilage.
On their fore part the ribs are eked out, and joined to the breastbone by
neans 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 recoil and yield to the violence. It is only
in youth, however, when the human frame is in perfection, that this pli-
ancy and elasticity have full effect. When old age approaches, the car-
tilages of the ribs become bony. They attach themselves firmly to the
breastbone, 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 oc-
curring 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 cartilage.
This is in the action of breathing, or respiration; especially in the more
lighly-raised respiration which is necessary in great exertions of bodily
strength, and in violent exercise. There are two acts of breathing — ex~
viration, or the sending forth of the breath ; and inspiration, 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 con-
dition between these two acts. And the muscular 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 alternately, to dilate or to contract the cavity
of the chest, and, in doing so, to raise or to depress the ribs. Hence it
is, that both in inspiration 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 de-
pends 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 tlie blood through the lungs, and relieving the
heart amidst the more tumultuous flowing of the blood which exorcise
and exertioi produce. — Bell's Treatise on Animal Mechanics.

IN THE HUMAN FRAME.

tht Hbia. 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 mechan-
ical advantage, by altering the line of their direction, and
by advancing it farther 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, it 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.

VI. The shoulder-blade is, in some material respects, a
very singular bone: 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 hyoVdes.) [PI. X. fig. 5.] In strict-
ness, 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 ossifica.tion. The lower
limbs connect themselves at the hip with bones which form
a part of the skeleton; but this connexion, in the upper
limbs, being wanted, a basis, whereupon the arm might
be articulated, was to be supplied by a detached ossifica-
tion for the purpose.

I. 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 suen, and as accurately defined, as any which
can be produced out of a cabinet-maker’s shop; and one

OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT

O’* 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 no^ .;^quired at the knee, the leg standing
in need only of t motion backward and forward in the
same plane, for which a hinge-joint is sufficient; a mortice
and tenon, o ; 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 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 hin-
ges: yet why, independently of utility, and of a Creator
who consulted 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
o each other.^

For the ball and soclcet joint ^ beside the membrane al-
ready described, there is in one important joint, as an
additional security, a short, strong, yet flexible ligament,
inserted by one end into the head of the ball, by the other

* This membrane is the capsnla?', or hin'sal ligament, common to
every movable joint. It certainly connects the hones togetlier, hut does
not possess much strength; its chief use is to produce and preserve the
synovia in the part where it is required. "J'he security and strength of
the hinge-joint depends on certain ligaments c;dled lateral ligaments, and
the endons of those muscles which pass over it. In the particular in
stance of the knee, from its being the largest joint in the body, there is,
a? we shall presently find, an additiona contrivance to prevent dislocalioru

Paxton,

IN THE HUIIAN PRAME

into 1)3 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 [PL XI. fig. 1.] It is
hardly imaginable, how great a force is necessary, even
to stretch, still more to break, this ligament; yet so flexible
s it, as to oppose no impediment to the suppleness of the
joint * By its situation also, it is inaccessible to injury
from sharp edges. As it cannot be ruptured, (such is its
strength,) so it caTinot 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 Avhether 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.
I 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 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 ginglymuSj 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 ol
dgament 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

* This ligament is also common to all quadrupeds, even in the more
large and unwieldy, as the Hippopotamus and Rhinoceros — it is wanting
in the elephant only, whose limbs, ill qualified for active movements, do
not seem to require this security to the joint. — Paxton,

OF MECHANICAL ARRAN Gi<.MENT

tendons generally restrain the parts from going farther
than they ought to go in the plane ol their motion. In the
knee^ which is a joint of this form, of great importance,
there are superadded to the corrmon 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. [PI. XI. fig. ^.] ‘‘I think, says Cheselden,

‘‘that the knee cannot be completely dislocated without
breaking the cross ligaments.”* We can hardly help com-
paring this with the binding up of a fracture, where the fil-
let 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.
[PI. XI. fig 4.] Now this joint is strengthened, i. c. 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, i. 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 thickest of the bone
over it ? |

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

t The most obvious proof of contrivance is the junction of the fcoi to
the bones of the leg at the ankle-joint. The two bones of the leg, called
the tibia and the fibula, receive the great articulating hone of the foot
(the astragalus) between them. And the extremities of these bones of
the leg project so as to form the outer and inner 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 directed according to the inequali-
ties of the ground we are to tread upon; but when the foot is planted,
and the body is carried forward perpendicularly 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 walking, 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
M 5 desi:end in a semicircle, the centre of which is the point of the heel.

And when the toes have come to the ground we are far from losing iho

IN THE HUMAN FRAME.

The joint at the shoulder compared with the joint at the
though both ball and socket joints, discovers a difTer-
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-

advantages of the structure of the foot, since we stand upon an elastic
Arch, the hinder extremity of which is tjje heel, and the anterior the balls
cf the toes. A finely formed foot should be high in the instep. 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 inner ankle down to the floor,
in preparation for the Bolero step. By such unnatural postures and ex-
ercises the foot is made unfit for walking, as may be observed in any of
the retired dancers and o\d. figurantes. By standing so much upon the
toes, the human foot is converted 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, re-
sembling the keystone of an arch; but, instead of being fixed, as in ma-
sonry, it plays freely between two bones, and from these two bones, a
strong elastic ligament is extended, on which the bone rests, sinking oi
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 whicir
.s sometimes ruptured by the exertion of the animal in a leap, producin^i
irrecoverable lameness.

Having understood that the arch of the foot is perfect from the heel tr
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 ex
posed surface presents a perfect arch of wedges, regularly formed like thf
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 horizontally, 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 foun
dalions of the Edd\ stone were not laid on a better principle; but our ad
Tiiration is more excited in observing, that the bones of the foot are not
only wedged together, like the courses of stone for resistance, but tliat
s»)hJity 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 immovable, and
the bones of the leg must be fractured before the foot yields.

BeWs Treatise on .inimal Mechanics,

The socket for the head of the thigh-bone is indet d deeper than that
at the shoulder, bu ‘.he “ n^aterials ” which form the concavities are ihe

OF MECHANICAL ARRAR OEMENT

signed to each part. The arm is an instrument of motion,
principally, if aot solely. Accordingly the shallowness of
the socket at the shoulder, and yieldingness of the car-
tilaginous substance with which its edge is set round, and
which in fact composes a considerable part of its concavi-
ty, are excellently adapted for the allowance of a free mo-
tion and a wide range; both which the arm wants.
Wiiereas, 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 v^as 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-
.ion of the socket; and the pi;esence of a less proportion
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 disloca-
ted; and this, notwithstanding the contortions and wrench-
es to which the limbs of animals are continually subject.

II. The jointSy 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 movable 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 condyles, or rather under the inner cxtuberances
of the bone, which composes the upper part of. the arm.*

8amo; both are solid bone covered by cartilage, and both have a rim of
a strong fdno-cartilaginous texture, not only for tlic purpose of rendering
the socket deeper, l)ut for preventing fractures of the rim in robust exer-
cises, to which, were it bony, it would bo very liable. — Paxton,
rhes. An n 255, ed. 7th

IN THE HUMAN FRAME.

At the Imce, the extremity of the thigh-bone is dwided by a
sinus or cleft into two heads or protuberances: and these
lioads on the back part stand out beyond the cylinder of
the bone. Through the hollow, which lies between the
hind parts of these two 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 greal
vessels and nerves wiiich go to the leg.* Who led these
v essels by a road so defended and so seeured.^ In the joint
at the shoulder, 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-vessels steal to their destination in the arm, in-
stead of mounting over the edge of the concavity. 'f

III. In all joints, the ends 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 most proper 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. To 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 have a 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. [PI. XI. fig. 3.] Cheselden has observed J that the

* Ches. An. p. 35. t Ib. 30. $ Ib. p. 13.

OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT

contrivance of a loose ring is practised by mechanics, where
the friction of the joints of any of their machines is great,
as between 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 nmch of the form
of these rings. The comparison moreover shows the rea-
son why we find them in the knees rather than in other
joints. It is an expedient, we have seen, which a mechan-
ic 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-
eldeifs account, that the slipping and sliding of the loose
cartilages, though it be probably a small and obscure
change, humored 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 liniment, 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 w ith 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

* This mucilage is termed synovia ; vulgarly 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 efiects from friction.

Paxton

IN THE HUMAN FRAME.

part of the joint, viz. that here, the oil is not only dropped,
but made,^

In considering the joints, there is nothing, pernaps, which
ought to move our gratitude more than the reflection, hoio
well they wear. A limb shall swing upon its hinge, oi
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 anything to last; for anything 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.

* 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 articulat-
ing surface is covered with cartilage, to prevent the jar which would re-
sult 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 extending from the sur-
face of the bone, so that each filament is perpendicular to the pressure
made upon it. The surface of the articulating cartilage is perfectly
smooth, and is lubricated by a fluid called synovia, sygnifying a muci-
lage, a viscous or thick liquor. This is vulgarly called joint oil, but it
has no property of oil, although it is better calculated than any oil to lu-
bricate the interior of the joint.

When inflammation comes upon ajoint, 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, confining
this lubricating fluid, and forming the boundary of what is termed the
cavity of the joint, although, in fact, there is no unoccupied space. Ex-
ternal 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 together
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. — BelPs Treatise on
Animal Mechanics.

t If the ingenious author’s mind had been professionally called to con-
template this subject, he would have found another explanation. There
is no resemblance between the provisions against the wear and tear of
machinery and those for the preservation of a living part. As the struc
ture 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 stim-
ulates the living surfiice to force successive layers of skin under that v^hich
is wearing, or, as the anatomists call it, desquamating; by which they
mean, that the cuticle does not change at once, but comes oft’ in sqxiamce^
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

OF THE MUSCLES.

Movable joints, I think, compose the curiosity cfbcucs
but their union, even where no motion is intendea 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 clap-
ped together, in such a manner as that the teeth of one
enter the intervals of the other.* We have sometimes one
hone lapping over another, and planed down at the edges;
sometimes also the thin lamella of one bone received into
a narrow furrow of another. In all which varieties, wo
seem to discover the same design, viz. firmness of juncture,
without clumsiness in the seam.

CHAPTER IX.

OF THE MUSCLES.

Muscles, with their tendons, are the instruments by
which animal motion is performed. It will be our business

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 disposition to project, balances the pressure which
they sustain* and when one tooth is lost, its opposite rises, and is in dan-
ger of being lost also, for want of that very opposition. — Bell's Treatise
on Animal Mechanics.

^ Most of the bones of the skull are composed of two plates or tablets,
with an intermediate spongy, vascular substance; the outer tablet is^&-
rons, having the edges curiously indented and united by a dove-tailed
sii'ure; the inner from its brittleness is called vitreous, and therefore
merely joined together in a straight line ; this mode of union is not acci-
dental— not the result of chance, but design. The author of the treatise
on “ Animal Mechanics” gives the following admirable illustration of the
structure: —

“ 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 sucb adjustment of its edges. The processes of bone shoot in-
to the opposite cavities with, an exact resemblance to the fox-tail wedge
of the carpenter.

“ 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 suc-
ceed 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 resem-
bles wood, is indented and dove-tailed; the inner glassy ta.de has iln
edges simply laid in contact.” — Faxton.

OF THE MUSCLES.

to p' int 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.^

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. F or
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 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 a 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, rising 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. [PI. 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. [PI. XII. fig. 2.] And mark the
consent of uses. The oblique muscles would have
been inefficient without that particular articulation; that
particular articulation w'ould have been lost, without the
oblique muscles. It may be proper, however, to observe
with respect to the head, although I think it does not vary
the case, that its oblique motions and inclinations are ffien
motions in a diagonal, produced by the joint action of mus-

* Muscles are the fleshy parts of the body which surround the bones,
having a fibrous texture; a muscle being composed of a number of mws-
cular faciculi, which are composed of fibres still smaller; these result
from fibres of a less volume, until by successive division we arrive at
very small fibres no longer divisible. These muscular fibres are longer
or shorter according to the muscles to which they belong; and every fi-
bre is fixed by its two extremities to tendon or aponeurosis, which are
the “wires and strings which conduct the muscular power when they
contract. — Paxton,

OF THE MUSCLES.

cles lying in straight direction. But whether the pud be sin-
gle or combined, the articulation is always such, as .o be
capable of obeying the action of the muscles. The oblique
muscles attached to the head, ere likewise so disposed, as
to be capable of the steadying the globe, as well as of mov-
ing it. The head of a new-born infant is often obliged to
be filleted up. After death, the head drops and rolls in
every direction. So that it is by the equilibre of the mus-
cles, by the aid of a considerable 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 by virtue of an adjusted muscular power, that he
even holds it up.

As 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 vertebrae, 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 ivith
force in opposite directions, can only be produced by the
instrumentality of opposite or antagonist muscles; of flexors
and extensors answering to each other. For instance, the
biceps and brachiseus internns 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. [PI. XIII. fig. 1.] The relaxation of
these muscles, after the effort, would merely let the fore-
arm drop down. For the back sfroke, therefore, and that
the arm may not only bend at the elbow, but also extend and
straighten itself, with force, other muscles, the longus and
brevis bracliiacus exlernus, and tlie anconmus, placed on
the hinder part of .he arms, by their contractile twitch fetch
back the fore-arm into a straight line with the cubit, with
no les: force than that with which it was bent out of it
The same thing obtains in all tlie limbs, and in every riov
able part of the body. A finger is not bent and straigl ten-

OF THE MUSCLES.

ed, without the contraction of two muscles taking place. It
IS evident, therefore, that the animal functions require that
particular disposition of the muscles which we describe b}>
the name of antagonist muscles. And they are according-
ly so disposed. Every muscle is provided with an adversa-
ry. They act, like two sawyers 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 being marshalled according to this order, e. g. the
mouth is holden in the middle of the face, and its angles
kept in a state of exact correspondency, by several mi scles
drawing against, and balancing each other. [See PI. XI . fig.
3.] In a hemiplegia, when the muscles on one side are vveak-
ened, the muscles on the other side draw the mouth awry.

III. 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
action. I know but one instance in which this impediment
is 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 m one another; sometimes perforat-
ing one another; an arrangement, which leaves to each its
liberty, and its full play, must necessarily require meditation
and counsel

IV, The following is oftentimes the case with the mus-
cles. Their action is wanted, where thei * 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

^ Keill’s Anat. p. 295, edit. 3. There are, however, five hundred
and ^ ventv -seven mu.^ les described by more modern anatomists.

Paxton*

OF THE MUSCLES.

strings or wires. If the muscles which mo /e the fingers
had been placed in the palm or back of the hand, the^
would have swelled that part to an awkward and clumsy
thickness. The beauty, the proportions of the part, wou.d
have been destroyed. They are, therefore, disposed in the
arm, and even up to the elbow ; and act by long tendons,
strapped down at the wrist, and passing under the ligaments
to the fingers, and to the joints of the fingers, which they
are severally to move. [PI. 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, ins^.ead of forming an unwieldy tumefaction
ill 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, [PI. IV. fig.
2, 3,] 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 Avith
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, Avhilst the
original property of the muscle, the laAV 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

* The convenience and beauty of the tendons seem only an ulterior
object, their necessity and utility principally claim our attention. The
fonie which a muscle possesses is as the number of the muscular fibres;
but a limited numl ^r of fibres only can |)e fixed to any certain point of
bo le destined to be .noved, therefore the contrivance is, to attach them
to a cord, called a sii.ew or tendon, which can be conveniently conducted
and fixed to the bone. If we are desirous of moving a heavy weight,
we tie a strong cord to it, that a greater number of men may apply their
strength. Thus a similar efiect is produced — the muscular fibres are the
moving powers, the tendons are the cords attached 'o the point to bo
moved. — Paxton.

OF THE MUSCLES.

quality dF his materials, or their laws of action. He takes
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
vigor and activity are, in avast 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 muschis which are employed,
may be attended with grievous inconveniency. There is
piety and good sense in the following observation taken
out of the Religions 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 hvo
lilile muscles that serve to lift up the eyelids, [PI. 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 va-
riety of their obligation. They perceive a result, but they
think little of the multitude of concurrences and rectitudes
which go to form it.

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

I. 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
wdiile 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 every letter and
word, is not only peculiar, but, if nicely and accurately
altended to, pe reptible to the sight, insomuch, that curious

OF THE MUSCLES.

persons have availed themselves of this circumstance to
teach the deaf to speak, and to understand what is said by
others. In the same 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 a rule, conducing to an effect,
and commensurate with exigencies infinitely diversified. I
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 anywise im-
pede its motion, or render the determination or success of
its efforts uncertain.

I here entreat the reader’s permission to step a little out
of my way, to consider the 'parts of the month, 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 sw^al-
low, very well. In fact, the constant warmth and moisture
of the tongue, the thinness of the skin, the papillie upon
its surface, qualify this organ for its office of tasting, as
much as its inextricable multiplicity of fibres do for the
ripid movements which are necessary to speech. Animals
which feed upon grass, have their tongues covered with a
perforated skin, so as to admit the dissolved food to the pa-
pillsB underneath, which, in the meantime, remain defend-
ed from the rough action of the unbruised spiculae.*

Papillce 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 ac(juire the sense of tasting. In hei
oivorous animals the papilhe are siiarp pointed and directed backwards
cO assiit in laying hold of the grass. In the cat kind there is a horny or
H ickly set covering the tongue, rendering it rough, and enabling it to

OF THE MUSCLES.

There art brought together within the ca\ity of the
mouth more distinct uses, and parts executing more dis-
tinct offices, than I think can be found lying so tear 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 foi carrying on the compound motion of the low-
^r 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 larynx, and without number in the
tongue, for the purpose of modulating that air in its passage,
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 fi'oin

!ake firmer hold of the prey. Birds also have a similar contrivance. In
fish the tongue is covered by a number of teeth, serving the same purpose.

Paxton.

* In each jaw there qxq four incisor es, or cutting teeth, two canine
rfvhich may be ranked with the former, only more pointed; four small
molar, and six large molar or grinding teeth. And as the teeth of ani-
mals indicate the food on which they are destined to subsist, so from
analogy we may infei that man is called to use either animal or vegetable
aliments, or both, i. e. keeps a mean between graminivorous and carniv-
orous animals, in the structure and complication of his digestive appara-
tus, 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 3f no use in the support of man. — Paxton.

1 The principal of these are the parotids, see Plate XX.

OF THE MUSCLES.

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 inconve-
niences of a too greit complexity. In no apparatus put
together by art, and for the purposes of art, do I know such
multifa: ious uses so aptly combined, as in the natural or-
ganiza.ion of the human mouth; or, where the structure,
compared with the uses, is so simple. The mouth, with all
these intentions to serve, is a single cavity; is 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,
and sing the next: the respiration proceeding freely all the
while.

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 acs
tions of sucking and breathing. Another route, 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 circum-
stance 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 pieces 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.

Or let a person only observe his own hand wffiilst he is
writing; the number of muscleS w'hich are brought to
hear upon the pen: how the joint and adjusted oj^cration
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 tw o, or three
\etdinous i Urac'.ions, definite, both as to the choice of

OF THE MUSCLES.

the tendon, and as to the spc ce through which the re-
traction moves; yet how currently d)es the work proceed
and when we look at it, how faithful have the musclei
been to their duty, how true to the order which endeavoui
or habit hath inculcated! For let it be remembered, thai
whilst a man's hand-writing is the same, an exactitude of
order is preserved, whether he write well or ill Thes<
two instances, of music and writing, show not only th^
quickness and precision of muscular action, but the do
cility,

II. Regarding the particular configuration of muscles,
sphincter or circular muscles appear to me admirable pieces
of mechanism. [PI. XIV. fig. 3.] It is the muscular pow-
er most happily applied; the same quality of the musculai
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-
actly 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 retraction 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 co-operating muscles is very great. Dr. Nieuentyt,
in the Leipsic 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-
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 ‘t.

IV. Sir Everard Home has observed,* that the most
important and the most delicate actions are performed in the

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

OF THE MUSCLES

body by the smallest muscles; and he mentifiis, as hi»
examples, the muscles which have been disco’iered in the
iris of the eye, and the drum of the ear. The tenuity of
these muscles is astonishing. They are microscopic hairs;
must be magnified to be visible ; yet they are real, effective
muscles; 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 called a
mechanical disadvantage. The muscle at the shoulder,
[PI. XIII. fig. 1. f.] 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 steelyard turns. 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 cen-
tre, and on the other side of it. And this is the disadvantage
which is meant. And an absolute disadvantage, no doubt,
would be, if the object were to spare the force of muscu-
tir contraction. But observe how conducive is this consti -
tution to animal conveniency. Mechanism has always in
view one or other of these two purposes; 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
tlian 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 prin-
cipally 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 raising from the ground a heavier load
(of two or three more hundred weight, we will suppose,)
than he can lift at present. This last is a faculty, which on
some extraordinary 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 execution, 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
w^ere proportionably more confined and slow. It is 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

OF THE MUSCLES.

general, the vivacity of their motions would be ill excnanged
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 \^ell
understood, some of the most curious are incapable of pop-
ular explanation; at least, 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 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 farther back in the jaw. The me-
chanism adopted is as follows: [PI. XV. fig. 1,2.] A
certain muscle called the digastric, rises on the side of the
face, considerably above the insertion of the lower jaw,
and comes down, being converted in its progress into a
round 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
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 in all muscles is contraction) that before
would have pulled the jaw up, now as necessarily draws it
down. The mouth,’' says Heister, “ is opened by means
of this trochlea in a most wonderful and elegant manner.”

II. What contrivance can be more mechanical than

* The want of the aid of plates and figures, which the author here ex
presses, is now supplied in this Boston edition.

OF THE MUSCLES.

the following, viz. a slit in one tendon to let ancther 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 through the short tendon which bends the sec-
ond joint; which course allows to the sinew more liberty,
and a more commodious action than it would otherwise
have been capable of exerting.* [PI. 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
other observation upon the subject; and that circumstance
is, the tendons, which pass from the leg to the foot, being
bound down 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 tic
them down. Vnd this is done in fact. Across the instep,
or rather just above it, the anatomist finds a strong liga-
ment under which the tendons pass to the foot. The ef
feet of the ligament as a bandage, can be made evident 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 with which
we are acquainted.

There is also a farther 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, i. 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 react upon
the pressure of the ligament. It is impossible that the lig-
ament should ever have been gener ited by the exercise of
the tenden, or in the course of that exercise, forasmuch aa

♦ Ches. Anat. p. 94, 119.

OF THE MUSCLES.

the foi ce 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 is composed.

Keill has reckoned up, in the human body, four hundred
and forty-six muscles, [See note, p. 77,] dissectible and de-
scribable ; and hath assigned a 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, and
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 diflerence may be, that animal
bodies are, in a great measure, made up of soft, flabby
substances, such as muscles and membranes; w^hereas 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 displaye“d in one kind of substance, as well as in the
other.

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 is well said by an able anato-
mist,and said in reference to the very part of the sub-
ject which w^e have been treating of: — Imperfecta hoec
musculorum descriptio, non minus arida est legentibus,
quom inspectantibus fuerit jucunda eorundem prseparatio.
Elcgantiss ma enim mechanices artificia, creberrime in
illis obvia verbis nonnisi obscure exprimuntur: carniiim

* Sterno in Bias. Anat. Animal, p. 2. c 4.

OF THE MUSCLES.

aulem ductu, tendinum colore, insertionum proportione
e/: trochlearium distributione, oculis exposita, omnen su-
perant admiral ionem.”

The following remarks upon the structure of the tendons, from the An-
imal Mechanics already quoted, will form an instructive addition to the fore-
going chapter, to the subject of which they bear a near relation. — Ed,

Of the Cordage of the Tendons.

Where lature has provided a perfect system of columns ana
levers, and pullies, we may anticipate that the cords by which the
force of the muscles is concentrated on the movable bones, .must
6e constructed with as curious a provision for their offices. In
this surmise we shall not be disappointed.

To understand what is necessary to the strength of a iV)pe or a
cable, we must leai*n what has been the object of the improve-
ments and patents in this manufacture. The first process 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 demnge the parallel position of the fibres.
Each fibre, as it is twisted, ties the other fibres together, so as to
form a continued line, aiid it bears, at the same time, a certain por-
tion 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
attention 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 form the strands
into ropes. The difficulty of the art has been to make them bear
alike, especially in gi*eat cables, and this has been the object of pa-
tent machinery. The hardenmg,^ by twisting, is also an essential
part of the process of rope-making: for without this, it would be
little better than extended ])arallel fibres of hemp. In this twist-
ing, first of the yarns, and then of the strands, those which are on
the outer surface must be more stretched than those near the cen-
tre ; consequently, when there is a strain uj)on 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 possible, resist the strain
in an equal degree; but the process is not ])erfect, 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;
ni)j)areiiily fibrous ; but which, by the art of the anatomist, may
be separate! nto lesser cords, and these, by maceration, can be

OF THE MUSCLES.

ahovvn to consist of cellular membrane, the common tissue that
gives firmness to all the textures of the animal body. The peeu-
harity here results merely from its remarkable condensation. Jhit
the cords of which the larger tendons consists, dU not lie j^arallel
to each other, nor are they simply twisted like the strands of a
rope; they are, on the contrary, plaited or interwoven together.

If the 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 fibi*es 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 hardening, 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, tlie strands cannot
resist the strain equally, whilst we see that tins is provided for in
the tendon by the regular interweaving of the yarn, if we may so
express it, so 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-rig
ging, and see there how the seaman contrives, by undoing the
strands and yarns of a rope, and twisting them anew, to make his
splicing stronger than the original cordage. A sailor opens the
ends of two ropes, and places the strand of one opposite and be-
tween the strand of another, and so interlaces them. And this ex-
plains 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 necessa-
ry for knotting, splicing, whipping, mailing, &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 S})licing and
plaiting in the subdivisions of the rope make an intertexture strong-
er than the original ro})e, 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 intei*woven ; and until the yarns
of one strand be separated and interwoven with the yarns of
another strand, and this done with regular exchange, the most ap-
proved 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, v/hich 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 }>laited instead of being twisted ; but the tendon has
still its superiority, for tbe lesser yarns of each strand in it are in-
terwoven with those of other strands. It however, gratifies us to
•see, that the principle we draw from the animal body is here con-

OF THE VESSELS.

firmed. It may be asked, do not the tendons of tne human body
sometiiaes break? They do; but in circumstances which only
add to the interest of the subject. By the exercise of the tendons
(and their exercifee is the act of being pulled upon by the mus
cles, or having a strain made on them,) they become firmer and
stronger ; 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 gentleman, whose habits
have been long staid and sedentaiy, and who is very guarded in his
walk, is upon an annual festival tempted to join the young people
in a dance ; then he breaks his tendo Achilles. 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 machinery, we
ought not to forget the influence of life, and that the natural ex-
ercise of the parts, whether they be active or passive, is the
stimulus to the circulation through them, and to their growth and
perfection.

CHAPTER X.

OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES.

The 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 grand 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’ ends. 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 oart of a complicated machine, at the same time.

This sys-^f^n presents itself under two views: first, the

OF ANIMAL BODIES.

disposition of t ie 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'lilood through them.

I. The dioposition 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 stream-
lets, first by capillary ramifications into larger branches;
secondly, by these branches into trunks; and thus returns
the blood (almost exactly inverting the order in which it
went out) to the fountain whence its motion proceeded. All
which is Evident mechanism.

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-vessel, 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 great 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

OF THE VESSELS

under 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. To those who venture their lives
in a ship, it has been often said, that there is only an inch
board betweer. hem 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 nearei
to the surface; are more exposed.

It may be farther 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
proceed, in other words, to grow from the heart, like a plant
from its root, or the fibres of a leaf from its foot-stalk, (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. [PI. 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 semicircular rather than spiral. By the
contraction of these fibres, the sides ofthe muscular cavities
are necessarily squeezed together, so as to force out from

OF ANIMAL BODIES.

them any fluid wnich 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
\vhich 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 by a syringe into the arteries; and, at each
dilatation, 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,
in a 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,
abridged from Keilfs Anatomy, p. 117. ed. 3: ‘‘ Each ven-
tricle will at least contain one ounce of blood. The heart
contracts four thousand times in one hour; from which it
follows, that there pass 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
m one hour; which is about once every four minutes.’’
Consider what an aflair 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 is in-
ferior in impetus and velocity, to the blood gushing from
the whale’s heart. Hear I t. Hunter’s account of the dis-
section of a whale: — ‘^The aorta measured a foot diame-
ter. Ten or fifteen gallons of blood are thrown out of the
heart at a stroke with an immense velocity, through a tube
of a foot diameter. The whole idea fills the mind with won-
der.”^

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-
latation 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-

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

OF THE VESSELS

ty and importance. It was necessary that the blood should
be successively brought into contact, or contiguity, or prox-
imity, with the air, I do 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 into 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 which 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
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 superficies 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 is sent : it
again into its arteries, it is carried by the force of tne
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, alter it has under-
gone the action, w'liatever it be, of that viscus, it is
brought back by a large vein oni’.e more to tlie heart, in
orde^', when thus concocted and prepared lo be thence

* Keill’s Anat. j 121.

or ANIM IL BODjeS.

distributed anew into he system. This ass gns 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 ffinction, four cavities become ne-
cessary; and four are accordingly provided: two, call-
ed ventricles, which send ont the blood, viz. one into the
lungs, in the first instance; the other into the mass, after
't 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 ©f
each would have been sufficient. The translation of the
blood in the heart itself is after this manner. The receiv-
ing cavities respectively communicate with the forcing
cavities, 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 arteries.

The account here given will not convey to a reader, ig
norant of anatomy, anything 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 sufficient 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 conclusion.

“ 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 worderful machine go, night and day, for eighty
years together, at the rate of a hundred thousand strokes
every twenty-four hours, having, at every stroiie, a great
resistance to overcome; and shall continue this action for
this length of time, without disorder and without weari-
ness.

But farther: 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 THE VESSELS

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. Tlie
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. XVII. fig. 2, 3, 4.] The heart, constitut-
ed as it is, can no more work without valves than a pump
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. Jlnd
valves so disposed, are accordmgly provided, A valve is
placed in the communication between each auricle and its
ventricle, lest when the ventricle 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 of each 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
rrans 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.* Where more than one mem-
brane is employed, the different membranes only compose

* The veins and absorbent vessels present in their cavities folds of a
parabolic form, called valves, like the semilunar valve; the one edge
adheres to the sides of the vein, the other is loose; the first is farthest
from the heart, the other nearer. The number of valves is greatest where
the blood flows contrary to the force of its own weight. See Fig. 7.

Paxton

OF ANIMAL BODIES.

one va ve 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 mem-
branes' are fixed, of a triangular figure, the bases of the
triangles fastened to the flesh; the sides and summits
loose; but, though loose, connected by threads of a deter-
minate length, with certain small fleshy prominences ad-
joining. 'J'he effect of this construction is, that, when the
ventricle contracts, the blood endeavouring to escape in all
directions, and amongst other directions pressing upwards,
gets between these membranes and the sides of the heart;
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 farther;) which cone, entirely occupying the
passage, prevents the return of the blood into 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 to the side of the ves-
sel, and occasion no impediment 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 ob-
served concerning some of the ligaments of the body, that
they could not be formed by any action of the parts them-
selves. There are cases in which, although good uses ap-
pear to arise from the shape or configuration of a part, yet
that shape or configuration itself may seem to be produced
by the action of the part, or by the action or pressure of
adjoining parts. Thus the bend, and the internal smooth
concavity of the ribs, may be attributed to the equal pres-
sure 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 pro-
duce such things; and, in its improper or reflected current,
has a tendency to prevent their production. Whilst we
see, therefore, the se and necessity of this machinery, we

OF THE VESSELS

can look to no other account of its origin or formation thaJ5
the intending mind of a Creator. Nor can we without ao-
miration reflect, that such thin membranes, such weak ami
tender instruments, as these valves are, should be able t<>
hold out for seventy or eighty years.

Here also we cannot consider but with gratitude, how
happy it is that our vital motions are involiintarij , ‘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-
branous purse or bag, made of strong, tough materials, ig
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 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,
i. 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, per-
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-

OF ANIMAL BODIES.

I er in which the aliment gets into the Hood; which is a
subject distinct from the preceding, and brings us to the
consideration of another entire system of vessels.

II. F or this necessary part of the animal economy, an
apparatus is provided, in a great measure capable of being
what anatomists call demonstrated, that is, shown in the
dead* body; — and a line or course of conveyance, which wc3
can pursue by our examinations.

First, The food descends by a wide passage 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
road 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 I am endeavouring to display
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. [PI. XVIII. fig. 1.] It has the shape
of the pouch of a bagpipe; 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, farther than to observe upon the mechanism,
viz. that from the glands in which these secretions are
elaborated, pipes are laid into the first of the intestines,
through which pipes the product of each gland flows into
that bowel, [PI. XVIII. fig. 2,] and is there mixed with
the aliment, as soon almost as it passes the stomach; ad-
ding also as a remark, how grievously this same bile of-
fends 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 ten
different viands, reduced to nearly a uniform substance,
and to a state fitted for yielding its essence, which is called
chyle, but which is milk, or more nearly re.sembiing milk

100

OF THE VESSELS

than any other liquor with which it can be compared. Fcf
the straining off 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 ori-
fices into the cavity of every part of the intestines. [PI.
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 a table-spoon full; and from
this vessel a duct or main pipe proceeds, climbing up the
back part of the chest, and afterwards creeping along the
gullet till it reach the neck. Here it meets the river: here
it d scharges itself into a large vein, which soon conveys
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 structure,
to a manifest and necessary purpose, we may remark two
or three separate particulars in it, which show, not only the
contrivance, but the perfection of it. We may remark,
first, the length of the intestines, which, in the human sub-
ject, is six times that of the body. Simply for a passage,
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 per-
istaltic motion ; which is made up of contractions, follow-
ing one another like waves upon the surface of a fluid, and
not unlike w'hat we observe in the body of an earth-worm
crawling 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 semicircular fibres. This
curious action pushes forw^ard the grosser part of the ali-
ment, a the same tim3 that the more subtile parts, which
we call chyle, are, by a series of gentle compressions,
squeezed into the narrow orifices of the lacteal vessels.
Thirdly, it w’as necessary that these tubes, wdiich w’e denom-
inate lacteals, or their mouths at least, should he as nar-
row as possible, in order to deny admission into the blood
to any particle which is of size enough to make a lodge-

OF ANIMAL BODIES.

101

merit afterwards in the small arteries, and thereby to ob-
struct 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 quarts in a
day) is, by some means or other, to be passed through
them. Accordingly, we find the number of the lacteals
exceeding all powers of computation ; and their pipes so
fine and slender, as not to be visible, unless filled, to the nak-
ed eye; and their orifices, which open into the intestines,
so small, as not to be discernible even by the best micro-
scope. Fourthly, the main pipe, which carries the chyle
from the reservoir to the blood, viz. the thoracic duct, be-
ing fixed in an almost upright position, and wanting that
advantage of propulsion which the arteries possess, is fur-
nished with a succession of valves to check the ascending
fluid, when once it has passed them, from falling back
These valves look upward, so as to leave the ascent free,
but to prevent the return of the chyle, if, for want of suffi-
cient force to push it on, its weight should at any time
cause it to descend. Fifthly, the chyle enters the blood
in an odd place, but perhaps the most commodious place
possible, viz. at a large vein near the neck, so situated with
respect to the circulation, 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 at a distant vein, the fluid, composed of the old
and new materials, must have performed a considerable
part of the circulation, before it received that churning in
tlie lungs, which is probably, necessary for the intimate
and perfect union of the old blood with the recent chyle.
Who could have dreamed of a communication between the
cavity of the intestines and the left great vein near the
nechl Who could have suspected tha,t this communication
should be the medium through which all nourishment is
derived to the body.^ or this the place, where, by a side
inlet, the important junction is formed between the blood
and the material which feeds it?

II. We postponed the consideration of digestion, lest d
should interrupt us in tracing the course of the food to ue
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.

102

OF THE VESSELS

1. It is not a 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 acts
upon the alimentary substances, in the same manner as the
gastric juice acts.

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

4. It is not a fermentative process; for the solution
begins at the surface, and proceeds towards the centre,
contrary to the order in which fermentation acts and
spreads.

o. It is not the digestion of heat, for, the cold maw of
a cod or sturgeon will dissolve the shells of crabs or 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. Entire grains
of barley, enclosed 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, a combination of mechan-
ism and chemistry. For the preparatory grinding, the giz-
zard lends its mill. And, as all 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 giz-
zard, is, for the same purpose, hard and cartilaginous. But,
forasmuch 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 feed-
ing glands are placed, and from which it trickles down into
ihe stomach.

OF ANIMAL BODIES

103

In Siieep , the gastric fluid has no efTect 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.

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. The coats of the human stom-
ach, 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 con-
tains 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. [PI. XVIII. fig. 1, 2.] It
does not form the channel itself, i, e. the direct communi-
cation between the liver and the intestine 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 occasion
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

Phil. Trans, vol. Ixii. p. 447.

104

OF THE VESSELS

is, to force out frotn the bag, and send into the duodenum^
an extraordinary quantity of bile, to meet the extraordinar}'
demand which the repletion of the stomach by food is about
to occasion.* Cheselden describesi 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
cavity; which likewise v/ill ‘lave the effect of causing it to
be received into the intestine, at a right time, and in a due
proportion.

There may be other purposes answered by this contri*
vance; and it is probable that, there are. The contents of
the gall-bladder are not exactly of the same kind as what
passes from the liver through the direct passage. J It is
possible that the gall may be changed, and for some pur-
poses 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
cavities, such receiving tubes, vessels, or cavities, being
subject to muscular constriction, we always find a con-
trivance to prevent gurgitation. In some cases, valves
are used; in other cases, amongst which is that now be-
fore us, a different expedient is resorted to; which m.ay
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.^ The same contrivance is used
in another part, where there is exactly the same occasion
for it, viz. in the insertion of the ureters in 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 ne-
cessary 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.

IV. 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

* Keill’s Anat. p. 64. t Anat. p. 164

i Keill's from !\Ialpigluus, p. 62. § Keill’s Anat. p. 62.

11 dies. Auat. p. 2 50.

OF ANIMAL BODIES.

105

manufactured on the outside of the cheek, by the parotid
gland, whiiih lies between the ear and the angle of the low-
er jaw. In order to carry the secretion 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
of the cheek; enters by that hole, which is a complete per-
foration of the buccinator muscle, into the mouth; ard 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
larynx. [PI. XXL 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 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 windpipe,
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 windpipe, 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 musc.es concerned i.i swallowing, con-
tribute to keep the lid close down upon the aperture, whilst
anything 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
instances in which it fulfils it. Reflect how frequently we
swallow how constantly we breathe. In a city feast, for

106

OF THE VESSELS

example, what deglutition, what anhelation! yet does this
little cartilage ; he epiglottis, so effectually interpose its of-
fice, so securely guard the entrance of the windpipe, 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
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 w^as 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 windpipe
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-
lapse 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 en-
close, or which afford a passage to solid and protruding
substances.

Nevertheless (which is another particularity well worthy

* The same general structure of these parts is found in all other animals
of the same class with mankind, but there is a singular variation from it
in the elephant, by which, if possible, the influence of a deriving intelli-
gence is more wonderfully exemplified than in the ordinary structure. It
is well known that this animal drinks by sucking up the liquid into its
trunk, and then after thrusting 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. I he liquid must be passing down the
throat, while the epiglottis is open and the air issuing. In order to pro-
vide against interfer 3nce, a channel is provided 04i each side of the epig-
lottis, along which ',e drink passes quietly on, without running into the
windpipe. — Kd,

OF ANIMAL BOD. ES.

of notice) these r„igs 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
at 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 ofhce, the intromission of air alone,
nothing can be so 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 windpipe taken together,
(for the larynx is only the upper part of the windpipe,) 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
windpipe, 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 windpipe, 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 is in the breast. [PL
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,
externa] 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

108

OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES.

.hese parts separately. But this is to diminish the strength
of the argument. The wisdom of the Creator is seen, not
in their separate but their collective action; in their mutu-
al subserviency and dependence; in their contributing to-
gether to one effect, and one use. 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 under-
stand, 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 in 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 holden together
by strong braces, to keep them in their position: then, third-
ly, strings and wires, i. e. muscles and tendons, artificially
iii.serted for the purpose of drawing the bones in the direc-
tions in which the joints allow them to move. Hitherto we
seem to understand the mechanism pretty well; and, under-
standing this, we possess enough for our conclusion: never-
theless, we have hitherto only a machine standing still; a
dead organization — an apparatus. To put the system in a
state of activity, to set it at work, a farther provision is ne-
cessary, viz. a communication with the brain by means of
nerves. We know the existence of this communication,
because we can see the communicating threads, and can
trace them to the brain: its necessity we also know, be-
cause if the thread be cut, if the communication be inter-
cepted, 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 de-
signing, disposing intelligence, it is impossible to conceive

OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE, &C

100

CHAPTER XL

OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE REGARDED AS A MASS.

Contemplating an animal body in its collective .capacity,
we cannot forget to notice, what a number of instruments
are brought together, and often within how small a ?om'*
pass. It is a cluster of contrivances. In a Canary bird,
for instance, and in the single ounce of matter which com-
poses 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 indubitable
evidences, not only of design, but of a great deal of atten-
tion 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 to 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.

It is the 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 equi-distant from the middle, alike in figure and po-
sition?

The exact resemblance of the eyes, considering how
compounded this organ is in its structure, how various and
how delicate are the shades of color with which its iris is
tinged; how differently, as to effect upon appeirance, the
eye may be mounted in its socket, and how differently in
different 1: eads eyes actually are set, — is a property of an
K

OF THE ANlMAi. I5TRUCTURE

imal bodies much to be admired. Often thousand eyes, 1
do not know that it would be possible to match one, except
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 and alike. 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 do not. In cen-
tipedes, millepedes, and that 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 externally
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 is a vessel, both
irregular in its shape, and oblique in its position. The fold-
ings and doublings of the intestines do not present a parity

* The principal lobe of the liver is on the right, but a smaller is extend
ed into the left side. See Plate XXII.

REGARDED AS A MASS.

Ill

of sides. Zet that symmetry which depends upon the cor-
relation o- the sides, is externally preserved throughout the
whole trunk; and is the more remarkable in the lower parts of
it, as the integuments are soft; and the shape, consequent-
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 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 in 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 a<
the same angle. Under which want of similitude, it k
very difficult to conceive how the same quantity of bloo^'
should be pushed through each artery: yet the result i
right; the two limbs, which are nourished by them, per
ceive no difference of supply, no effects of excess or de-
ficiency.

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, Cheselden
seems to have thought, that the advantage which the left
gain by going off at a much more acute 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
compensating contrivance; and if it be so, how curious,
how hydrostatical ?

11. Another perfection of the animal mass is package
[PI. XXII. fig. 1.] I know nothing which is so surprising
Examine the contents of the trunk of any large animal
Take notice 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 de-
rangement of their position, any obstruction to their office.
Observe 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 cou''se, the

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

112

OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE

fluid back to it again ; the lungs performing their elaborate
office, viz. distending and contracting their many thousand
vesicles, by a reciprocation which cannot cease for a min-
ute; the stomach exercising its powerful 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 motipns. 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 the soft lobes of the lungs; tied to the
mediastinum and to the pericardium; which pericardium is
not only itself an exceedingly strong membrane, but adheres
firmly 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 vertebrae by the pleura, behind. It
seems indeed to be the very use of the mediastinum (which
IS a me'Tibrane that goes straight through the middle of the

* Keill's Anat. p. 107. ed. tf.

REGARDED AS A MASS.

1 1::^

thorax, from the breast to the back) to keep the contents
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 liver is fastened in the body by two ligaments;
the first, wh'.ch is large and strong, comes from the cover-
ing of the diaphragm, and penetrates the substance of tlie
liver; the second is the umbilical vein, which, after birth,
degenerates into a ligament. The first, whicii 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,! to which belongs the important office of returning
the blood from the body to the heart.

4. The bladder is tied to the naval 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 peritonneum 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
peritonaeum, which is the great wrapping sheet, that encloses
all the bowels contained in the lower belly. J

7. The spleen also is confined to its place by an adhe-
sion to the peritonoBum and diaphragm, ai d 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 occupiijd, 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 uje-
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 the doubling,

* Keill’s Anat. p. 119. ed. 3. f Chei^, Anat. p. 162.

? Keill’s Anat. p. 57. § Ches. Anat. p. 167.

114

OF THE ANIMAT STRUCTURE

comes up behind the front flap^ and is tied to the colon ana
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 skull, 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 incommode the neighbouring parts. The
great art and caution of packing 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 w^as
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-
raordinary 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 progress, is knit to the edge of a broad fat
membrane called the mcsentenj. [PI. XXII. fig. 2.] 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 mesentery itself, it is what a sempstress would call,
‘‘pucKered or 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 togetlier with it. Now the mesen-
tery, ha ing a considerable dimension in breadth, being in

* Clies. Auat. p. 149.

REGARDED AS A MASS.

115

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 me-
sentery, 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 security of the alimentary apparatus,
is itself strongly tied to the first three vertebra) 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 farther 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 toUhe 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;
everywhere filling up the interstices of the muscles, and
forming thereby the 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
of birds, the furs of beasts, the bright scales of fishes, the
painted wings of butterflies and beetles, the rich colors and
spotted lustre of many tribes of insects

* Keill’s Anat. p. 45.

116

OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE

There tire parts also of animals ornamental, and the
properties by which they are so, not subservient, that we
know of, to any other purpose. The irides of most ani-
mals are very beautiful, without conducing at all, by their
beauty, to the perfection of vision; and nature could in no
part have employed her pencil to so much advantage,
because no part presents itself so conspicuously to the
observer, or communicates so great an effect to the whole
aspect.

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 color The purposes, so far as we can see, of vegeta-
ble nutrition, might have been carried on as well by its
continuing green. Or, if this could not be, consistently
with the progress of vegetable life, why break into such a
variety of colors? This is no proper effect of age, or
of declension in the ascent of the sap; for that, like
the autumnal tints, would have produced one color on
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 independent, 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
the whole topic of argument, namely, that there is no 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 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
^ny 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 of varieties proceeding
from that influence, to which it is subject, seeing that prin-
ciples the most acknowledged are liable to be affected in
Ihe same manner. I should rather argue thus: the ques-
tion respects objects of sight. Now every other sense hath
its distinclicn of agreeable and disagreeable. Some tastes

REGARDED AS A MASS

117

offend the palate, others gratify it. n 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 meantime, 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
analogy is irresistible,) viz. that there belongs to it an orig-
inal constitution, fitted to receive pleasure from some im-
pressions, 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 object
to please: and that congruity, we contend, is consulted in
the aspect which is given to animal and vegetable bodies.

IV. The skin and covering of animals is that upon
wliich 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
of aspect, entirely out of the question, there is another
purpose answered by this integument, and by the collo-
cation 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

our bodies, the sight would frighte is out of our wits.

118

OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE

^ Durst make a single movement/’ asks a lively French
writer, or stir a step from the place we were in, if we saio
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?”

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. The statue of a man, placed loosely
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. Either the law of
gravitation is suspended in favor 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
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

♦Anatomy explains the mode in which the weight of the body is
transmitted to the feet; and we have seen that the muscles which prevent
the head from falling forward in standing, have their fixed point in the
neck; that those which perform the same office with regard to the verte-
bral column, have theirs in the pelvis; that those which preserve the pel-
vis in equilibrium are attached to the tl ighs, or to the bones of the legs;
.bat those which prevent the thighs from fallijig backward are inserted into
the tibia; and lastly, that tho.se that } -eserve the tibia in their verti-
•lal position have their fixed point in th( feet; these preserve us firm in
a sta iding positiou —Paxton,

regarded as a mass

119

weakness, the patient cannot stand uprignt. Secondly,
that these actions are only in a 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 motions 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 firmly 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,
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 vertebrae are so
confined by ligaments, as to allow no more slipping upon

* [See Plate XI.] There is no part of the human frame which is more
wonderfully constructed 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 elasticity , 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. Those 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 the»*e may be so many
joints ; for the structure of a joint not only permits motion but bestows
elasticity.” — Paxton

120

OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE

tbeir bases, than what is just sufficient to break the shock
which any violent motion may occasion to the body. 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,
ffiat the dead or paralytic body drops down. The whole
(S a wonderful result of combined powers, and of very
complicated operations. Indeed, that standing is not so
simple a business as we imagine it to be, is evident from
the strange gesticulations of a drunken man, who has lost
the government of the centre of gravity.

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. Is 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 of this 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 its 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
osieumy except the teeth; where it ceases, and an enamel
of ivory, which saws and files will hardly touch, comes into
its place. No one can doubt of the use and propriety of
his difference; of the ‘‘analogy” being thus “interrupted;”
of the rule, which belongs to the conformation of the bones
topping where it does stop; for, had so exquisitely sensi-

REGARDED AS V MASS.

121

ble a membrane as the periosteum invested the teeth, as it
invests every other bone of the body, tkeir 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
enamel 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 nails,
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 fingers*
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 anything else than
settled by intention; we should meet with nails upon other
parts of the body. They would be scattered o\er the sur
face, lik^ warts or pimples.

3. All the 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 smalls
est portion of this natural casket is lost, how carefully, yet
how imperfectly is it replaced by a plate of metal ? If an
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

122

COxVIPaRaTIVE ANaIOMI.

had not appeared subservient to the purpose of moth o as
well as of defence. What distinguishes the skull from ever)
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 inequalities, which
we observe in the inside of the skull, and which exactly fit
the folds of the brain, answer the important design of keep-
ing the substance of the brain steady, and of guarding it
Qgumst concu6Sior45

CHAPTER XII.

COMPARATIVE ANATOMY.

Whenever 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
primitive plan, as in the several changes and accommoda-
tions which i is made to undergo.”

Very much of this reasoning is applicable to what has
been called Comparative Jlnatomy. In their general econ-
omy, in the outlines of the plan, in the construction as well
as ofhces of their principal parts, there exists between all

COMPARATIVE ANATOMY.

123

large terrestrial animals a close resemblance. In all ifeis
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 fluid (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

JS.

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 do not
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 coc>.t
for another, without evidently changing it for the worse;
taking care however to remark, that these coverings are, in
many cases, armor 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 which 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.

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
I heir 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

124

COMPARA.TIVE ANAT031Y.

design, that, wool in hot countries, degenerate*?, as it is
called, bit n truth (most happily for the animal’s ease)
passes into hair ; whilst, on the contrary, that hair on 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 on 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 colors, constitute a vestment for the body,
so beautiful, and so appropriate to the life which the animal
is to lead, as that, I think, w^e should have had no concep-
tion of anything equally perfect, if we had never seen it,
or can now imagine anything 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 farther 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, we find properties not easily broughc
together, — strength and lightness. I know few thii gs
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
ti e purp ise, used in no otlier class of animals, and in no
oihe' part of birds; tough, light, pliant, elastic. The
pith, also, which feeds tlie feathers, is, amongst animal
substances, sui generis: neither bone, flesh, membrane,
nor tendon. ^

But the artificial part of a feather is the beard, oi\ as it

COMPARATIVE ANAlOttY.

125

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.
llie separate pieces of laminae, of which the beard is
composed, are called threads, sometimes filaments, or rays.
Now the first thing which an attentive observer will remark
is, hew 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 jvhich
occasions this difference, viz. that the laminae, 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-
minge, of which we have been speaking, in their natural
state unite; that their union is something more than the
mere apposition of loose surfaces; that they are not part-
ed asunder without some degree offeree; that nevertheless
there is no glutinous cohesion between the»^ , 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 laminae, 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
and firm as 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. This is no common con-
trivance: and now for the mechanism by which it is ef-
fected.The threads or laminae above mentioned, are m-

* By the aid of the microscope it appears, that the laminae are not flat,
es they appear to the unassisted eye, but are semi-tubular, having on
heir outward edge a series of bristles, termed in the text fibres, set in pairs
opposite one another, which clasp with the bristles of the approximate
L*

126

COMPARATIVE ANATOMY.

terlaced with one another; and the interlacing is perform-
ed by means of a vast number of fibres, or teeih, which
the laminse 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
3f 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 laminae are pressed to-
gether, so that these long fibres are forced far enough over
the short ones, tliew 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 into 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 laminas 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.*

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 honors of a lady’s head-dress, may be reckoned an
imperfection in the bird, inasmuch as wings, composed of
ihese feathers, although they may greatly assist it in run-
ning, do not serve for flight.

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-

laminsB, and cause that adhesiveness observable between the several
.aniinoe of the vane.

The bristles are not of the same form on each side of one lamina ; the
ower tier, Tab. XXIII. fi^. 6. form a simple and slight curve, while the
upper, fig. 7. terminate with three or four little hooks, which serve to
catch the simple corresponding bristle, fig. 6. of the next lamina.

* The above account is taken from .Memoirs for a Natural Ilist.^ry of
Animals, by the Royal Academy of Paris, published 1701, p. 209.

COMPARATIVE ANATOMY.

wards, let he external color of the feathers be what it
will, their Creator has universally given them a bed ot
black down next their bodies. Black, we know, is the
warmest color; and the purpose here is, to keep in the
heat, arising from the heart and circulation of the blood.
It is farther 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 were divided into a
number of wrens, (supposing the shape of the turkjoy 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 it, the utterance of sound; these
various offices are assigned to this one part, and, indiffer-
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 reccp^
lion; 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 6roiys-
ing upon their pasture; either gathering large mouthfuls
at once, where the grass is long, which is the case with
the ox in particular; or biting close, where it is short,
whicn 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 y after the protruding snout, lik'^,

128

COMPARATIVE ANATOMY.

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 trans-
fixes its prey upon the spike of a thorn, whilst it picks its
bones. In some birds of this class, we have the a^oss bill,

e. both the upper and lower bill hooked, and their tips
crossing. The sjwoii 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
lengtli to reach its object.

But the species of bill which belongs to birds that live
by suciion, deserves to be described in its relation 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 prickles. These, though they should be called
teeth, are not for the purpose of mastication, like the teeth
of quadrupeds; nor yet, as in fish, for the seizing and retain-
ing 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 mixtu»*e which is likely to contain her food. The
operatior is thus carried on : — The liquid or semi-liquid sub-

COMPARATIVE ANATOMY.

129

stances, in which the animal has plunged her hi7, she
draws, by the action of her lungs, through tlie 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 heterogene-
ous substances, 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 selection,
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 is. [PI. XXIII. fig. 1.]

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 produced 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 thrust out the mouth, or open it to the
stretch. But by what course of action, or exercise, or en-
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 months
of quadrupeds, we should have thought no other could have
been formed: little could we have supposed, that all the
purposes of a m^uth furnished with lips, and armed with

* There is a remarkable contrivance of this kind in the genus halcpna,
or proper whale. Numerous parallel plates of the substance called
whalebone, cover the palatine surface of the uper jaw, and descend ver-
tically into the mouth; the lower edges are fringed by long fibres, whicr^
serve the vinimal, when taking in the water, to retain the rnofiuscse,
with whi h the water abounds, and which constitute its food. — Paxton

130

COMPARATIVE ANATOMY.

leeth, could be answered by an instrument which had none
of these; c( uld be supplied, and that with many additional
advantages, by the hardness, and sharpness, and figure of
the bills of birds.

JEverything about the animal mouih is mechanical. The
teeth of fish have their points turned backward, 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 is converted into a pump or sucker,
fitted at the end sometimes with a wimble, sometimes with
a forceps; by which double provisions, viz. of the tube and
the penetrating form of the point, the insect first bores
through the integuments of its prey, and thejn 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
exuviae of the grub ; a new and totally different apparatus as-
sumes their place in the fly. Amid these novelties of form,
we sometimes forget that it is, all the while, the animal's
mouih; that, whether it be lips, or teeth, or bill, or beak,
or shears, or pump, it is the same part diversified: and it
is also remarkable, 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.

III. 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 oesophagus to the stomach, into
which, by a gentle contraction, they easily transmit the
descending morsels; that is to say, for the more laborious
deglutition of animals, which thrust their food up instead
of doivn, and also through a longer passage, a proportion-
ably more powerful apparatus of muscles is provided; more
powerful, rot 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 dctcruiinate circum-
stance, and must have been original.

JV. The gullet leads to the i)iicsfi)u\s ; here, likewise,
as before, comparing quadrupeds with man, under a gene-

COMPARATIVE ..NAPOMY.

.31

ral simili.ude we meet with appropriate difTerences. The
valvulce 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.* [PI. XXIII. fig. 2.] So far
as depends upon the action of the part, this structure was
more to be expected in a quadruped than in a man. In
truth, it must in both have been formed, not by action, but
in direct opposition to action, and to pressure ; but the op-
position which would arise from pressure, is greater in the
upright trunk than in any other. That theory therefore is
pointedly contradicted by the example before us. The
structure is found where its generation, according to the
method by which the theorist would have it generated, is
the most difficult; bilt (observe) 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-
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 intestines 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 subst^ce upon which
the animal feeds is of slow concoction, or yields its chyle

It may be questioned, whether these extremely soft rugae cr 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 moi'e extenswe surface for
the lacteals and secreting vessels ; and this appears to be the real use
of the valvulce conniventes. — Paxton,

i Mem. of Acad. Paris, 1701, p. 170

132

COMPARATIVE ANATOMY.

With lAore 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 hones 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 anc 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 the substance of other
bones. It is easy to observe those 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, cceteiis
paribus, the strength of the cylinder, or its resistance to
breaking. In a w’ord, 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 fie animal,) its body
can be occasionally puffed out, and its tendency to descend
in the air, or its specific gravity, made less. The bodies
of birds are blown up from their lungs (which no other ani-
mal bodies are,) and thus rendered buoyant.

VII. 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 burden 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 are

COMPARATIVE ANATOMY.

133

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 encum-
bered by the load of more than one full-^rown 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 sa} ^ which of the three is best fitted for its use; or
whether the same consummate art be not conspicuous in
them all. The constitution of the elements in which the
motion is to be performed, is very different. The animal
action must necessarily follow that constitution. The
Creator, therefore, if we might so speak, had to prepare for
difierent situations, for different difficulties ; yet the purpose
is accomplished not less successfully in one case than in the
otner; and, as between wings and the corresponding limbs
of quadrupeds, it is accomplished without deserting the
general idea. The idea is modified, not deserted. Strip
a wing of its feathers, and it bears no obscure 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 indicsites, 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 ;
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,

134

COMPARATIVE ANATOMY.

of its larger feathers, the action of the muscles, ^ and oints
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 tg 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 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 wing^^ *yut 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.
[n this position the legs extend beyond the rump, and be-
come the rudder; supplying that steerage which the tail
could not.

From the win^s of birds, the transition is easy to the
jins of fish. They are both, to their respective tribes, the
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
(here is no weight to sink it. For these offices the fins are
as large as necessary, though much smaller than wings,

* 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 vigor on the air, the
elasticity of which gives support. “ And it is remarkable that the gene-
ral resemblance which the best form of windmill sails bears to the fea-
thers of the vviogs of birds is striking, and one of those beautiful instance#
of truly mathematical principles om which the works of creation are con
structed. * ’ — Paxton,

COMPARATIVE ANx POMY.

135

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 pair 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, i. e.
the pair which lies 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-
vation upon them when put in action. The pectoral, and
particularly the ventral fins, serve to raise and depress
the fish: when the fish desires to have a 7'eiro grade motion,
a stroke forward with the pectoral fin effectually produces
it; if the fish desire to tmm 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 forwards
with an astonishing velocity.* The result is not only in
some cases the most rapid, but in all cases the most ger-
tle, pliant, easy animal motion with which we are acquain.
ed. However, when the tail is cut off, the fish loses a
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 to 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,
bat the likeness which arises from applying similar me-
chanical means to the same purpose.

We have seen that the tail in the fish is the great in-
strument of motion. Now, in cetaceous or warm-blooded

’^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.

136

COMPAR.VTIVE ANATOMY

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 foi
sending the fish to the top, or carrying it down to the bot«
tom.

Regarding animals in their instruments of motion we
have only followed the comparison through the first great
division of animals into beasts, birds, and fish. If it were
our intention to pursue the consideration farther, I should
take in that generic distinction amongst birds, the weh^
foot of water-fowl. It is an instance which may be point-
ed out to a child. 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. I 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, jhat 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. Sic. fall under the same obser-
vation.

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 referable 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

PECULIAR ORGANIZATIONS

137

he miy steal upon them unseen. This is a critical distinc-
tion; and is mechanical: but it may be suggested, and 1
think not without probability, that it is the efiect of con
tinned habit.

The eyes of animals which follow their prey by nighty
as cats, owls, &c. possess a faculty not given to those or
other species, namely, of closing the pupil entwely. 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
.he 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

CHAPTER XIII.

PECULIAR ORGANIZATIONS.

I BELIEVE 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
Jinatomy. 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 mthing to ‘‘compare;" in which a confer
mat’or is found in one animal, which hath nothing proper-

138

PECULIAR ORGANIZATIONS.

ly answerirg to it in another.* Of this kind are the exam-
ples which 1 have to propose in the present chapter: and
tlie 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.

I. Along each side of the neck of large quadrupeds,
rans a stiff, robust ligament, 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 is a 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-
cute. The head of an ox or a horse is a heavy weight,
acting at the end of along lever, (consequently with a great
purchase,) and in a direction nearly perpendicular to the
joints of the supporting neck. From such a force, so ad-
vantageously 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 hu-
man subject, because, from the erect position of the head,
(the pressure of it acting nearly in the direction of the
spine,) the junction of the vertebrae appears to be sufficient-
ly secure without it. This cautionary expedient, therefore,
is limited to quadrupeds: the care of the Creator is seen
where it is wanted.

*The objection here made to the use of the term, Comparative Anato-
my, does not seem well founded. As commonly employed, it is intended
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 dis-
oov^cred. 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 cannot have place. It is by comparing the neck of large
quadrupeds in which this provision is found, with that of man in which it
is not found, and by comparing the position maintained by man with that
maintaincil hy quadrupeds, that he illustrates the object for which this
nrovisic i is made. — Kd.

PECULIAR ORGANIZATIONS.

139

II. The oil with whicli 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. Noth-
ing similar to it is found in unfeathered animals. What
blind conrtto of nature should produce it in birds should
not produce it in beasts.^

III. The air-bladder also of a fish, [PI. XXTII. fig. 3,] af-
fords a plain and direct instance, not only of contrivance,
but strictly of that species of contrivance which we denom-
inate mechanical. It is a philosophical apparatus in the body
of an animal. The principle of the contrivance is clear ; the
application of the principle is also clear. The use of the or-
gan 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 bot-
tom; and also, that flounders, soles, skates, which are with-
out 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 difticult
to be apprehended. The rising and sinking of a 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
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 elas-
ticity 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
fall by thf same artifice. A diving machine might be

140

PECULIAR ORGANIZATIONS.

made to ascend and descend, upon the like princ pie ; name-
ly, by introducing into the inside of it an air-vessel, which
hy 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 it is in the machine; why the argument is not as firm in
one case as the other.

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 a repository of air. The ex
pedient, whatever it be, forms 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
has no natural tendency to produce a bag of air. Nothing
can be farther from an acquired organization than this is.

These examples mark the attention of the Creator to
the 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 cf a viper is a clear and curious example
of mechanical contrivance. [PI. XXIII. fig. 4, 5.] It is a
perforated 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, sud-
denly erects it. Under the tooth, close to its root, and
communicating with the perforation, lies a small bag con-
taining the venom. When the fang is raised, the closing of
the jaw presses its root against the bag underneath, and the

* Much obscurity still exists concerning the exact purpose which the
air-bag is intended to perform. 13ut 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 in-
leriial surface of ths oag may perform the snr-ne office. — Ed.

PECULIAR ORGANIZATIONS.

141

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 inflic-
ting .he wound and injecting the poison? Yet, though
lodged in the mouth, it is so constituted, as, in its inoffen-
sive and quiescent state, not to interfere with the animafs
ordinary office of receiving its food. It has been observed
also, that none of the harmless serpents, the black snake,
the blind worm, 8tc. have these fangs, but teeth of an equal
size; not movable, 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 hag of the opossum. [PI. XXI Y.
fig. 1 , 2, 3.] This is a mechanical contrivance, most proper-
ly 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
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.* Is there 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? j

Goldsmith’s Nat. Hist. vol. iv. p. 244.
t 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 pub
lication of this work. The animals of this kind are called marsupial, from
the pouch or niarsupiuni which distinguishes them. This provision also
has a relation to circumstances in the reproduction 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
tha wings of a hfin are for its brood. The fact is that the young ot theso

PECULIAR 0 -IGANIZATIONS.

in. 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. The middle claw of the heron and cormorant, is
toothed and notched like a saw. [PI. XXV. fig. 1.]
These birds are great fishers, and these notches assist
them in holding fieir 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 billsp
and for the same purpose. The gannet, or Soland goose,
nas the edges of its bill irregularly jagged, that it may hold
its prey the faster. [PI. XXV. fig. 2.] Nor can the struc-
ture in this, more than in the former case, arise from the
manner of employing the part. The smooth surfaces,
and soft flesh of fish, were less likely to notch the bills of

animals are born prematurely, and in a very imperfect and unformed state;
and the pouch of the parent seems properly intended for a residence during
the completion of the process of developement. The kangaroo is an in-
stance of this kind. When full grown it is six feet in extreme length,
and weighs an hundred and fifty pounds. W^hen born it is only one inch
in length, and weighs but twenty grains. The fore legs are scarcely dis-
tinguishable, 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 annnal 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, into the pouch. Having scarce the exercise of any of the
senses, and being without limbs, it seems almost impossible they should
make their way there by their own exertions. However 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 aperture which afterwards be-
comes a mouth. Here they remain, never quitting their hold, until a
sufficient p3riod has elapsed for their growth to be completed, and they
have thus arrived in regard to form and structure upon an equality with
other animals at the usual period of birth. W hen 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 protec-
tion 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 regar-
ded as a sort of exception to the laws of nature; since the discovery of
New Holland, however, and the investigation of its natural history, it
has been found that the marsupial animals, so far from forming an excep-
tion to :he general construction of animals on that continent, constitute
the prevailing model. With a very few exceptions, all the native animaia
•)f New HoU\a : are of the niarsup iil tribe. —

PECULIAR ORGANIZATIONS.

143

birds, than the hard bodies upon *vhich 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 shah
take one from a quadruped and one from a bird.

I. The sLomach of the camel is well known to retain
large quantities of water, and to retain it unchanged for a
considerable length of time. [PI. XX VI.] This property
qualities it for living in the desert. Let us see, therefore,
what is the internal organization, upon which a faculty sc
rare, and so beneficial, depends. A number of distinct
sacks oT 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 ori-
fices, after the stomach is full, the annexed bags are fillec
from it; and the water so deposited is, in the first place, not
liable to pass into the intestines; in the second place, is kept
separate from the solid aliment ; and, in the third place, is
out of the reach of the digestive action of the stomach, or
of mixture 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. Th^, tongue of the woodpecker^ is one of those singu-
larities, which nature presents us with when a singular,
purpose is to be answered. [PI. XXVII. fig. 1 and 2.] It is a
particular instrument for a particular use: and what else
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 length that the bird can dart it
out three or four inches from the bill, — in this respect dif-
fering greatly from every other species of bird; in the sec-
ond place, it is tipped with a stiff, sharp, bony thorn; and
m the third place, (which appears to me the most remark-
able property of all,) this tip is dentated on both sides, like
the beard of an arrow or the barb of a hook. The descrip-
tion of the part declares its uses. The bird having expos-
ed 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

144

PECULIAR ORGANIZATIONS.

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 barb, its dentation? These barbs,
in my opinion, wherever they occur, are decisive proofs r.
mechanical contrivance.

III. 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 fromBuflbn, 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.
[PI. XXVII. fig. 4.] These instruments are not wanted
lor offence; that service being provided for by two tusks is-
suing from the upper 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
vhen suffers its whole body to swing from it. This is its
manner of taking repose, and of consulting for its safety.
It continues the whole night suspended by its tooth, both
easy in its posture, and secure; being out of the reach of
animals which hunt it for prey.* I

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

t There does not seem to be any sufficient authority for ascribing thja
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, except by first
climbing the tree; which is not pretended. The fact is doubted, it is be-
lieved, by many naturalists, and the opinion probably was in the first placo
founded upon mere conjecture. A modern and distinguished traveller has
these remarks upon the subject. “ Philosophers had long puzzled them-
selves in conjectures what the design of nature could be, as she does no-
thing 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 mastication of it when procured. At length it occurred,
or was discovered, by whom I do not recollect, that the animal is fond ol
sleeping in a standing' posture, and, that liaving 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 lru»^ but if so the

PROSPECTIVE CONTRIVANCES.

145

CHAPTER 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 afterwards: 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. [PI. XXVIII. fig. 1 and 2.]
They are formed within the gums, and there they stop; the
fact being, that their farther 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 sucking, by which it is for
sometime 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 farther 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

habits of the animal must vary according to local circumstances. The
same species, or one so like it that the difference is not distinguisnablo
by any description or drawing that I have seen, is common among the
rocks on the deserts of Southern Africa, where, within the distance cf a
hundred miles, there is neither tree nor shi*ub, except a few stunted heaths
or shrivelled everlastings, thinly scattered over the barren surface. In
such situations, where I have hunted and taken them, it would certain-
ly be no easy matter for the babyrouessa to find a peg to ?4ang its head
npon.” — Bar?'ow^s Voyage to Cochin-China, — Ed

146

PROSPECTIVE CONTRIVANCES,

jaws, the palate, the pharynx, the larynx, are all perfect
the teeth alone are not so. 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 beginn ng ; whereas
the teeth would be only so many obstacles and annoyances,
if they were there. When a 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. The insect begins to gnaw as soon
as it escapes from the shell, though its other parts be only
gradually advancing to their maturity.

What has been'observed of the teeth, is true of the horns
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 looks still farther. A succession
of crops is provided, and provided from the beginning; a
second 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 mechanism of the mouth, which would have appeared
almost 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 of
line which the subsequent enlargement of the head may
occasion.

II It is not very easy to conceive a more evidently
prospective contrivance than that which, in all viviparous
animals, 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
riitherto remains unimitated, neither cookery nor chemistry

PROSPECTIVE CONTRIVANCES.

147

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 and 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 ^at, which have
numerous litters, the paps are numerous, a id 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 re-
fer it to a designing Creator.

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.

III. 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 pr'ovid-
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-

148

PROSPECTIVE CONTRIVANCES.

sideration of the qualities of that element, hitherto ent.re-
\y 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 in a
different state, affords a proof no less clear of destination to
a future purpose, and a proof proportionably stionger, as
the machinery is more complicated, and the adaptation more
exact.

IV. What has been said of the eye, holds equally true
of the lungs. Composed of air-vessels, where there is no
air; elaborately constructed for the alternate admission and
expulsion 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 incontestably 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 look for nothing less in 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 tothe
element which surrounds them, but both to another e e-
meiit 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 dncfiis arteriosus. [PI.
XXIX.] In the foetus, pipes are laid for the passage of the
blood through the lungs; but, until the lungs be inflated
by tlie ins[)f ration of air, that passage is imj)ervious, or in a
great degree obstructed. A\ liat 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 iemporanf

RELATIONS.

149

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 route
through the lungs, which the blood afterwards takes before
it gets from one auricle of the heprt 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 sepa-
rates these cavities. This hole anatomists call the fora-
men ovale. There is likewise another cro^s cut, answering
the same purpose, by what is called the ductus arteriosus,
lying between the pulmonary artery and the aorta. 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 contri-
vance, what is.^

But, forasmuch as the action of the air upon the blood
in the lungs appears to be necessary to the perfect concoc-
th)n of that fluid, i, e. to the life and health of the animal,
(otherwise the shortest rout might still be the best,) how
comes it to pass that the fxtus lives, and grows, and thrives,
without it.^ The answer is, that the blood of the foetus
is the mother’s; that it has undergone that action in her
,iabit ; 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.

CHAPTER XV.

RELATIONS.

When 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
producing, by their united action, the effect, is what I call
relation; and wherever this is observed in the works of
nature or of man, it appears to me to carry along with it
decisive evidence of understanding, intention, art. In
examining, for instance, the several parts of r watch, the
spring, the barrel, the chain, the fusee, the balance, the
wheels of various sizes, forms, and positions, what is il

150

RELATIONS.

which would take an observer’s attention, as most plainl]^
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 efxect finally
produced. Thus, referring the spring to the Avheels, he
sees in it that which originates and upholds ihew mo-
tion; in the chain, that which transmits the motion to the
fusee; in the fusee, that which communicates it lo the
wheels: in the conical figure of the fusee, if he refei 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-
termines the rate of going. 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
actions 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 whatever,
in which the origin and formation of a thing could be as-
certained by evidence, that these relations were found in
things produced by art and design, and in no other thfngs,
he w^ould rightly deem of them as characteristic of such
productions. — To apply the reasoning here described to the
w’orks of nature.

The animal economy is full; is made up of these rela
lions: —

I. 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. Jn 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
commin'jte 1, it is carried by a pipe into the stomach, where

RELATIONS.

151

it waits to undergo a great chemical action, which wc call
digestion: when digested, it is delivered through an orifice,
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 farther dissolved; in this state, the milk, chyle, or
part which is wanted, and which is suited for animal nour-
ishment, is strained off by the mouths of very small tubr's,
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, tr> 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
m the vat, the bestowing of the liquor thus fermented in the
hogsheads, the drawing off into bottles, the pouring out for
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, than in 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 fermenta-
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 route 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 foi
bringing it, when wanted, to the lip of the consumer. Thf
character of the machinery is in both cases this, that om
part answers to another part, and every part to the fina
result.

This parallel, between the alimentary operation and some
of the processes of art, might be carried farther into detail.
Spallanzani has remarked* a circumstantial resemblance
Dctween ^he stomachs of gallinaceous fowls and the struc-

* Diss. I. Sect liv.

152

RELATIONS.

t^ire 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. AVhen 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, in a 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
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 Afr. BelVs Treatise on Animal Aiechanics^
shows how extensively it is capable of being considered, and what inter-
esting results may be drawn from it. — Kd,

“ VVhat we have to state has been the result of the studies of many
naturalists; but although they have labored, as it were, in their own de-
partment 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 mere-
ly 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 stracture 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 ob-
vious, 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.
’I'his 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
whirh that conformation of hones permits in the paw, would be useless,
without the rotation of tlie 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 uiotiou limited to flection and extension of the foot cf a hoofed

RELATIONS.

153

a falcon, or a kite, acts upon the animal fibre alone; it wilj
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
he grain whilst whole and entire. In performing the ex-
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 extremity!
The motions of the extremities imply a condition of the spine which
unites them. Each bone of the spine will have that form which per-
mits 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 writhing 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, and a mobility of the extremities like the hand, to grasp it. lie con-
siders, therefore, that the teeth must have been for bruising herbs, md
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 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 vegetable 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 conception 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 carnivo-
rous animal, or of a 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
exliibits a system extending through the whole range of animated beings,
W’hose motions are conducted by the operation of muscles and bones!

“ After all, this is but a part of the wonders disclosed through the
knowledge of a thing so despised as a fragment of bone. It carries ua
into another science ; since the knowledge of the skeleton not only
teaches us the classification of creatures, now alive, but affords proofs of
thr 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 cf an individual animal,
or race of animals; but even the changes which the globe itself has un-
iergone in times before all existing records, and before the creation of
'.i...ian beings to inhabit the earth, are opened to our contemplation.”

154

RELATIONS.

perin 3nt 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, in this case, is the relation betweeen 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 oi
the ureters to both, i. e, of the secreting organ to the ves-
sel receiving the secreted liquor, and the pipe laid from one
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 sim-
ple, 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 negatived
by the conformation. If the bladder had been merely an
expansion of the ureter, produced by retention of the fluid,
Jiere ought to have been a bladder for each ureter. One
receptacle, 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,
bit between different things. The relation between a
loch: and a key is more obvious tlian it is between differ-
ent parts of the lock. A bow was designed for an arrow,
and an arrow for a bow: and the design is more evident
for their iieing separate implements.

Ncr do the works of the Deity want this clearest spe-

RELATIONS.

156

cies of relation. The sexes are manifestly nade 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,
inexplicable without design.

So much so, that were every other proof of contrivance
in nature dubious or obscure, this alone would be suffi-
cient. The example is complete. Nothing is wanting to
the argument, I see no way whatever of getting over it.

V'. 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 is given to it. Again, a warm-blooded
animal, which was to pass its life upon water, required a
defence against the coldness of that element. Such a de-
fence is furnished to the swan, in the muff in which its body
•s 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 digestion 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 dissolving animal substances alone; the other with a
crop and gizzard, calculated for the moistening, bruising
and afterwards digesting, of vegetable aliment.

156

RELATIONS.

Or R3t 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 encum-
brance 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 ?

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-
inated 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 under-ground 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 everything 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, proportionably lessens its labor; 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 every species of earth,
defends the animal from cold and wet, and from the imped-
iment 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
njes. 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. I do 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-

COMPENSAnON.

157

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 difiiculty, the eyes are made scarcely larger than the
head of a ^'orking-pin; and these minute globules are sunk
so deep ir. the skull, and lie so sheltered within the velvet
of its covering, as that any contraction of what may be
called the eye brows, not only closes up the apertures
wJiich 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 caii re-
lation. There is no natural connexion between a small
sunk eye and a shovel 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 mole?
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
coihnes 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. In a word; the feet of the mole are
made for digging; the neck, nose, eyes, ears, and skin, are
peculiarly adapted to an under-ground life; and this is
what I call relation. [PI. XXX. fig. 1.)

CHAPTER XVI.

COMPENSATION.

Compensation is a species of relation. It is relation
when the defects of one part, or of one organ, are supplied

158

COMPENSATION.

by the structure of another part, or of ani>ther organ
Thus,

I. The short, unbending neck of the elephant, is com-
pensated by the length and flexibility of his prohos, is. 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
asked, v/hy 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 of a longer lever. To a 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 labored.

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 meantime, dur-
ing the process, until this elongation of snout was 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
pijie; 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 cf the same
organ, taken together, exhibit a specimen, no only of de-
sign, (which is attested by the advantage,) but of consum-
mate art and, as I may say, of elaborate preparation, in
accomplisniiig that design.

II The hook in the wing of a hat is strictly a me-
chanical, and also a compensating contrivance. [PI. XXX

COMPENSATION,

159

fig. 6.] At le 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,
laying 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
compensate for the decrepitude of its legs and feet. With-
out her hook, the bat would be the most helpless of all
animals. She car# neither run upon her feet, nor raise
herself from the ground. These inabilities are made up
to her by the contrivance in her wing: and in placing
a claw on. that part, the Creator has deviated from the
analogy observed in winged animals. — singular defect
required a singular substitute.

III. 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
groping; 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 s^me 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 ox
it in breaking nuts and the hard substances upon which it
faeds. How, therefore, has nature provided for the open-
ing of this occluded mouth? By making the upper chap
movable, [PI. 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 membran«>

160

COMPENSATION.

placed on each side of it, which lifts and depresses it a*
pleasure.*

V. The spider’s iveh 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 and internal structure been speci-
fica ly 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 compensate
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 may 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 chameleon.
[PI. XXXI. fig. 1.] Instead of two eyelids, it is covered
by an eyelid with a hole in it. This singular structure ap-
pears to be compensatory, and to answer to some other sin-
gularities in the shape of the animal. The neck of the
chameleon is inflexible. To make up for this, the eye is
so prominent, as that more than half 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
ol)j(3ct. But then, so unusual an exposure of the globe of
.lie eye re'ruires, for its lubricity and defence, a more than

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

COMPENSATION.

I6I

( Jinary pr-rleoiion of eyelid, as well as a more than oi -
diaary supply of moisture; yet the motion of an eyelid,
formed according to the common construction, would be
impeded, as it 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 cover, and to preserve it in a due state of hu-
midity without shutting out the light; or without perform-
ing every moment a nictitation, which, it is probable, would
be more laborious 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 substitution. 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 I speak is an
amphibious quadruped, which our authors call the alope-
cias, or sea-fox. [PI. XXXI. fig. 2, 3.] The intestine
is straight from one end to the other: but in this straight
and consequently short intestine, is a winding, corkscrew,
spiral passage, through which the food, not without several
circumvolutions, and in fact by along route, is conducted
to its exit. Here the shortness of the gut is compensated
by the obliquity of the perforation.

IX. But the works of the Deity are known by expe-
dients. Where we should look for absolute destitution;
where we can reckon up nothing but wants, some contr
vance always comes in to supply the privation. A snail
without wings, feet, or thread, climbs up the stalks ol
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 itself a shelter in the
sand. The provisions of nature extend to cases the most
desperate. A lobster has in its constitution a difficulty so

O *

162

COMPENSATION.

great, that one could hardly conjecture beforehand ho^v
nature would dispose of it. In most animals, the skin
grows with their growth. If, instead of a soil skin, there
be a shell, still it admits of a gradual enlargement. If the
shell, as in the tortoise, consists of several pieces, the ac-
cession of substance is made 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-
y 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 edg«
How then was the growth of the lobster to be provided fo ^
Was room to be made for it in the old shell, or was it o
be successively fitted with new ones? If a change of sh il
became necessary, how was the lobster to extricate hims^ If
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 joints. 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 its 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
Tliis wonderful mutation is repeated every year.

If there be imputed defects without compensation, I
ihould suspect that they were defects only in appearance,
riius, the body of the sloth has often been reproached
^or the slowness of its motions, which has been attributed
.o an imperfection in the formation of its limbs. But it
jught 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
us to allow time for the concoction of the mass of coarse
and hard food which he has taken into his stomach. The
tardiness of his pace seems to have reference to the capac-
ity of nis organa, ai d to his propensities with respect lo

COMPENSATION-.

163

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 s/ieepj 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
active; 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 wliat-
ever, wh’ch sutlers 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 pmiiculaHlies of constitution, in which it appears
to be most conspicuous. This view of the subject neces-
sarily limits the instances to sngle species of animals. But
there are compensations, perliaps not less certain, which
extend over large classes, and to large portions of living
nature.

I. In quadrupeds, the deficiency of teeth is usually co?n-
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
the grinding teeth complete at their leisure the trituration

* 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, on a
tree he is exposed to but few eaemies, and when the sloth marks that
a tiger-cat is climbing up a brinch, it goes softly to the end of the
jranch, 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, draw n from this beast.

Paxton

IG4

COMPENSATION.

which is necessary, but which was before left imperfect. 1
say, the trituration which is necessary; for it appears from
experiments, that the gastric fluid of sheep, for example,
has no effec: in digesting plants, unless they have been
previously masticated; that it only produces a slight mac-
eration, 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.

II. 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, &c. for it is concerning these alone that
the question need be asked. All these 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 wfill not operate upon the entire 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 w hy should a bill and a
gizzard go together ? Why should a gizzard never be found
where .here 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 farther than the necessity. In both clas-
ses of birds, however, the digestive organ within the body
bears a strict and mechanical relation to the external in-
struments for procuring food. The soft membranous sto-
mach, accompanies the hooked, notched beak; tho short

Spall, dis. III. Sect. 140.

^COMPENSATION.

165

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.

III. 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
cant of feet compensated? It is done by the disposition
?f 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 determine?!
it. The meanest creature is a collection of wonders. Thi5
play of the rings in an eartJi-xcorm as it crawls; the undu
latory motion propagated along the body; the beards or
prickles with which the annuli are armed, and which thr
animal can either shut up close to its body, or let out to la}
hold of the roughness of the surface upon which it creeps;
and the power arising from all these, of changing its place
and position, affords, 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 rel
axation being given, to describe how such an animal might
be constructed, capable of voluntarily changing place
Something, perhaps, like the organization of reptiles
might have been hit upon by the ingenuity of an artist; or
might have been exhibited in an automaton, by the com-
bination of springs, spiral wires, and ringlets; but to the
solution of the problem would not be denied, surely, (he

* Contraction and expansion is the mode of progression in toor?ns, but
not in reptiles; in the class of serpents locomotion consists simply of re.
pcated horhontal undulations, viz. flexion and extension. Thus the head
being the fixed point, the body and tail assume several curves; the tail
than becomes the fixed point, the curvatures are straightened, and thus the
animal advances with a serpentine motion. By these successive curva-
tures 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, hiving nothing to do with locomotion unless as affording a fulcrum
for the muscles. — Paxton

166

THE RELATION OF ANIMATED BODIES

praise of invention and of successful thought: least of alj
could it ever be questioned, whether intelligence had been
employed about it, or not.

CHAPTER 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 constiiuiion and
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
relation to the elements by ivhich they are surrounded.

I. Can it be doubted, whether the ivings 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 ?

II. 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 surrounding body
are carried to the organ; that a communication is formed
between the object and the sense; which must be done be-
fore the internal machinery of the ear, subtile as it is, can
act at all.

III. The organs of voice and respiration are, no less
tlian 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,
are constituted upon the supposition of such a fluid, i. e. of
a fluid with srich particular properties, being always pres-
ent. Chang: the properties of the fluid, and the organ
cam ot act; change the organ, and the properties of the
fluid would be lost The structure therefore, of our or-

TO INANIMATE NATURE.

i67

gans, and the properties of our atmosphere, are made for
one another. Nor does 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 fhe 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 forever 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.

V. Throughout the universe there is a wonderful p
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, if at all. A pigrr y would
have been lost amongst rushes, or carried off by oirds of
prey.

It may be mentioned likewise, that the model and the
materials of the human body being what they are, a much
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 paitic-
ulars, and those of the greatest importance;) how close is

168

THE RELATION OF ANIMATED BODIES

the suitableness of the earth and sea to their several in
nabitants; and of these inhabitants, to the places of theii
appointed 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 inliab-
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 inhabitants
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-
ondly, 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, were
the bustle, the labor, 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
imposed upon them, at moderate intervals, a general inter-
mission 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

TO INANIMATE NATURE.

169

never observed but to admire, the satisfactior 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
ahirtness 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 nighty 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
obvious and 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 alternate necessities of the animals
dwelling upon her surface, at the same time that she obeys
the influence of those attractions 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 re-
lation to the system, of which that globe is a part ; and still
farther, 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. But if 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
he change of the seasons. Now the constitution of ani-
mals susceptible of torpor, bears a relation to winter, simi-
lar to that which sleep bears to night. Against not only tho
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, if it did not seep
through the winter, must have starved, as the moths and
flying insects, upon which it feeds, disappear. But tho

170

INSTINCTS.

transition from summer to winter carries js Lito the ver;y
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.

CHAPTER XVIII.

INSTINCTS.

The order may not be very obvious, by which I place
instincts next to relations. But I consider them as g
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
independent of instruction. We contend, that it is by
instinct 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
upor any other hypothesis than that of an instinct impress-
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 fee
in a particular part of her body, from the growth and so-
lidity of the egg within her, could not possilily inform her,
that she was about to produce something, which, when pro-

INSTINCTS.

171

duced, was to be preserved and taken care of. Prior to
e^xperience, there was nothing to lead to this inference, of
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 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 ana
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 anything ob-
served in it. From the white of an egg, would any one
look for the feather 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 sometime 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 discolored
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
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
oiir sparrows never knew, about oviparous generation:
could we divest ourselves of every information, but what we
derive from reasoning upon the appearance 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.

172

INSTINCTS.

But admit the sparrow by some means o know, tha.
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, farther 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. Achemical operation, ” says Addison, “couldnot
be followed with greater art or 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 the increase or diminution of their number; does not dis-
tinguish 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 n^sts, a few species breed
when kept in cages; and they which do so, build their
nests nearly in the same manner as in the wild state, and
sit upon their eggs. This is suthcient 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 mformed 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 expected
oflspring; all which the bird in the cage must have learned
in her infancy, if ve resolve her conduct into imtiluiion

INSTINCTS.

173

Unless we will rather suppose, that she remembers bei
own escape from the egg; had attentively observed the
conformation of the nest in which she was nurtured; and
had treasured up her remarks for future imitation: which
is not only extremely improbable, (for who, that sees a
brood of clJlow birds in their nest, can believe that they
are taking a plan of their habitation?) 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 secret
she is not let into. Yet, if incubation had been a sub-
iect 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 eats the cabbage; nor the con-
verse. This choice, as appears to me, cannot in the butter-
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 to another. 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,
wf 1 at a future period produce a living creature, not like

174

INSTINCTS.

herseir. but like the caterpillar, which she remembers hersell
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, sometime 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 \^hich sets the whole at work, the oToQyy], the parent-
al 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 public
manners, with public laws, or with rules of life built upon
a long experience of their utility. And all attempts to ac-
count for 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., The 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

* 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-
philub equi) whose larvae 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 deposits 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
intc the stomach and intestines. And what increases our surprise is, that
the fly places her eggs almost exclusively on the knee and the shoulder,
on those paits the horse is sure to lick. — Faxtori,

INSTINCTS.

175

young; yet, in her way, she is as careful in making prcvi
sion ?ci them, as any other bird. She does not leave her
egg in (jvery hole.

The salmon suffers no surmountable obstacle to oppose
her progress up the stream of fresh rivers. And what does
she do there? She sheds a spawn, 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
aer 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-
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
labor of their bodies. This change, in different animals
takes place at different distances of time from the birth,
but the time always corresponds with the ability of the
young animal to maintain itself; never anticipates it. In

176

INSTINCTS

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 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
said 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 adap-
tation 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
woodpecker 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
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 propensity to buila
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 egg, and even, as to that, to the
disposal of it in its proper element. Also, as there is
generation without parental affection, so is there parental
instinct, or what exactly resembles it, without generation
In the bee tribe, the grub is nurtured neither by the fathei

Goldsniith’a Nat. Hist. vol. iv. p. 244.

INSTINCTS.

177

nor the mother, but by the neutral bee. Probably the case
is the name with ants.

I am not ignorant of the theory which resolves instinct
into sensation ; which asserts, that what appears to have
a vie\^ and relation to the future, is the result onl/ of the
present disposition of the animal’s body, and of pleasure
or pain experienced at the time. Thus the incubation of
3ggs 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. The 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
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
t may be said.

First, that of the cases which require solution, there are
nw to which it can be applied with tolerable probability ,
that there are 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 ofier to suck, or to seek
Dut 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?

178

INSl NCTS.

We assert, se3)ndly, that, even as to the cases in whicr
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 instincts is that of ap-
petencies, siiperaddcd to the constitution of an animal, for
the effectuating 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 foresight;
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
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 depend,
are as manifestly directed to the purpose wliich we see
fulfilled by them; and the train of intermediate effects, as
manifestly laid ana planned with a view to that ])urpose;
that is to say, design is as completely evinced by the phe-
nomena, as it would he^ even il’we suppose the operations
to begin, or to be carried on, from wliat some will allow to
he alone properly called instincts, Oiat is, Irom desires di-

INSTINCTS.

179

reeled 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 it so: be it, that those actions of animals which we re-
fer to instinct, are not 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
sovereign 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,
formed for liberty, submits to confinement in the very sea-
son when everything 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, is, for many hours of many days together,
fixed to her nest, as close as if her limbs were tied down by
pins and wires. For my part, I never see a bird in that
situation, but I recognise an invisible hand, detaining tho
contented prisoner from her fields and groves, for the pur-
pose, 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-
creant bird suffers. Harvey tells us, that he has oftei:
found the female wasted to skin and bone by sitting upon
her eggs.

One observation more, and I will dismiss the subject
The pahing of birds, and the non-pairing of beasts, forms
a distinction between the two classes, which shows that the
conjugaj instinct is modified with a reference to utility

OF INSECTS.

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 winged race, the
young bird is supplied by an importation of food, to procure
i^p.d 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.

CHAPTER XDL

OP 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 insect 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
less understood than that of quadrupeds and birds, not only
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 antennae, [PL XXXII. fig. 2, 3.]
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 provision so universal is subser-
vient, has not yet been ascertained: and it has not been
ascertained, because it admits not of a clear, or very pro-
bable comparison, with any organs which we possess our-
selves, or with the organs of animals which resemble our-
selves in their functions and faculties, or with which we are
better acquainted than we are with insects. We want a
ground of analogy. This difficulty stands in our way as to
some particulars in the insect constitution, which we might
wisli to be acquainted! with. Nevertheless, there are many

OF INSECTS.

181

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 dytru, or scaly wings of the genus of scarabaeus
or beetle, furnish an example of this kind. 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 a certain 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. [PI. XXXII. fig. 1.]

In some insects, the elytra cover the whole body; in oth
ors, half; in others, only a small part of it; but in all, they
completely hide and cover the true wings. [PI. XXXII
<ig. 2.]

Also, many or most of the beetle species lodge in holes in
the earth, environed by hard rough substances, and have
frequently to squeeze their way through narrow passages;
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.

II. Another contrivance, equally mechanical and equal-
ly clear, is the aiol or borer, 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 in 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 v/hich naturalists give of this organ,
are such as the following: it is a sharp-pointed instru-
ment, which, in its inactive state, lies concealed in the
extremity of the abdomen, and which the animal draws

OF INSECTS.

k82

out at pleasure, for the purpose of making & pun;..ture in
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 gutter or groove, by which groove, after the penetration
is effected, the egg, assisted in some cases by a peristaltic
motion, passes to its destined lodgement.^ In the oestrus
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 anything more
be necessary to display the mechanism, than to relate the
fact.? [PI. 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 compos-
ed; 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 goat-
skin glove. It penetrates the human flesh more read-
ily 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,
nothing is. First, as to the chemistry; how highly con-
centrated 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. Ii? 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 maybe perceived
by the microscope two minute orifices, from which orifices,
in the act of stinging, and, as it should seem, after the point

* There are numerous variations in the structure of this orjjan; an exam-
ple of the one jwst mentioned is seen in the ovipositor of the buprestis,
Fig. 9. It consists of three long and sharp laminje, the two lateral ones
forming a slieath to the interdiediate one, wliich is the tube which conveys
the egg. In some cases tlie instrument forms a saw, or what Pa ey here
calls a dentated stem, which conveys the eggs, as in the tenthredo, ciev^^
cimbex, &c. — Paxton,

OF INSECTS.

183

of the mdn 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.

I 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, v/ith which many insects are en-
dowed, comes next in order to be considered. [PI. XXXII.
fig. 6, 7, 8.] It is a 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 penthouse. In
many species of the butterfly, the proboscis, wh( n not in
use, is coiled up like a watch spring. In the same bee,
the proboscis serves the office of the mouth, the insect
having no other: and how much better adapted it is, than
a mouth would be, for 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 corollm, 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, inacces-
sible to every other approach. It is observable also, that
the plant is not the worse for what the bee does to it. The
harmless plunderer rifles the sweets, but leaves the flower
uninjured. The ringlets of which the proboscis of the bee
is composed, the muscles by which it is extended and
contracted, form so many microscopical wonders. The
agility also with which it is moved, can hardly fail to eX'

184

OF INSECTS.

cite admiration But it it enough for our purpose to ob-
serve in general, the suitableness of the structure to the
use, of the means to the end, and especially the wisdom
by which nature has departed from its most general anal-
ogy (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 nymph. In some species, the proboscis,
the antennae, 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, besides its own proper character, serves as an integu-
ment to the other two, being the farthest 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-

OF INSECTS.

185

iilar system, which supplies nutrition, growth, and life, tc
a 1 of them together*.

VI. Almost all insects are oviparous. Nature keeps
her bu.terflies, 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 secAirihj of the egg. Many ^
insects enclose their eggs in a 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 depos-
ited, that tb3y may not be shaken off by the wind, or wash-
ed away by rain: some again make incisions into leaves,
and hide an egg in each incision; whilst some envelope
their eggs with a soft substance, which forms the first ali-
ment of the young animal: and some again make a hole in
the earth, and having stored it with a quantity of proper
food, deposit their eggs in it. In all which we are to ob-
serve, that the expedient depends, not so much upon the
address of the animal, as upon the physical resources of
his constitution.

The art also with which the young insect is coiled up in
the egg, 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 into a form which
seems to contract it into the least possible space; by which
contraction, 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 col-
location of the parts would be more various than it is. In
the same species, I believe, it is always the same.

These observations belong to the whole insect tribe, or
to a great part of them. Other observations are limited
to fewer species; but not, pf^rhaps, less important or satis-
factory.

1. The organization in the abdomen of the silkworm,
or spider, whereby these insects form their thread, is as
incontestably mechanical as a wire-drawer’s mill. In the
body of the silkworm are two bags, remarkable for their
form, position, and use. [PI. XXXIII. 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 giater,
by a n amber of small holes. The glue or gum, being pass-

186

OF INSECTS.

ed thro'jgh these minute apertures, form hairs of almost
imperceptible fineness; and these hairs, when joined, com-
pose the silk which we wind off from the cone, in which
the silkworm has wrapped itself up: in the spider, the web
is formed from 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 tho
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
hrough 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; and a thread so fine is almost all surface. This
property, however, of the paste is part of the contrivancf^
[PI. XXXIII. fig. 2.]

The mechanism itself consists of the bags or reservoirs
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 form-
ed, by forcing the material already prepared through holes
of proper dimensions. The secretion is an act too subtile
for our discernment, except as we preceive it by the pro-
duce. But one thing answers to another; the secretory^
glands to the quality and consistence required in the
secreted substance; the bag to its reception: the outlets
and orifices are constructed, not merely for relieving
the reservoirs of their burden, but for manufacturing the
contents into a form and texture, of great external use, or
rather indeed of future necessity, to the life and functions
of the insect.

II. Bees, under one character or other, have furnished
every naturalist with a set of observations. I shall in
this place confine myself to one; and that is, the relafior
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 smal)
ce Is. TTie fact is, that when the honey is separated from

OF INSECTS.

187

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 ia
the relation between them. But the two substances,
though together of the greatest use, and without each
other of little, come from a different origin. The bee finds
the honey, but makes the wax. The honey is lodged in
the nectaria of flowers, and probably undergoes little alter-
ation; is merely collected: whereas the wax is a ductile, te-
nacious 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 circumstanced, 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 farther endued
with the no less necessary faculty of constructing reposi-
tories for its preservation? which faculty, it is evident, must
depend 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;
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 its structure? or is any structure
more clear and certain in its design?

188

OF INSECTS.

IV. St. Pierre tells us,* that in a fly with sis. 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. If the 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
attract the male insect. The only thing to be inquired
after, is the singularity, if any such there be, in the nat-
ural 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 difference
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, dis-
similar to the female in appearance, probably also as distin-
guished from her in habits, pursuits, and manners, as he
is unlike in form and external constitution. [PI. XXXIII,
fig. 4, 5.] Here then is the adversity of the case. The
caterpillar cannot meet her companion in the air. The
winged rover disdains the ground. They might nevei
therefore be brought together, did not this radiant 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 devise,
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 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 thb only instance that entomology
affords, in which our discoveries, or rather our projects,
tuin ou to be imitations of nature. Some years ago, a

* Vol. i. p. 342

OF INSECx’S.

189

plan was s ggested, 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-
Dulse of which stream upon the water in the river, was to
Dush the boat itself forward; it is, in truth, the principle
by which sky-rockets ascend in the air. Of the use or
practicability of the plan, I am not speaking; nor is it my
concern to praise its ingenuity: but it is certainly a cor
trivance. 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 y according to Adams, swims by ejecting
water from its tail ; is driven forward by the reaction of
water in the pool upon the current issuing in a direction
backward from its body. [PI. XXXIII. fig. 6.]

VII. Again: Europe has lately been surprised by the
elevation of bodies in the air by means of a balloon. The
discovery consisted 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
heavier 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
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 it a path in the atmosphere; and after this manner.
Though the animal itself be heavier than air, the thread
which it spins from its bowels is specifically 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 contem-
plative eye it is a gratifying spectacle, to see this insect waft-
ed on her thread, sustained by a levity not her own, and
traversing regions, which, if we examined only the body of
the animal, might seem to have been forbidden to its nature.

I 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.

I. The shells of snails are a wonderful, a mechanical,

190

OF INSECTS.

and, if one might so speak concerning the works of nature,
an original contrivance. Other animals have their prope»:
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
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. I do 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 in the air; which
may be reckoned a kind of exsicce/.ion, like the drying ol
clay into bricks.

OF INSECTS.

191

III. In the bivalve order of shell-:lsh, cockles, muscles,
oysters, Stc. what contrivance can be so simple or so clear,
as the insertion at the back, of a tough, tendinous substance,
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
overlapping, 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 exercis-
ed upon the subject, has not been able to devise anything
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, and assent
to the inference which we draw from it in the instance be-
fore us, may be disposed, possibly, to ask, why such imita-
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 pursueo
in any work which we compare, of nature and of art; sec-
ondly, that it still more seldom happens, that we can imitate
nature, if we would. Our materials and our workmanship
are equally deficient. Springs and wires, and cork and
leather, produce a poor substitute for an arm or a hand. In
the example which we have selected, I mean 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
it closely.

But to return to insects. I think it is in this class of
animals above all others, especially when we take in the

192

OF INSECTS.

nultitude 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, noctural 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
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, [PI. XXXIII. fig. 7,] but through holes
in the sides,) the nymphae of gnats have an apparatus to
raise their backs to the top of the water, and so take breath
[PI. XXXIII. fig. 8.] The hydrocanthari do the like by
thrusting their tails out of the water. J The maggot of the
eruca labra [PI. XXXIII. fig. 9,] has a long tail, one part
sheathed within another, (but which it can draw out at
pleasure,) with a starry tufl at the end, by which tnft,
when expanded upon the surface, the insect both supports
itself in 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 into 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

*Vol.i. p. 3.

t Wisdom of God, p. 23. 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.

t Dei ham, p. 7

OF PLANTS.

193

shock, and, as is credibly related of some animals, of
driving away their pursuers by an intolerable fostor, or of
blackening the water through which they are pursued. f
The consideration of these appearances might induce us to
believe, that varietxj itself, distinct from every other reason,
was a motive in the mind of the Creator, or with the
agents of his will.

To this great variety in organized life, the Deity has
given, or perhaps there arises out of it, a corresponding
variety of anima^. appeiiles. 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, than 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.

CHAPTER XX.

OF PLANTS.

I THINK a designed and studied mechanism to be, in
general, more evident in animals than in plants; and it is
unnecessary to dwell upon a weaker argument, where a

The raja torpedo y gy?nnotus 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 integu-
ments are raised the organ appears, consisting of some hundred pentagonal
and hexagonal cells, filled with a glairy fluid. Minute blood-vessels arc
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 fisherman who ventures to seize
it. Phil, Trans, 1816, p. 120. Ibid. 1817, p. 32. — Paxton,

t The several species of sepice or cuttle fish have this faculty.
They possess a bag situated on, or near the liver, called the ink-bagy
from its containing a black fluid, the contents of which are 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,

J94

OF PLAJqiS.

stroDger is at hand. There are, however, c fe^r observa-
tions upon the vegetable kingdom, which lie bo directly in
our way, that it would be improper to pass by them with-
out 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 prese. ving 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 antherre, the stamina, ar i
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 tbe very form of the ffowei
during its blow, the light and warmth reflected upon them
from the concave side of the cup. What is called also the
sleep * of plants, is the leaves or petals disposing themselves

* “ The periodical change in the direction of leaves, which has been
called the ‘Sleep of Plants,’ is undeniably connected with the stimulating
operation of light. It is established, that during the clear light of the
sun, the leaves become erect, and move their upper surface 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 isjurned more outward. On account
of this particular position of what has been called ‘ Sleeping Plants,’ we
cainot properly ascribe this direction 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 j)urpose of turning fbeij
lower surface outwards. This change is much rather, therefore, the con
sequence of the contest between the activity of the plant, and the grea
activity of nature. This change is the more evident, and the sleep oi
leaves the more striking, the finer and more compounded the organiza
lion of the leaves are. VVe hence most frequently observe it in the pin
nated leaves of leguminous plants, although also in some others, is ic
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 I ght, but only frean
its complete and long-continued removal; as also from this other cir-
eamstance, that leaves fall asleep or awake at fixed liours, whether
the sky be serene or troubled, exactly as happens with regard to ani-
mals. Other stiniulu, too, and especially heat, have a groat influence

OF PLANTS.

195

in 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
Iwo 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 fructifi-
cation 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 farther advantage, (and it is an
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 poppij^ and
of many ^milar 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
it is 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 speciffcally 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 attention of na-
ture 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-

npon this phenomenon, because, in the cold, leaves awaken later, and
fall more easily asleep, notwithstanding the influence of light.” Vida
Elements of the Philosophy of Plants by Decandolle. — Paxton*

* Phil. Trans, par; ii. 1796; p. 502

196

OF PLANTS.

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 to re-
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 This is not all. 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 boldest climates a third preservative is ad-
ded, by the bud having a coat of gum or resin, which, being
congealed, resists the strongest frosts. On the approach
of warm weather, thi:^ gum is softened, and ceases to be a
hinderance to the expansion* of the leaves and flowers. All
this care is part of that systefn of provisions, which has for
its object and consummation the production and perfecting
of the seeds.

The SEEDS themselves are packed up in a capsule^ a
vessel composed of coats, [PI. 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
farina, or some subtile fecundating effluvium that issues
from it, is admitted to the seed. And here also occurs a
mechanical variety, accommodated to the different circum-
stances under which the same purpose is to be accomplish-
ed. In flowers which are erect, the pistil is shorter than
the stamina; [PI. XXXIV. fig. 2,] and the pollen, shed
from the anthcrse 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, [PI. XXXIV.
fig. 3,] tliat its protruding summit may receive the pollen
as it drops to the ground. In some cases (as in the n\geU
la,) [PI. XXXIV. fig. 4,] where the shafts of the pistils
or styles are disproportionably long, they bend down their
extremities upon the antheree, that the necessary approxi
mation may be effected.*

* Amongst the various means whicli nature has provided for the pur-
pose of assisting the impregnation of plants, that atlbrded by the agency
of insec ‘a is not on 3 of the least. In the spring and summer month

OF PLANTS.

197

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
^ourd, 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

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 whatever 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 Linnaean class dicecia,
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 par-
ticular species of tipula, ( T, 'pennicornis. ) The throat of the flower
is lined with dense hair, pointing downward so as to form a kind of fun-
nel, or entrance like that of some kinds of mouse-traps, through which
the insects may easily enter but not return: several creep in, and, un-
easy at their confinement, are constantly moving to and fro, and so de-
posit the pollen upon the stigma: but when the work intrusted to them is
completed, and impregnation has taken place, the hair which prevented
dheir escape 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 Review (ii. 400,) doubts the accuracy of
this fact, on the ground that he could never find T. pennicornis, though
Ji. clematitis has produced fruit two years at Brompton.” Introduc-
tion to Entomology, hy Kirhy and Spence, vol. i. 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 ab^ve observations the editor is indebted to an exei.^eni coi-
anist, Mr W. Baxter.-

198

OF PLANTS

and nuts, incased in a strong shell, the shell itself enclosed
in a pulp or husk, by Avhich 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 sirup, contained within a sldn or bladder: at
other times (as in apples and pears) embedded in the heart
of a firm fleshy substance; or (as in strawberries) piicked
into the surface of a soft pulp.

These and many other varieties exist in what we call
fruits.^ In pulse, and grain, and grasses; in trees, aiiid
shrubs, and flowers; the variety of the seed-vessels is in-
computable. We have the seeds (as in the pea tribe) reg-
ularly 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
enveloped in wool (as in the cotton plant,) lodged (as in
pines) between the hard and compact scales of a cone, or
barricadoed (as in the artichoke and thistle) with spikes

* From the conformation of fruits alone, one might be led, even with-
out experience, lo suppose, that part of this provision w’as destined for
ibe 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 plum, the fatness of the olive, appear to be 7nore
than sufficient for the nourishing of the seed or kernel. The event shows,
that this redundancy, if it be one, ministers to the support and gratifica-
tion 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
favors this view of the subject to remark, that fruits are not. (which
they might have been) ready altogether, but that they ripen in succes-
sion throughout a great part of the year; some in summer; some in au-
tumn: that some require the slow maturation of the winter, and supnly
the spring; also that the coldest fruits grow in the hottest places. Cu-
cumbers, pine-apples, melons, are the natural produce of warm climates,
and contribute greatly, by their coolness, to the refreshment of the inha-
bitants 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 use-
less. That which was before only an instrument for perfecting the ker-
nel 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 ])rotecting the kernel ! The intervention of
the stone prevents the second use liuin interfering with the first.”

Paxtm/u

OF PLANTS.

199

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 covered
by strong, close tunicles, and attached to the stem accord-
ing 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, skin,
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
limited degree. We can perceive, that ifthe seeds of plants
were more strongly guarded than they are, their greater
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 want of room to sow itself.
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 maintained be-
tween opposite uses. The provisions for the preservation
of seeds appear to be directed, chiefly, against the incon-
stancy of the elements, or the sweeping destruction of
inclement seasons. The depredation of animals, and the
injuries of accidental violence, are allowed for in the abun-
dance of the increase. The result is, that out of the many
thousand different plants which cover the earth, not a sin-
gle species, perhaps, has been lost since the creation.

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 ^irsting,
but, for the most part, is according to a certain rule in each
plant. What I have always thought very extraordinary;
nuts and shells, which we can hardly crack with our teeth,
divide and make way for the little tender sprout which pro-
ceeds 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,
&c.) are endowed with what are not improperly called icings ^

200

OF PLANTS.

that is, downy appendages, by which they are enabled tc
float in the air, and are carried oftentimes by the wind to
great distances from tlie plant which produces them. It
is the swelling also of this downy tuft within the seed-vessel,
that seems to overcome the resistance 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
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 sacred
particle, the miniature plant, remains unhurt. It is won-
derful 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 as it
hath acquired a favorable 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 eepnomy also, in which we remark a close analogy
between the seeds of plants, and the eggs of animals. The
same point is provided for, in the same manner, in both.
In 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 have
learned to pick its own food. This perfectly resembles the
first nutrition of a plant. In the plant, as well as in the
animal, tlir structure has every chaiacter of contrivance

OF PLANTS.

1201

belonging to if.: in both, it breaks the transition from pre-
pared to unpre Dared 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, two 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 o.
the grain issues a green sprout; from the other, a number of
Wiiite fibrous threads. [PI. XXXIV. fig. 5.] Plow 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
themselves in the sequel of the process? The sprout, or
plumule, 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

* “ The seedy 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 epidermis, as in the
palms and grasses.

“ In every seed there is to be distinguished, first, the organ of nour^
ishment; secondly, the nascent plant, or ihe plume; thirdly, the nascent
root, or the radicle,

“ In the common garden bean, the organ of nourishment is divided in-
to two lobes called cotyledons; the plume is the small white point be-
tween the upper part of the lobes; and the radicle is the small curved cone
at their base.

“ In wheat, and in many of the grasses, the organ of nourishment is a
single part, and these plants are called monocotyledonous. In other
cases It consists of more than two parts, when the plants are called polye^
otyledonous. In the greater number of instances it is, however, simply
divided into two, and is dicotyledonous.

“ The matter of the seed, when examined in its common state, appears
dead and inert; it exhibits neither the forms nor the functions of life.
But let it be acted upon by moisture, heat, and air, and its organized
powers are soon distinr.ly developed. The cotyledons expand, the
membranes burst, the ridicle 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

*202

OF PLANTS.

issuing from the seed take their respective directions, into
whatever position the seed itself happens to be cast. II
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, everything, 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, turn down. Of this extraor-
dinary vegetable fact, an account has lately been attempted
to be given: ‘‘The plumule, (it is said,) is stimulated by
tlie air into action, and elongates itself when it is thus
most excited; the radicle is stimulated by moisture, and
elongates itself when it is thus most excited. Whence
one of these grows upward in quest of its adapted object,
and the other downward.” Were this account better
verified by experiment p than it is, it only shifts the con-

Nature has provided the elements of germination on every part of the
surface; water and pure air and heiit are universally active, and the
means for the preservation and multiplication of life, are at once simple
and grand.” Sir H. Davyds Elements of As-riculiural Chemistry ,
.i. ed. p. 70. — Paxton.

* Darwin’s Phytologia, p. 144.

t “ Gravitation has a very important influence on the growth of plants;
and it is rendered probable, by the experiments of JMr. Knight, that they
owe the peculiar direction of their roots and branches almost entirely to
its force.

“ That gentleman fixed some seeds of the garden bean on the circum-
ference of a wheel, which in one instance was placed vertically, and in
the other horizor/ally, and made to revolve, by means of another wheel
worked by water, iii ^uch a manner, that the number of the revolutions
could be regulated; the beans were supplied with moisture, and were plac-
ed under circumstances favorable to germination. The great velocity
of motion given to the wheel was such, that it performed 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
grav tation, which was supposed to be done when the vertical wheel per-
formed 150 revolutions in a minute, all the radicles, 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 (plum-
ules) on tlie contrary, » dv the opposite direction, and in a few days their
points all met in the ce-.ve 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 revolu-
tion was given, the radicles pointed downwards about ten d(‘grees below,
and the germens (plumules) as many degrees above the horizontal line of
the wheel’s motion; and the deviation from the perpendicular was less in
proportion, as the motion was less rapid.

“Tliese facts afford a rational solution of this curious problem, respeeV

OF PLANTS.

202

trivance. It does not disprove the contrivance; it only re-
moves it a little farther back. Who, to use our authorh
own language, '' adapted the objects.^’’ Who gave such
a quality to these connate parts, as to be susceptible of dif
f event “ stimulation;” as to be “ excited ” each only by its
own element, and precisely by that which the success oi
the vegetation requires? I say, “which tiie success of the
vegetation requires:” for the toil of the husbandman v/ould
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.

Our second observation is upon a general property cl
climbing plants, which is strictly mechanical. In these
plants, from each knot or joint, or as botanists call it, ax-
illa, of thi; 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 anything which lies within its reach. Considering,
th-at in this class two purposes are to be provided for, (anc
together,) fructification and support, the fruitage of the
plant, and the sustentation of the 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
hoWj 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 d* Make only so simple a comparison

mg which, different philosophers have given such different opinions; 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 connect-
ed with mephanical causes; and there seems no other power in nature to
which it can with propriety be referred but gravity, which acts universal-
ly, 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, ^u^d acted upon by those external agents wnich
are necessary for their developement 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 law which preserves the planets in their or-
bits is thus essential to the functions of vegetable life.” — Davy’s El. Agr
Chem. ii. Ed. p. 32. — Paxton.

204

OF PLANTS.

as that between a pea and a bean. Why does the pea piu
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.

This word ‘‘ support’’ suggests to us a reflection upon
the property of grasses, of corn, and canes. The hollow
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-
rate the stern; which, by its length and hollowness, would
otherwise be too liable to break or bend.

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 hardness, their almost unconquer-
able disposition to spread, their faculties of reviviscence,
coincide with the intention of nature concerning them.
They thrive under a treatment by which other plants are de-
stroyed. The more their leaves are consumed, the more
their roots increase. The more they are trampled upon,
the thicker they grow. Many of the seemingly 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 them-
selves without seed. It is an observation, likewise, which
has often been made, that herbivorous animals attach them-
selves 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 proper-
ties 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

♦ Willi. Bot An-, vol. i. d. 28. ed. 2d.

OF PLANTS.

205

or four of these species as worthy of a particular notice,
either by some singular mechanism, or by some peculiar
provision, or by both.

I. In Dr. Darwin’s Botanic Garden (1. 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.] “ Thev
have roots at the bottom of the Rhone. The flowers of
the female plant float on the surface of the water, and are
furnished with an elasticy spiral stalky 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 ])lani
are produced under water; and as soon as the f^undat-
ing farina 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. ii. p. 209. ed. 3.) “ The cuscuta Europcea is a par-
asitical plant. [Plate XXXVI.] The seed opens and puts
forth a little spiral hodijy which does not seek the earth to
take root, but climbs in a spiral direction, from right to left,
ap 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.

III. A better known parasitical plant is the evergreen
shrub, called the mistletoe. What we have to remark 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 to them. 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 spring
mg from these seeds, insinuate their fibers into the woody
substance of the tree; and the event is, that a mistletoe

206

OF PLANTS.

plant is produced next winter;* of no other p'iant do the
roots refuse to shoot in the ground; of no other plant do
the seeds possess this adhesive, generative qnality, when
applied to the bark of trees.

IV. Another instance of the compensatory system is in
the autumnal crocus, or meadow saffron, (colchicum aiitiiin-
nale.) [PI. XXXVII.] 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 visjted by summer suns, but under all the
disadvantages of the declining year. When we come, how-
ever, t» 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
long, in this plant extends down to the root. The stiles
in all cases reach the seed-vessel; but it is in this, by an
elongation unknown to any other plant. All these singu-
larities 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
important office may be performed at a depth in the earth
out of 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-
therse and the stigmata, and is probably soon over. The
maturation of the impregnated seed, which in other plants
proceeds within a capsule, exposed 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 provision is made to raise them above the surface
when they are perfected, and to sow tliem at a proper dis-

* Withering^ Dot. Arr. vol. i. p. 203, ed. 2d.

t Withering’s Botanical Arrangement, p. 360.

OF PLANTS.

207

tance;’^ viz. the germ grows up in the spring, upon a fruit
stalk, accompanied with leaves. The seeds now, in com-
mon with those of other plants, have the benefit of the sum-
mer, and are sown upon the surface. The order of vege-
tation externally is this: — The plant produces its flowers in
September; its leaves and fruits in the spring following.

V. I give the account of the dioncea muscipula, [Plate
XXXVIII.] an extraordinary American plant, as some late
authors have related it: but whether we be yet enough ac-
quainted witu the plant, to bring every part of this account
to the test ot repeated and familiar observation, I am unable
to say. Its leaves are 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 sirup, 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.

CHAPTER XXI.

THE ELEMENTS.

When 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
before we arrive at this point. But then it is for our
comfort to find, that a knowledge of the constitution of the
elements is not necessary for us. For instance, as Addison
has well :)bserved, we know water sufficiently, when we

* Smellie’s Phil, of Nat. His. vc ' l p. 5.

208

THE ELEMENTS.

know how to boil, how to freeze, how fo evaporate, how-to
make it fresh, how to make it run or spout out in what
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. ’E^ vdarog ra navxa\
water, besides 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 organ-
ized beings, which are placed upon the terrestrial surface.
I think that every one of these uses will be understood
upon the first mention of them, except it be that of reflect^
mg light, which may be explained thus: — If I had the pow
er of seeing only by means of rays coming directly from
the sun, whenever I turned my back upon the luminary,
I should find myself in darkness. If I had the power of
seeing hy 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
hernia,# nere, the sky, the world, could only be illuminated,
as it IS illuminated, by the light of the sun being from all
sides, and in every direction, reflected to the eye by parti-
cles, as n imcrous, as thickly scattered, and as widely
diffused, a? aie those of the air

THE ELEMENTS.

209

Another general quality of the atmosphere is the power
if evaporating fluids. The adjustment of this quality to
)ar 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, water is carried up into the air; by the
converse of evaporation, it falls down upon the earth. And
how does it fall? Not by the clouds being all at once re-
converted into water, and descending like a sheet; not in
rushing down in columns from a spout; but in moderate
drops, as from a colander. Our watering-pots are made to
imitate showers of rain. Yet, a ^priori, I should have
thought either of the two former methods more likely to
have taken place than the last.

By respiration, flame, putrefaction, air is rendered unfit
for the support of animal life. By the constant operation
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 efficacy
ascertained by experiment. And so far as the discovery
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
hi the light, renders it again capable of supporting life or
flame. Here, therefore, is a constant circulation of bene-
fits maintained between the two great provinces of organ-
ized 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
limey, recovers a great degree of its purity. Here then
again, allowing for the scale upon which nature works, we
see the salutary effects of storms and tempests. The yesty

210

THE ELEMENTS

waves which confound the heaven and the sea, are doin^
the very thing which was done in the bottle. Nothing can
oe of greater importance to the living creation, than the
saliftrity 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 water, what ought not a little to be admired, are
those 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, con
stitJted as they are, must have died; plants, constituted
as they are, would have withered; the lives of animals
w^hich feed upon plants, must have perished. Its very m-
sipidity, which is one of those negative qualities, renders
it the best of all menstrua. Having no taste of its own,
it becomes the sincere vehicle of every other. Had there
oeen a taste in water, be it what it might, it would have
infected everything we ate or drank, with an importunate
repetition of the same flavor.

Another thing in this element, not less to be admired,
is the constant round which it travels; and by which, with
out suffering either adulteration or waste, it is continually
offering itself to the wants of the habitable globe. From
the sea are exhaled those vapors which form the clouds;
these clouds descend in showers, which, penetrating into
".he crevices of the hills, supply springs; which springs
flow in little streams into the valleys; 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 certain important ofli
ces to the earth; and, having executed the service whic
was assigned to it, returns to the bosom Alfiich it left.

Some have thought, that we have too mireh water upoi
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 good a right to its place as the land. It
may proportionably support as many inhabitants; minister
to as large an aggregate of enjoyment. The land only af-
fords a habitable surface ; the se : is habitable to a great

THE ELEMENTS.

211

III. Of fire, we have said that it dissolves. The onl^
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
mai.y of our operations, chemical or culinary. Now these
are only uses of an occasional kind, and give us a 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 heat, or of a certain degree of it, al.
fluids would be frozen. The ocean itself would be a quar-
ly of ice ; universal nature stifl’ 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 light, (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 million
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
substance, 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 pro-
digious velocity, guarded against.^ By a proportionable
minuteness of the particles of which light is compoKjcd. 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, it is easy to prove. A drop
of tallow, expended in the wick of a farthing candle, shall
send 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
the sun, we cannot estimate; but the immensity of the
sphere which is filled with its particles, even if it reached
no farther than the orbit of the earth, we can in some sort
compute; and we have reason to believe, that throughout
th’s whole region, the particles of light lie, in latitude at

212

A«5TR0N0MY.

least, near to one another. The spissitude of th^ 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 each other; both surpassing our utmost stretch
of comprehension; but proportioned. And it is this pro-
portion alone which converts a tremendous element into a
welcome visiter.

It has been observed to me by a learned friend, as hav-
ing often struck his mind, that if light had been made by
a common artist, it would have been of one uniform color;
whereas, by its present composition, we have that variety
•of colors 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 different
colors, (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 blend-
ed together, to produce a fluid so clear and colorless as
a beam of light is, when received from the sun.

CHAPTER XXII.

ASTRONOMY.*

My opinion of astronomy has always been, that it is noi
ihe 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
sublimer view’s of the Deity than any other subject affords;
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

* For the articles in this chapter marked with an asterisk, I am indebtei
to some obliging communicatioas received (through the hands of the Lor(?
Dishop of Elphin) from the Rev. J. Briiikle*' I\ D. Andrew’s Profeesm
of Astronomy in the University of Dublin.

ASTRONOMY

213

»ee nothing but bright points, luminous circles, or the
phases of spheres reflecting the light which falls upon them.
Now we deduce design from relation, aptitude, and cor-
respondence of parts. Some degree therefore of com-
plexity is necessary to render a subject fit for this species
of argument. But the Jieavenly bodies do not, except per-
haps in the instance of Saturn’s ring, present themselves Uj
our observation as compounded of parts at all. This,
which may be a perfection in them, is a disadvantage 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 aigumentation — analogy. We have nothing
wherewith to compare them; no invention, no discovery,
no operation or resource of art, which, in this respect,
resembles them. Even those things which are made to im-
itate and represent them, such as orreries, planetaria, celes-
tial globes. Sac. bear no affinity to them, in the cause and
principle by which their motions are actuated. I can as-
sign for this 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 does not operate in
this manner. It was necessary that the intervals between
^ the planetary orbs should be devoid of any inert matter
either fluid or solid, because such an intervening substance
would, by its resistance, destroy those very motions which
attraction is employed to preserve. This may be a final
cause of the difference; but still the difference destroys
the analogy

Our ignorance, moreover, of the sensitive 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 real subject of admiration is, that we um
derstand so much of astronomy as we do. That an animal
confined to the surface of one of the planets; bearing a

* The moon has no perceptible atmosphere: and as no effects have
been observed like those which would be produced by vapors or exhala-
tions fro-xi its surface, it is possible that there are no fluids upon it.
There is no reason, however, from these circumstances, for denying the
existen.ce of sensitive beings upon it, although they must be very dif-
ferently constituted froir. ourselves to whof '2 air and water are essentially
necessary. — Paxton,

214

ASTRONOMY.

less proportion to it than the smallest microscopic 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 neces'^ities, 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 globes which compose it ; and with such
accuracy, as to mark out, beforehand, the situation in the
heavens in which they will be found at any future point of
ime, and that these bodies, after sailing through regions
if 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 to 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.

Our 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 circumstances
and laws, sufficient to indicate an intellectual agency in
three of its principal operations, viz. in choosing, in deter-
mining, in regulating: in choosing, out of a boundless va-
riety of suppositions which were equally possible, that
which is beneficial; in determining, what, left to itself, had
a thousand chances against conveniency, for one in its
favor; in regidating subjects, as to quantity and degree,
which, by their nature, were unlimited with respect to

* Ilooke describes a minute animalcule, which he discovered with a mi-
croscope, upon a vine. From his data an estimate may he made of its
bulk; hut it is not so easy to fix upon any delerrninato quantity for tho
size of the plant. However, to put the case strongly, let the hulk of it
he taken a* equal to tliat of a cylinder one inch in diameter and a mile in
length. Such a cylinder would contain above 345 cubic feet, and yet it
wpuld he many million times less when compared with the animalcule,
than the earth is when compared w ith the hulk of a man. — Paxton.

ASTRONOMY.

215

either. It will be our business to offer, under each of these
heads, a few instances, such as best admit of a popular ex-
plication.

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 neces-
sity for this order. The sun might have been an opaque
mass; some one, or two, or more, or any, or all the planets,
globes of fire. There is nothing in the nature of the heav-
enly bodies, which requires that those which aie stationa-
ry should be on fire, that those which move should be cold;
for, in fact, comets are bodies on fire,"^ or at least capable
of the most intense heat, yet revolve round a centre; nor
does this order obtain between the primary planets ana
their secondaries, which are all opaque. When we con-
sider, therefore, that the sun is one; that the p*anets
going round it are at least seven ;| 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-
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 masses, and
were once, like 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,

* It may be reasonably doubted whether comets are ever absolutely
“ 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 16S0
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 to a heat which
was 2000 times greater than that of a red-hot iron. — Paxton.

t 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 discov-
ered 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; it is 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 a comet or a planet. This will explain the
reason for his having qualified the expression, and having said “ at least
seven,”

216

ASTRONOMY.

from eternity. This consequence arises out of the hypoth
esis with still more certainty, if we make a part of it, whal
the philosophers who mantain it have usually taught, that
the planets were originally masses of matter, struck off in
a state of fusion from the body 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 more 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 axis 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 tlie diameters upon which such
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, i. e. 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. The 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-

ASTRONOMY.

217

as, had blind chance, had a casual impulse, had a stroke or
push at random, set the earth a-spinning, the odds were in-
fin ^te, but that they had sent it round upon a wrong axis
And what would have been the consequence? The differ-
ence between a permanent axis and another axis is this.^
When a spheroid in a state of rotatory motion gets upon a per-
manent 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 axis, 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 [rigors, 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 aiii-
mal; still more noxious would this translation of climate
have proved to life in the rest of 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.*

* The earth being an oblate spheroid, we may suppose it to be cut by
a plane passing through A B, Fig. 3, Plate XXXIX, whicn may represent
its axis, and the common section of this plane with the spheroid will be
an ellipse like A f) 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 w'hich 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 equatcr. As the plane

ASTRONOMY.

ei8

III. All this, however, proceeds upon a supposition ol
the earth having been formed at first an oblate spheroid
There is another supposition ; and perhaps our limited in -
formation 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-
thousandthl part, compared with the depth of the centre)
we find vestiges of ancient fluidity. But this fluidity must
have gone down many hundred times farther 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 fhe density
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 conceive the present face of the
earth to have originated from the revolution of a sphere,
covered by a surface of a compound mixture; the fluid and
solid parts separating, as the surface becomes 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, ail

passing through A B is not confined to one situation more than anothci,
D E may represent any “ one of the longest axes of the spheroid,” and
will, as well is A B, always be a “ permanent axis of rotation.” But
if any other c ameter, as G II, is taken, the earth could not continue to
revolve permi. lently 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 diameter of the
earth being about 7912 miles, “ the eight-thousandth part of the depth o
the centre” must be 2611 feet, or nearly half a mile. — Ibid,

ASTRONOMY.

219

the land would have oeen covered: had there been much
less than there is, there would not have been enough to
lertilize the continent.* Had the exsiccation been pro-
gressive, such as we may suppose to have been produced
by an evaporating heat, how came it to stop at the point at
which we see it.^ Why did it not stop sooner; why at all?
The mandate of the Deity Avill account for this; nothing
else will.

IV. 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, unless 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 forever wheel round
the earth, instead of falling down upon it.f This is the
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; and so on.
Now, concerning this law of variation, we have three
th‘ngs to observe: First; that attraction, for anything we
Know about it, was just as capable of one law of variation

* Nearly three quarters of the earth’s surface are covered by the sea.
Now evaporation is proportionate to the surface of the fluid, and conse-
quently a less expanse of waters would not have aiTorded a sufficient sup-
ply 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
XXXIX, which is at a 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 con
tinue in the state of motion which is communicated to it, it will be carri
ed farther 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 increase,
it may be carried to D; or even round to A, from whence it originally
set out. — Ibid.

220

ASTRONOMY

as of another: Secondly; that out of an infinite number A
possible laws, those which were adniissible for the purpose
of supporting the heavenly motions, lay within certain nar-
row limits.* Thirdly; that of the admissible laws, or those
which come within the limits prescribed, the law that actu
ally prevails is the most beneficial. So far as these propo-
sitions can be made out, we may be said, I think, to prove
choice and regulation; choice, out of boundless variety;
and regulation, of that which, by its own nature, was, in
respect of the property regulated, indifferent and inde-
finite.

First then, attraction, for anything we know about it,
was originally indifferent to all laws of variation depend-
ing upon change of distance, i. 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 increas-
ed: 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
property, it stood indifferent to all laws. If it be the agen-
cy of something immaterial, then also, for anything we
know of it, it was indifferent to ail laws. If the revolu-
tion of bodies round a centre depend upon vortices, nei-
ther 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 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.*

* Let the light of a candle fall upon a square object like A B C D, Fig.
4, Plate XXXIX, and if a screen be placed parallel to the object and at
double the distance, the shadow F. F G II, received upon it, will be I*>ur
times the size of the object itself. For the rays passing in straight lines
by the angles A, B, C, J), the sides F F, F CJ, (ji II, II F., must be each
double of A B, B C, C i), J) A: therefore the shadow may be divided
into four squares each equal in size to the object. At three times the dis-
tance from the candle, the sides of the shadow would each be three times
a.s large as the sides of the object, and its area would, therefore, contain

ASTRONOMY.

22 \

The mathematics 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 eman-
ation. For my part, I am totally at a loss to comprehend
now particles streaming from a centre should draw a bodv
towards it. The impulse, if impulse it be, is all the other
way. Nor shall we find less difficulty in conceiving a con-
flux of particles, incessantly flowing to a centre, and car-
rying down all bodies along with it, that centre also
itself being in a 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
ffom 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 truth is, that, 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.

(*) II. Our second proposition is, that whilst the pos-
sible laws of variation were infinite, the admissible laws,
or the laws compatible with the preservation of the system,
lie 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

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 shad-
ow; and as the surface 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 dis-
tances— Paxton, *

ASTRONOMY.

22^2

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; ctnd
also in any proportion to its distance; i. e. if it had pulled
the harder for being the farther off, (instead of the reverse
of it,) it would have dragged out of its course the globe
which we inhabit, 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, would forever have receded
from it. The laws, therefore, of attraction, by which a
system of revolving bodies could be upholden in their mo-
tions, lie within narrow limits, compared with the possible
laws. I much underrate the re^^ric.ion, 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 demon-
strable 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 sen-
sitive world.

(*) 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 possibilities upon
which chance might equally have cast it, is not, with any
appearance of reason, to be accounted for by any othei
cause than a regulation proceeding from a designing mind.
But our next proposition carries the matter somewhat I’ar-
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 othei

ASTRONOMY

223

1. 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 m no other case the same
as the law of attraction of each particle, one case except-
ed, and that is of the attraction varying directly as the dis-
tance;^ the inconveniency of which law, in other respects,
we have already noticed.

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 attractions of its parts. Now,
the admissible and convenient law which exists, could not
be obtained in a system of bodies gravitating by the united
gravitation of their parts, unless each particle of matter
were attracted by a force varying by one particular law,
viz. varying inversely as the square of the distance; for, if
the action of the particles be according to any other law
whatever, the admissible and convenient law which is adopt-
ed could not be obtained. Here then are clearly shown reg-
ulation 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 p(3r-
haps the strongest evidence of care and foresight that can
be g'ven. Now we are able to demonstrate of our law of

* Let A, Fig. 5, Plate XXXIX, represent a sphere composed of par-
ticks, which mutually attract each other with a force, which varies re-
c'procally as the squares of the distances ; their united attraction, on a
similar particle P without the sphere, will be according to the same law*
that is, the particle will be attracted towards the sphere with a force,
which will also vary reciprocally as the square of C P, its distance from
the centre of the sphere. — Paxton.

224

ASTRONOMY.

attraction, what can be demonstrated 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 irregu-
larities, but merely periodical or vibratory ones; that is,
they wfll come to a limit, and then go back again. This we
can demonstrate only of a system, in which the following
properties concur, viz. that the force shall be inversely as
the square of the distance;^ the masses of the revolving bo-
dies small, compared with that of the body at the centre; the
orbits not much inclined to one another; and their eccen-
tricity little. Tn 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 mconveniency
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
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 otlier
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, if the 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 centripeta*
force, viz. a choice guided by views of utility, and a choice

ASTRONOMY

223

of one aw out of thousands which mignt equall}^ have
taken p ace, we see no less in the figures of the planetary
orbits. 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 his orbit, its being a circle, or nearer to, or farther off
from a circle, viz. a rounder or a longer oval, depends
upon 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. If the 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
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

* The moon describes in one second of time nearly two-thirds of a
mile in its orbit round the earth: and if its distance were dimhiished it
might still continue to revolve nearly in a circle round the same centre,
if its velocity were increased so as to compensate for the greater attrac-
tion, which would now draw it constantly out of the rectilinear direc
tion, in which it would otherwise move- This distance nay be supposed
to be diminished till the moon is brought near to the earth’s surface, and
t would, under these circumstances, still continue to complete us revolu-
tion, if its velocity were increased to about five miles in a second. Now
for the descriptijn of such a revolution, there is no difference between
the moon and any other material substance at the same distance; for they
would boc 1 be drawn down through the same space in the same time by

226

ASTRONOMY.

won d 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.* If
the velocity reached 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
he ba'l might be sent off, (I 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-

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 accidental circumstance) com-
plete 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 easily conceived that if its direction 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
ikewise prevent its completing its revolution round the earth. Abstract-
ing from the air’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 it set out. The
body therefore which, when projected from A, Fig. 6, PI. XXXIX,
comes down to the 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
Deen collected together at its centre, so as not to interfere with the mo-
tion of the projectile. Let us now conceive the body to be projected
back from C, with the velocity which it had acquired 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 to C. The same would apply to
bodies projected upwards from 15 or D; and if the velocities of projec-
tion were less or greater than what would have been acquired in filling
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 fall down on the other. Now it
will be seen that the curves at 15, C, and I), make the angles AT51, AFI,
ADI less, as the body is supposed to go farther and farther befoie it falls,
and that the curves, in which tire hotly can complete a revolution near
the suifice, will in all its parts be nearly parallel to it. Hence tie can-
aon ball fired upwards will come back again to the ground and not be
able completely to go round the eaith upon any other supposition except
ng that of its being fired in nearly an horizontal direction. — Paxton,

ASTRONOMY.

227

zontal. The same thing holds true o he y)lanets; of out
own among the rest. We are entitled, therefore, to ask,
and to urge the question. Why did .the projectile velocity
and projectile direction of the earth happen to be near-
ly those which would retain it in a circular form? Why
not one of the infinite number of velocities, one of the
infinite number of directions, which would have made it
approach much nearer to, or recede much farther from, the
aim ?

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, besides 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
^ws by which the heavenly motions are governed. If the
planets were struck off from the surface of the sun, they
would return to the sun again. Nor will this difficulty be
got rid of, by supposing that the same violent 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 progressive motion,
which indeed may possibly be the case with our system;
but then each fragment would, in every revolution, return
to the surface of the sun again. The hypothesis is also
contradicted by the vast difference which 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 reconcile withBuffon’s scheme
Bodies starting from the same place, with whatever differ-
ence of direction or velocity they could set off, could not
Aave been found, at these different distances from the cen-
tre, still retaining their nearly circular orbits. They must
have been carried to their proper distances before they
were projected.*

* “ If 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; and after carrying them to their different distances, pro-
ject them in their several directions, preserving still the equality of action
and reaction, or the state of the centre of gravity of the system. Such
an exquisite structure of things could only arise from the contrivance and

228

ASTRONOMY.

To conclude: In astronomy, the great thing is to raise
the imagination to the subject, and that oftentimes in oppo-
sition to the impression made upon the senses. An allu-
sion, for example, must be gotten over, arising from the
distance at which we view the heavenly bodies, viz. the
apparent slowness of their motions. The moon shall take
some hours in getting half a yard from a star which it
touched. A motion so deliberate, we may think easily gui-
ded. But what is the fact? The moon, in fact, is, all this
while, driving through the heavens, at the rate of consid-
erably 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 of a 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 difficult to bring the imagination to conceive (what
yet, to ^udge tolerably of the matter, it is necessary to con-
ceive) how loosCj 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 principle, one, common, and the same in all; and as-
certainable. To preserve such bodies from being lost, from
running together in heaps, from hindering and distracting
one another’s motions, in a degree inconsistent with any
continuing order; t. e. to cause them to form planetary sys-
tems, systems that, when formed, can be upheld, and more
especially, systems accommodated to the organized and
sensitive 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 interposi-
tion, because it can be demonstrated concerning it, that it
requires an adjustment of force, distance, direction, and ve-
locity, out of the reach of chance to have produced; an
adjustment, 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 extent of space through 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

powerful influences of an intelligent, free, and most potent agent. The
eamo powers, therefore, which at present govern the material universe,
and conduct its various motions, are vert/ 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. ** — Maclaut in' s Ac-
tount of J\''ewton's Phil. p. 407, ed. 3.

OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY.

229

absence or of an equilibrium of attractions. It proven also,
that a projectile impulse was originally given to some of the
heavenly bodies, and not to others. But farther; 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 su*"
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.*

CHAPTER XXIII.

OP THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY.

Contrivance, if established, appears to me to prove
everything 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 prin-

* It 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
e’ldier as proper to each of them, or as compounded of the motion of our
sj'stem, and of motions proper to each star. By a comparison of these
motions, a motion in our system is supposed to be discovered. By con-
tinuing this anology to other, and to all systems, it is possible to suppose
that attraction is unlimited, and that the whole material universe is revolv-
ing round some fixed point within its containing sphere or space. — Foley*

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 cannot
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 luirinous particles
which composed them.

230

OF THE PERSON A.LITY OF THE DEITY.

ciple: 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 be
a 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 is a person
We have no authority to limit the properties of mind to
any particular corporeal form, or to any particular circum-
scription of space. These properties subsist in created
nature under a great variety of sensible forms. Also every
animated being has its sensoriiim; that is, a certain portion
of space, within which perception and volition are exerted.
This sphere may be enlarged to an indefinite extent;
may comprehend the universe; and, being so imagined,
may serve to furnish us with as good a notion as we are
capable of forming, of the immensity of the Divine Nature,
i. e, of a Being, infinite, as well in essence as in power
yet nevertheless a person.

‘‘ No man hath seen God at anytime.” And this, I be
lieve, 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 odors,
sounds, and colors? 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 favored
animal should infer from its superiority over the class
last described, that it perceived everything which was per-
ceptible in nature, it is known to us, though perhaps not

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 tliat these were separate systems, and his son,
assisted by Mr. South, has established that some of them have undoubt-
edly a revolution round a common centre of gravity analogous to the
motions of the sun and planets. — Paxton.

* JPhestley’s Letters to a Philosopliical Unbeliever, p. 153, ed. 2.

OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY.

231

suspected by the animal itself, that it proceeded upon a
false and presumptuous estimate of its faculties. To an
other is added the sense of hearing; which lets in a class
of sensations entirely unconceived hy the animal before
spoken of; not only distinct, hut remote from any which it
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 w’hat 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 comprehend 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, stand 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 rationa.
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 b^
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 con-
stantly exerting its influence, though everywhere 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 impressions. Is
it tlien 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,
can be He. The universe itself is merely a collective
name: its parts are all which are real; or which are things.
Now inert matter is out of the question and organized

232

iSJ THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY.

substances include marks of contrivance. But whatevei
includes marks of contrivance, whatever, in its constitution,
testilies design, necessarily carries us to something beyond
itself, to some other being, to a designer prior to, and out
of itself No animal, for instance, can have contrived its
own 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, {. 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,) appertains 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 properties; not certain particular
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 producticns 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 favor 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
undeviating course of their experience. The reasoning is
the same as that by which we conclude any ancient ap-

OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY. 233

-r>

r earances to have been the effects of volcanoes or inunda-
tions, namely, because they resemble tlie effects which lire
and water produce before our eyes; and because we have
never known these effects to result from any other opera-
tion. And this resemblance may subsist in so many cir-
cumstances, as not to leave us under the smallest doubt
in forming our opinion. Men are not deceived by this
reasoning: for whenever it happens, as it sometimes does
happen, that the truth comes to be known by direct infor-
mation, it turns out to be what was expected. In like
manner, and upon the same foundation (which in truth is
that of experience) we conclude that the works of nature
proceeded from intelligence and design, because, in the
properties of relation to a purpose, subserviency to a use,
they resemble what intelligence and design are constantly
producing, and what nothing except intelligence and de-
sign 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 intelli-
gent Creator, but that no imaginable order would be suf-
ficient to prove it; that no contrivance, were it ever so me-
chanical, 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-
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-
tedigent power, and, as such, to be assigned for the cause
of anything, or of any property of anything, that exists.
This is what we are secretly apt to do, 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 inqui-
ries concerning them. I say once more, that it is a per-
version of language to assign any law as the efficient oper-
ative cause of anything. A law presupposes an agent, for
it is only th^ mode according to which an agent proceeds;

Chap. I. sec. vii.

234 OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY.

it implies a power, for it is the order according to which
that power acts. Without this agent, without this po»ver,
which are both distinct from itself, the ‘Maw’’ does noth-
ing— 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,
%. e. without a force independent 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 intermediate 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 eflect; 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
is necessary that the spring act at the centre. The course
of our reasoning upon such a subject would be this: by
inspecting the watch, even when standing still, we get a
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
han 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 the 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
uveseiit tiin^ acting upon it. If I saw a hand-mill, even at

OF THE PERSONAI.1TY OF THE DEITY.

235

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
contrivance: 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. Tliis
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-
telligence in the highest degree. For example: suppose
animal secretions to be elective attraction, 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 fix-
ing upon right substances, and disposing them in righ\
places, must be an act of intelligence. What mischief
would follow, were there a single transposition of the se-
cretory organs; a single mistake in arranging the glands
which compose them!

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 around
him. Unconscious particles of matter take their stations,
and several ly range themselves in an order, so as to become
collectively plants or animals, i e. organized bodies, with

236

OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY.

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, cr discretion. There may be particular intelligent
beings g aiding these motions in each case; or they may
be the result of trains of mechanical dispositions, fixed
beforehand by an intelligent appointment, and kept in ac-
tion by a power at the centre. But, in either case, there
must be intelligence.

The minds of most men are fond of what they call a
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, com-
prises, perhaps, under it a diversified, multifarious, or pro-
gressive operation, distinguishable into parts. The power
in organized bodies, of producing bodies like themselves,
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) re-
quires; how much it presupposes; what an apparatus of in-
struments, some of which are strictly mechanical, is neces-
sary to its success; what a train it includes of operations and
changes, one succeeding another, one related to another,
one ministering to another ; all advancing, by intermediate,
and frequently, by sensible steps, to their ultimate result*
Yet, because the whole of this complicated action is wrap-
ped 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, intelligent 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 ar-
tist; 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 machinery by which the manufacture
was carried on.

And after all, how, or in what sense, is it true, that ani-
mals produce their like? A butterfly, with a broboscis in-
itead of a mouth, with four wings and six legs, produces a

OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY

237

hairy caterpillar, with jaws and teeth, and fourteen feet
4 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-
merts 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 primordial
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 devi-
ations 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 farther consid-
eration, that things generated possess a clear relation to
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 animal 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 3f prey to their prey, herbivorous and granivo-
rous animals to the plants or seeds upon which they feed,
it might be contended, that the whole of this correspon-
dency was attributable to generation, the common origin
from which these substances proceeded. But what shall
we say to agreements which exist between things generat-
ed and things not generated'^ Can it be doubted, was it
ever doubted, but that the lungs of animals bear a relation
to tlie air, as a permanently elastic fluid? They act in 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-

23B

OP THE PERSONAL TY OP THE DEITY.

cd by generation; the other not. The ear depends upon
undulations of lir. Here are two sets of motions: first, of
.he 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 compre-
hend he proposition. If the term mean anything similar
io wnat it means when applied to plants or animals, the
proposition is certainly without proof; and, I 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 generatiori
signify something quite different from what it signifies on
ordinary occasions, it may, by the same latitude, signify
anything. 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
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 wdiich 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
characte;: they all endeavour to dispense with the necessi-

OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY.

239

ty in nature, of a particular personal intelligence; that
is to say, with the exertion of an intending, contriving
mind, m the structure and formation of the organized con-
stitution which the world contains. They would resolve
ail productions into unconscious energies, of a like kind, in
that respect, with attraction, magnetism, electricity, &c.
without anything farther.

Ill this the old system of atheism and the new agree
And I much doubt, whether the new schemes have advanc-
ed anything upon the old, or done more than changed the
terms of the nomenclature. For 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 apiece 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
of these particles, by virtue of this tendency, but without
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 therr 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
vvere 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 moulds, 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, says the same philoso-
pher, should any general loss or destruction of the pre-
sent constitution of organized bodies take place, the parti-
cles, for want of “moulds" into which they might enter^.

440

OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY.

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 parti-
cles, floating about in the first passages; and which have
combined 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
generation, 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 animals, we are able to examine the subject,
we find procreation from a parent form: without necessity;
for I apprehend that it is seldom difficult to suggest me-
thods, by which the eggs, or spawn, or yet invisible rudi-
ments of these vermin, may have obtained a passage into
the cavities in which they are found.* Add to this, that
their constancy to their species, which, I believe, is as regu-
lar in these as in the other vermes, decides the question
against our philosopher, if in truth any question remained
apon the subject.

Lastly; these wonder-working instruments, these ‘Tn-
ernal moulds,” what are they after all? what, when exam-
ined, but a name without signification; unintelligible, if not
jelf-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:
“ Wh^n 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-
ceptacle, it gives rise to an animal or vegetable of the same
species.” l3oes any reader annex a meaning to the expres-

* 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 brandi-
es of trees upon which the stag feeds, break out again. in his horni
t3uch facts merit no discussion.

OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY.

241

Bion, ‘‘internal mould,” in this sentence? Ought it then
to be 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 com-
prehensible to our understanding, and familiar to our expe-
rience. We use no other terms, than what refer us for their
meaning to our consciousness and observation; what express
tlic constant objects of both; whereas names, like that we
have mentioned; refer us to nothing; excite no idea: convey
a sound to the ear, but I think do no more.

Another system, which has lately been brvmght forward,
and with much ingenuity, is that of appetencies. The prin-
ciple, and the short account of the theory, is this: Pieces
of soft, ductile matter, being endued with propensities or
appetencies for particular actions, would, by continual en-
deavours, carried on through a long series of generations,
work themselves gradually into suitable forms; and at
length acquire, though perhaps by obscure and almost im-
perceptible improvements, an organization fitted to the ac-
tion which their respective propensities led them to exert.
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 not in 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 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 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
craivling 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
I 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, wd ich are few
and simple,) are, in the plan itself, attributed to the ordina-
tion and appointment of an intelligent and designing Crea-
tor; secondly, because, likewise, that large postulatum,
which is a 1 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

242

OF THE PEKbONAL JTY OF THE DEITY.

least IS not attempted to be accounted for by any other. In
one important respect, however, the theory before us coin-
cides 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 animal, or the particular structure of the parts, having
il>een intended for the action or the use to which we see
them applied, according to this theory, they have themselves
grown out of that action, sprung from that use. The the-
ory therefore dispenses with that which we insist upon, the
necessity, in each particular case, of an intelligent, design-
ing 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
every stage of their alteration, of propagating their like;
and, if he is to be believed, he could replenish the world
with all the vegetable and animal productions which we at
present see in it.

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 marnmse * of the male have not van-
ished by inusitation; nec ciirtorum, per multa scccula Ju^
decorum propagini deest prczputium. 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
immeasurable 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 hunch of a camel is said to be no other
than the effect of carrying burdens; a service in which

* I 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 foun-
dation for an opinion, of which I draw tlie hint from a paper of Sir Kve-
rard Home’s, (Phil. Transac. 1799, p. 2,) viz. that the niammie of the
*bRtns may bo f'rmed before the sex is determined.

OP THE PERSONALITY OP THE DEITY.

ihe species has been employed from the most ar cient 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 heion, bit-
tern, stoik, have, in general, their thighs bare of feathers.
This privation is accounted for from the habit of wading in
water, a;\d from the effect of that element to check the
growth (if feathers upon these parts; in consequence of
which, Ihe 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
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 hab.t, 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 wrink-
ling 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 burden at leisure. The
bird preys upon 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 this monstrous pouch, thus adapted for very singular
purposes.”* Now this extraordinary conformation is noth
ing 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 con-
veniency of reserving in its mouth, when its appetite was
glutted, the remainder of its prey, which is fish. The fill-

* Goldsmith, vol. vi. p. 52

244

OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY.

ness produced by this attempt, of course stretched fhe
skin which lies between the under chaps, as being the
most yielding part of the mouth. Every distension in-
creased the cavity. The original bird, and many genera-
tions which succeeded him, might find dithculty enough in
making the pouch answer this purpose: but future pelicans,
entering upon life with a pouch derived from their progen-
itors, of considerable capacity, would more readily accel-
erate its advance to perfection, by frequently pressing
down the sack 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 ca-
mels without bunches, or with bunches less than those with
which they are at present usually formed.^ A bunch, not
unlike the camefs, is found between the shoulders of the
buffalo; of the origin of which it is impossible to give the
account which is here given. In the second example ; WTy
should 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? The third
instance, which appears to me as plausible as any that can
be produced, has this against it, that it is a singularity re-
stricted to the species; whereas, if it had its commence-
ment in the cause and manner which have been assigned,
the like conformation might be expected to take place in
other birds which feed upon fish. How comes it to pass,
that the pelican alone was the inventress, and her descen-
dants 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 lim-
its 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 geii-
eralljij is contradicted by many of the phenomena, and to-
tally inadequate to others. The lifj^amenls or strictures, by
which the tendons are tied down at the angles of the joints,
■joul : by no possibility, be formed by the motion or exer

OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY.

245

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 conahis m
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 obstruct-
ed 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 vision, 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,
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 to a 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
apply to the parts of animals which have little in them of
motion. If we could suppose joints and muscles to be grad
ually formed by action and exercise, what action or exercise
could form a skull, or 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 tc
the term, which can be transferred from animals to plants,
or which is common to both Yet a no less successful or-

OF THE NATURAL ATTRIBUTES.

ganization is found in plants, than what obtains in animals
A solution is v/anted for one as well as the .other.

Upon the whole; after all the schemes and struggles of a
reluctant -Dhilosophy, the necessary resort is to a Deity
The marks of design are too strong to be gotten over
Design must have had a designer. That designer mus
have been a person. That person is God.

CHAPTER XXIV.

of 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 aftribuies of
such a Being, suppose his reality to be proved, must be
adequate to the magnitude, extent, and multiplicity of his
operations: 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 univer-
sal propensity to idolatrous substitutions. They are the
resources of a laboring imagination. False religions usu-
ally fall in 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
human appr 3hension, under an idea more personal, more
determinate, more within its compass, than the theology
>f nature can do. And this they do by representing him
» xclusively under the relation in which he stands to our-
selves; and, for the most part, under some precise charac-
ter, resulting from that relation, or from the history of his
providences. 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,
therefore, these representations are well founded in point

OF THE DEITY.

241

of authority, (for all depends upon that,) they afford aeon
descension to the state of our faculties, of which, they who
have most reflected upon the subject, will be the first to
acknowledge the want and the value.

INevertheless, if we be careful to imitate the documents
of our religion, by confining our explanations to what con-
cerns ourselves, and do not affect more precision in our
ideas than the subject allows of, the several terms which
are employed 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 compre-
hension.

These terms are, omnipotence, omniscience, omnipres-
ence, eternity, self-existence, necessary existence, spiritu-
ality.

‘‘Omnipotence,’^ “omniscience,” “infinite” power,
“ infinite” knowledge, Vive superlatives ; expressing our con-
ception of these attributes in the strongest and most elevated
*erms which language supplies. We ascribe power to the
Deity under the name of ‘ ‘ omnipotence,” the strict and cor-
rect 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
power, likewise, to which we are not authorised, by our
observation or knowledge, to assign any limits of space
or duration. ,

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 a 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. His omniscience also, as far as respects things
present, ’s deducible from his nature, as an intelligent be-
ing, joined with the extent, or rather the universality, of
his operations. Where he acts, he is; and where he is,
ne perceives. 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

248

OF THE NATURAL ATTRIBUTES, kc.

class of intelligent beings with whom we are acquainted,
and, which ‘s of the chief importance to us, whatever be its
compass or extent, which i^ is evidently impossible that we
should be able to determine, it must be adequate to the
conduct 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 he as pro-
per as any other. We can trace this attribute much beyond
what is necessary for any conclusion to which w^e 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-
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
In 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, farther, we may ask,
what kingdom is there of nature, what corner of space, in
which there is anything 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 itself A law refers us to an agent. Now an
agency so general, as that we cannut discover its absence,
or assign the place in. which some effect of its continued
energy is 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 de-
rived, may be taken to be omnipresent. He who upholds
all things by his power, may be said to be everywhere
present.

Thi^ is called a virtual presence. There is also what
rnetapnysicians denominate an essential ubiquity; and

THE UIVITY OF THE DEITY.

249

which ider. the language of Scripture seems to favor: but
the former, I think, goes as far as natural theology carries
us.

^‘ Eteriiity’" 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.
[Jpon this article, therefore, of theology, it is sufficient to
know, that the contriver necessarily existed before the
contrivance.

Self-existence” is another negative idea, viz. the nega-
.lon 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 of a positive part. The negative part consists in
th3 exclusion of some of the known properties of matter,
especially of solidity, of the vis inerticVj and of gravitation.
The positive part comprises perception, thought, will,
Dower, action; by which last term is meant, the origination
of motion; the quality, perhaps, in which resides the essen-
tial superiority of spirit over matter, “ which cannot move,
unless it be moved; and cannot but move, when impelled
by another.”* I apprehend that there can be no difficulty
in applying to the Deity both parts of this idea.

CHAPTER XXV

THE UNITY OF THE DEITY.

Of the “ Unity of the Deity,” the proof is, the unxformi^
iy 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

* Bishop Wilkin’s Principles of Nat Rel. p. 106.

250

THE UNITY OF THE DEITY.

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 stability
derived from gravitation. They all experience vicissi-
tudes of days and nights, and changes of season. 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-
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
satellites 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
always in company with plants and animals which wo
already know: and always possessing many of the same
general properties. We never get among such original, or
totally different, modes of existence, as to indicate, that we
are come into the province of a different Creator, or under
the directior. 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; one moon exerts its specific attraction upon
all parts. If there be a variety in natural effects, as, e. g.
in the tides of different 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 /ir/ng forms, add to
this argument examples without number. Of all large ter-
restrial animals, the structure is very much alike; their
senses nearly the same ; their natural functions and pas-
siong neadv the same; their viscera nearly the same, both

THE UNITY OF THE DEITY

251

in substance, shape, and office: digestion, nutrition, cir
culation, secretion, go on, in a similar manner, in all. TJia
great circulating fluid is the same; for, I thinK, no differ
ence has been discovered in the properties of blood, from
whatever animal it be drawn. The experiment of trar. sfu
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 weie,
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
an interruption, but a continuance 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 a denser medium.) The provinces, also, themselves
of water and earth, are connected by the species of ani-
mals which inhabit both; and also by a large tribe of aquat-
ic animals, which closely resemble the terrestrial in their
internal structure; I mean the cetaceous tribe, which have
hot blood, respiring lungs, bowels, and other essential
parts, like those of land animals. This similitude, surely,
bespeaks the same creation and the same Creator.

Insects and shell-fish appear to me to differ from other
classes of animals the most widely of any. Yet even here,
beside many points of particular resemblance, there exists
a general relation of a peculiar kind. It is the relation of
inversion; the law of contrariety: namely, that whereas,
in other animals, the bones, to which the muscles are at-
tached, lie ivithin the body; in insects and shell-fish they
lie on the outside of it. The shell of a lobster performs to
the animal the office of a bone, by furnishing to the ten-
dons that fixed basis or immovable fulcrum, without which,
mechanically, they could not act. The crust of an insect
IS its shell, and answers the like purpose. The shell also
of an oyster stands in the place of a bone; the bases of the
muscles being fixed to it, in the same manner as, in other
animals, they are fixed to the bones. All which (under
wonderful varieties, indeed, and adaptations of form) con-
liesses an imb rtion, a remembrance, a carrying on, of the
^ame plan

*252

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

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 sex-
ual system.

Certain however it is, that the whol6 argument for the
divine unity, goes no farther than to a 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 pre-
siding, a controlling will; because they act according to
certain general restrictions, by certain common rules, and,
tis it should seem, upon a general plan: but still such
agents, and different ranks, and classes, and degrees of
them, may be employed.

CHAPTER XXVI.

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

The proof of the divine 2;oodness rests upon two proposi-
tions, each, as we contend, capable of being made out by
observations drawn from the appearances of nature.

The first is, “that in a va.st 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 it was neces-
sary, might hav^e 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 bcne^
ficiaV*

No productions of nature display contrivance so mani-
festly 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, tlieir figure and
fitness, the faculties depending upon them, the variety of
species, the complexity of structure, the success, in so
many cases, and felicity of the result, we can never reflect,
without the profoundest adoration, upon the character of

THE GOODNESS 01 THE DEITY.

253

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
care, 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 oftbe Deity, we can only consider it in relation
to sensitive being. ^Without this reference, or referred to
anything else, the attribute has no object; the term has
no 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 creation, yet, since they alone are instruments of
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 exist-
ence. In a spring noon, or a summer evening, on which-
ever side I turn my eyes, myriads of happy beings crowd
upon my view. “The insect youth are on the wing.’*
Swarms of new-born flies 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
can 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 constan'^ly, as it should seem, in the act of sucking, ft

554

THE GOODNESS OE THE DEITY.

cannot be doubted but that this is a state of gratiication
What else should fix them so close to the operation, and
so long? Other species are running about, with an alacr’ty
in their motions, which carries with it every mark of plea-
sure. Large patches of ground are sometimes ha^f covered
with these brisk and sprightly natures. If w e look to what
the umters produce, shoals of the fry of fish frequent 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 frolics 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, or rather, very
thick mist, hanging over the edge of the water, to the
height, perhaps, of half a 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 water. When
this cloud came to be examined, it proved to be nothing
else than so much space, filled with young shmmps, in the
act of bounding into the air from the shallow margin of the
water, or from the wet sand. If any motion of a mute ani-
mal 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 posi-
tive 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 anything of the use of language, is in a high de-
gree delighted with being able to speak. Its incessant
repetition of the few articulate sounds, or perhaps of the
single 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 anything to say; and with walk-
ing, without knowing where to go. And, prior to both
thest>, I am disposed to believe, that the waking hours oi

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITS.

255

infancy are agreeably taken np with the exercise of vision,
or perliap more properly speaking, with learning to see^
But it is not for youth alone that the great l^arent of
creation hath provided. Happiness is found with the
purring cat, no less than with the playful kitten; in the
armed chair of d)zing age, as well as in either the sprightli-
ness of the dance, or the animation of the chase. To novel
ty, to acuteness of sensation, to hope, to ardor of pursuit,
succeeds what is, in no inconsiderable degree, an equiva-
lent for them all, * ‘ perception of ease.” Herein is the exact
dilference between the young and the old. The young are
not happy, but when enjoying pleasure ; the old are happy,
when free fronr pain. And this constitution suits with the
degrees of animal power which they respectively possess.
The vigor of youth was to be stimulated to action by
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
condition of great comfort; especially when riding at its
anchor after a busy or tempestuous life. It is well describ-
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
enjoy rest, affords reason to believe, that this source of.
gratification 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 hap-
piest season, much less the only happy one: as a 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 an excellent man.* “ To the intelligent and
virtuous, old age presents a scene of tranquil enjoyments,
of obedient appetite, of well-regulated affections, of ma-
turity in knowledge, and of calm preparation for immor-
tality. In this serene and dignified state, placed as it were
on the confines of two worlds, the mind of a good man
reviews what is past wdth the complacency of an approving
conscience; and looks forward with humble confidence in

* Father’s instructions; by Dr. Perci^al of Manchester, p. 317.

256

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

the mercy of God, and with devout aspirations tawards hia
eternal and ever increasing favor.’’

What is seen in different stages of the same life, is still
m)re 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 of a milder constitution, in
society. Yet the herring, which lives in shoals, and the
sheep, which live in flocks, are not more happy in a crowd,
or more contented amongst their companions, than is the
pike, or the lion, with the deep solitudes of the pool, or the
forest.

But it will be said, that the instances which we have heie
brought forward, whether of vivacity or repose, or of appa-
rent enjoyment derived from either, are picked and favor-
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,
accomplishing their wishes, 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! Sec-
ondly, 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 prepoiiderancy
is in favor of happiness by a vast excess. In our own
species, in which perhaps the assertion may be more ques-
tionable than in any other, the prepollency of good over
evil, of health, for example, and ease, over pain and dis-
tress, is evinced by the very notice which calamities excite
What inquiries does the sickness of our friends produce!
What conversation their misfortunes! This shows that the
common course of things is in favor of happiness; that
happiness is the rule, misery the exception. Were the
order reversed, our attention would be called to examples
of health and competency, instead of disease and want.

One gre,at cause of our insensibility to the goodness of
the Creator, is tlie very extensiveness of his bounty. We
piize but little \vhat we share only in common with the rest,
or w’th the generality of our species. When we hear of

THfi GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

257

olessings, we think forthwith of successes, of prosperous
tortunes. of honors, riches, preferments, i. e. of those ad-
vantages and superiorities over others, which we happen
either to possess, or to be in pursuit of, or to covet. Tlie
common 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
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 the 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. W e court distinction. That
is not the worst; we see nothing but what has distinc-
tion 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,
herefore, of our proposition to that mixed state of things
which these exceptions induce, two rules are necessary, and
both, I think, just and fair rules. One is, that we regard
those effects alone which are accompanied with pi'oofs of
intention: The other, that when we cannot resolve all ap-
pearances into benevolence of design, we make the few
give place to the 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 wish-
ed their happiness, or he wished their misery, or he was
indifferent and ur concerned about either.

258

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

If he had wished our misery, he might have made sure
of liis purpose, by forming our senses to be so many sores
and pains to us, as they are now instruments of gratification
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, everything we tasted,
bitter; everything we saw, loathsome; everything we
touched, a sting; every smell, a stench; and every sound,
a discord

‘‘ If he had been indifferent about our happiness or mis-
ery, we must impute to our good fortune (as all design by
this supposition is excluded) both the capacity of our sense^^
to 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
numan species, wished their happiness; and made for them
the provision which he has made, with that view and for
that 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 to the contrivance, perhaps insepara-
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
engine, you would say, is to extend the sinews; this to dis-
•ocate the joints; this to break the bones; this to scorch
the so cs 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; oi, in explaining the

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

25^

parts of the human body, ever said, this is to irritate^
this to inflame; this duct is to convey the gravel to the
kidneys; this gland to secrete the humour winch forms the
gout: if by chance he come at a part of 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
excep ion to the representation here given, are those of veiir
omoiis animals, and of animals upon one another

These properties of animals, wherever they are found, must,
I think, be referred to design; because there is, in all cases
of the first, and in 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-
abiy 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
insects. 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 favorable
side. Both these I contend to be reasonable presumptions.
Not reasonable presumptions, if these two cases were the
only cases which nature presented to our ouservation; but
reasonable presumptions under the reflection, that the cas-
es in question are combined with a 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

260

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

of its I rey ; 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
salutai;y to the devourer. In the viper, for instance, 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 bo said, that this provision, when it ccmes
to the case of bites, deadly even to human bodies and to
those of large quadrupeds, is greatly overdone; that it might
have fulfilled its uge, 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 Abbe 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 Taculty.
The Abbe 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 some 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 Linnaeus, amount to two
hundred and eighteen, of which thirty-two only are poi-
sonous.

4. It seems to me, that animal constitutions are pro-
vided, not only for each element, but for each state of the
elements, i. e. for every climate, and for every emperature;
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 Irurning sands whilst countries, blessed

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

261

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 bar-
ren, except where they are found to produce serpents; and
in such quantities, that sonfe extensive plains are almost
entirely covered with them.” These are the natures ap-
propriated to the situation. Let them enjoy their exist-
ence; let them have their country. Surface enough will
be left to man, though his numbers were increased a hun-
dred fold, and left to him, where he might live exempt
from these annoyances.

The SECOND CASE, viz. that of animals devouring one
another, furnishes a consideration of much larger extent.
To judge Avhether, as 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 be, whilst it remains finite and lim-
ited, it may always be asked, why it is no longer. The
natural age of different animals varies, from a single day
to a 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 is the
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 o^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 sickness
or infirmity, there is the assistance of man’s rational fel-
low creatures, if not to alleviate his pains, at least to min-

^62

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

.«ter to nis hecessities, and to supply the place of his own
activity A brute, in his wild and natural state, does every
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 the scarcity of food. Is
it then to see the world filled with drooping, superannua-
ted, 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. To 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 hare, 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 wliich
outruns calculation, and to an immeasurable extent. The
advantages of such a constitution are tw : : first, that it tends

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263

to keep the world always full: whilst, seccnJly, it allows
the proportion between the several species of animals to be
differently modified, as different purposes require, or as
different situations may afford for them room and food.
Where this vast fecundity meets with a vacancy fitted to
-eceive the species, there it operates with its whole effect;
there it pours in its numbers, and replenishes the waste.
We complain of what we call the exorbitant multiplication
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 inhab-
ited 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 deathlike 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 hills, 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? Farther; 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 mod-
ified, as different purposes of utility may require. When
the forests of America come to be cleared, ana the swamps
drained, our gnats will give place to other inhabitants. If
the population of Europe should spread to the north and
the east, the mice will retire before the husbandman and

iG4 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

the shepherd, and yield their station to herds and flocks. In
what concerns the human species, it 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-
stitutions, may rise up in new ones, whilst fresh soils reward
he cultivator with more plentiful returns. Thus the diflei-
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
w^e 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 superfeciindity, though of great occasional
use and importance, exceeds the ordinary capacity of nature
to receive or 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
to be studiously guarded against. Though there may be
the appearance of failure in some of the details of Nature’s

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

265

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 farther shows, that the system of destruction
amor.gst animals holds an express relation to the system of
fecundity ;^hat they are parts indeed of one compensatory
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 dan-
gers and enemies by which it is surrounded. An elephant
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 the 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 probable that many more reasons belong, than those of
which we are in possession

Our FIRST PROPOSITION, and that which we have hither-
to been defending, was, ‘‘that, in a vast plurality of in-
stances in which contrivance is perceived, the design of the
contrivance is beneficial.’’

Our SECOND PROPOSITION is, “that the Deity has ad-
ded pleasure to animal sensations, beyond what was neces-
sary for any other purpose, or when the purpose, so far as
it was necessary, might have been effected by the opera-
tion of pain.”

This proposition may be thus explained: The capaci-
ties which, according to the established course of nature, are
necessary to the supporter preservation of an animal, how-
ever manifestly they may be the result of an organization
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 itself; because, whether the creation
Droceedoi from a benevolent or a malevolent being, these

266

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITF.

capacities must have been given, if the animal existed a,
all. Animal properties therefore, which fall under this de^
scription, do not strictly 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
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 tested
upon misery.

But there is a class of properties, which may be said to
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 capacities for pleasure, in cases wherein,
so far as the conservation of the individual or of the species
IS concerned, they were not wanted, or wherein the pur-
pose might have been secured by the operation of pain.
The provision which is made of a variety of objects, not
necessary to life, and ministering only to our pleasures; and
fhe properties given to the necessaries of life themselves,
by which they contribute to pleasure as well as preserva-
tion; show a farther 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
also be 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

* 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 is here stated. Some other observations
also under thi? head, are taken from that treatise.

THE GOODNE'S^ OF THE DEITY

267

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 evperienced that vitiation of
taste which frequently occurs m fcvors, when every taste is
irregular, and every one bad.

In mentioning the gratifications cf the palate, it may be
said, that we have made choice of a ti iRlng example. I am
not of that opinion. They afford a 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 ot
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 obser-
vation 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 suppo-
sition is excluded) both the capacity of our senses to receive
pleasure, 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 :)biects being fixed, the sense might not have agreed
wita them. A coincidence is here required, which no acci-
dent can account 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 its original constitution, was
made to suit the sense: the third, that the sense is so con-

268

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

stituted, as to be able, either universally, or with.n certain
limits, by habit and familiarity, to render every object
pleasant. Whichever of these suppositions we adopt, the
effect evinces, on the part of the Author of IVature, a stu-
dious benevolence. If the pleasures which we derive from
any of our senses depend upon an original congruity be-
tween the sense and the properties perceived by it, we
know by experience, that the adjustment 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 proporlioning
also of degree, because an excess or defect of intensity
spoils the perception, as much almost as an error in the
kind and nature of the quality. Likewise the degree of
dulness or acuteness in the sense itself, is no arbitrary
thing, but in order to preserve the congruity here spoken
of, requires to be in an exact or near correspondency
with the strength of the impression. The duiness 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 doctrine of a specific congruity between animal
senses and their objects, is strongly favored by what is ob-
served of insects in the selection of their food. Some of
these will feed upon one kind of plant or animal, and upon
no other: some caterpillars upon the cabbage alone; some
upon 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 driv-
en 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 everything which concerns the
question to habit, (as in certain species, the human spe-
cies most particularly, there is reason to attribute some-
thing,) 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

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

^269

trom any fixed necessity in nature, that what is frequently
applied to the senses should of course become agreeable to
them. It is, so far as it subsists, a power of accommoda-
tion provided in these senses by the Author of their struc-
ture, and forms a part of their perfection.

In whichever way we regard the senses, they appear to
be specific gifts, ministering, not only to preservation, but
to pleasure. But what we usually call the senses are prob-
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 referable to any of the
five senses. Some physiologists have holden, that all se-
cretion is pleasurable; and that the complacency which in
health, without any external assignable object to excite it,
we derive 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 anything 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 of diversions. 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 sufficiently happy life; but to this moment, I could never
trace out the source of the pleasure which it afforded me.

The ‘‘ quantum in rebus inanq^!” whether applied to our
amusements or to our graver pursuits, (to which in truth
it sometimes equally belongs,) is 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 toward 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, is usually much greater
than what is necessary for mere preservation. The pleasure
of choosing for themselves, and of prosecuting the object

270

THE GOODNESS OF THi. DEITY.

of their choice, should seem to be ai. original source of
enjoyment. The pleasures received from things, greats
beautiful, or new, from imitation, or from the liberal arts
are in some measure, not only superadded, but unmixed,
gratifications, having no pains to balance them.*

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 com-
municates 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 peasant his cottage, to the landholder his estate. It
supplies the place of prospect and scenery. Instead of
coveting the beauty of distant situations, it teaches every
man to find it in his own. It gives boldness and gran-
deur to plains and fens, tinge and coloring to clays and
fallows.

All these considerations come in aid of our second pro-
position. 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 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.

Whilst these propositions can be maintained, we are
authorised to ascribe to the Deity the character of benevo-
lence: and what is benevolence at all, must in him be i/i-
Jinite benevolence, by reason of the infinite, that is to say,
the incalculably great, number of objects upon which it is
exercised.

Of the ORIGIN OF EVIL, no universal solution has been
discovered; I mean, no solution which reaches to all cases
of complaint. The most comprehensive is that which
arises from the consideration of general rules. We may, I
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 thwar^.ings and crossings,
frequent particular inconveniences will arise: and, fourth

^ Balguy on the Divine Benevolence.

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

271

ly, tLat 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 theii
branches, and in their operation; the effect of which igno-
rance is, that they cannot be of importance to us as meas-
ures by which to regulate our conduct. The conservation
of 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 presi-
ding and benevolent will, without incurring greater 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 possess. It serves rather
to account for the obscurity of the subject, than to supply
us with distinct answers to our difficulties. However,
whilst we assent to the above stated propositions as princi-
ples, whatever uncertainty we may find in the application,
we lay a ground for believing, that cases of apparent evil,
for which ice can suggest no particular reason, are govern-
ed 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
replenished 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 be-
ings rising one above another in gradation, than by beings
possessed of equal degrees of perfection. Now, a grada-
tion 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 allowablo
for it to complain, that a scale of being was appointed in
rature; for which appointment there appear to be reasons
of wisdom and goodness.

In ike manner, finiteness, or what is resolvable into

272

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

finiteness^ in inanimate subjects, can never be a just sub-
ject of compldint, because if it were ever so, it would be
always so: we mean, that we can never reasonably de^
mand that things should be larger or more, when the same
demand might be made, whatever the quantity or number
was.

And to me it seems, that the sense of mankind has so
far acquiesced in these reasons, as that we seldom complain
of evils of this class, when wejclearly perceive them to be
such. What 1 have to add, therefore, is, that we ought not
lo 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, if it were even much smaller.' But
where is the difference to us, between a less globe, and
part of the present being uninhabitable.^ 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 authorised 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 Avhen 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 it is 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;
inasmuch as it teaches vigilance and caution; both give
notice of danger, and excites those endeavours which may
be necessary to preservation. The evil consequence which
sometimes arises from the want of that timely intimation of
danger which ])ain gives, is known to the inhabitants of
cold countries by the example of frost-bitten limbs. I have
conversed with patients who have lost toes and fingers by
this cause. They ha^e in general told rne, that they were

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

273

totally unconscious of an} 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
discovered, 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 such a monitor. I believe
also, that the use extends farther 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 familiar, as not easily to
be referred to their origin.

Pain ^Iso itself is not without its alleviations. 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 man resting 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. I am far from being sure, that a man
IS not a gainer by suffering a moderate interruption of bod-
ily ease for a couple of hours out of the four-and-twenty.
Two very common observations favor 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.
I 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

274

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

exhib t. 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 large a proportion of the maladies
which were brought forward, have either yielded to propel
treatment, or, what is more probable, ceased of their own
accord. We owe these frequent recoveries, and where re-
covery d jes not take place, this patience of the human con-
stitutio r under many of the distempers by which it is visit-
ed, to -WO benefactions of our nature. One is, that she
works within certain limits; allows of a 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
't is with the secretions and excretions, with many internal
fvmctions of the body, and with the state, probably, of most
of its internal organs. They may var}' considerably, not
only without destroying life, but withoi.t 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 to the surface.
The solids, on their part, when their action is obstructed,
not only resume that action, as soon as the obstruction is
removed, 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
allow 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 in a situation to observe it, is
surprised with the change which has been wrought in him-
self, when he compares the view which he entertains of
death upon a sick-beJ, with the heart-sinking dismay with
which he sliould some time ago have met it in health.
There is no similitude between the sensations of a man

THE GOODNESS OF IHB DEITY

^75

icd 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
possible that he may experience no shocks or sudden tran-
sitions.

Death itself, as a mode of removal and of succession, is
so connected with the whole order of our animal world, that
almost everything in that world must be changed, to be
able to do without it. It may seem likewise impossible If
separate the fear of death from the enjoyment of life, oi
the perception of that fear from rational natures. Brutes
are, in a great measure, delivered from all 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 farther. But would a human being wish to purchase
this immunity, at the expense 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 off-
spring, and of their offspring to them, I have often been
surprised to observe how ardently they love, and how soon
they forget. The pertinacity of human sorrow (upon
which, time also, at length, lays its softening hand) is
probably, therefore, in some manner connected with the
qualities of our rational or moral nature. One thing how-
ever 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
svell as the 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

2T6

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

is not these, but the latter class of our pleasures, which •
stitute satisfaction; which supply that regular strean? 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
w ere absolutely 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 inconveniencies on the other, is the proper abode of
free, rational, and active natures, being the fittest to stim-
ulate and exercise their faculties. The very refractoriness
of the objects they have ^.o deal with, contributes to this
purpose. A world in which nothing depended upon our-
selves, however it might have suited an imaginary race of
beings, would not have suited mankind. Their skill, pru-
dence, industry ; their various arts, and their best attain-
ments, from the application of which they draw, if not their
highest, their most permanent gratifications, would be insig-
nificant, if things could be either moulded by our volitions,
or, of their own accord, conformed themselves to our views
and wishes. Now it is in this refractoriness that we dis-
cern the seed and principle of physical evil, as far as i
arises from that which is external to us.

Civil evils, or the evils of civil life, are much more easily
disposed of than physical evils; because they are, in truth,
of much less magnitude, and also because they result, by a
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 wdll
also shift upon the scale, so as to admit of a greater or less
number of inhabitants, according as the quantity of provi-
sion, 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 always
breed up to it. The order of generation proceeds by some-
thing like a geometrical progression. The increase of
provision, under circumstances even the most advanta-
geous, can only assume the form of an arithmetic series
Whence it follows, that the population will always overtake
he provision, will pass beyond the line of plenty, and will

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277

continue to increase till checked by the difficulty of pro-
curing subsistence.* Such difficulty therefore, along with
its attendant circumstances, must be found in every old
country: and these circumstances constitute what we call
poverty, which necessarily imposes labor, servitude, re-
straint.

It seems impossible to people a country with inhabitants
who shall be all in easj 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
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
different kinds of these articles, to procure any kind except
that which was most easily produced. And this, in fact,
describes the condition of the mass of the community in
all countries; a condition unavoidably, as it should seem,
resulting 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
virtue, sobr::5ty, moderation, order; those, lastly, which
are found iri the possession of well-directed tastes and de-
sires, con pared with the dominion of tormenting, |^rni
clous, CO tradictory, unsatisfied, and unsatisfiable passions.

* See statement of this subject, in a late treatise upon population.

278

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

The distinctions of civil life are ap 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-
beauty than dress; appetite, digestion, and tranquil bowe.s,
than all the studies of cookery, or than the most costly
compilation of forced or far-fetched dainties.^

Nature has a strong tendency to equalisation. Habit,
the instrument of nature, is a great leveller; the familiari-
ty which it induces, taking off the edge both of our plea-
sures and our sufferings. Indulgences which are habitual
keep us in ease, and cannot be carried much farther. 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
fastidiousness, the difference is 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 labor
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 afflu-
ence, when possessed, contribute nothing to happiness, or
nothing beyond the mere supply of necessaries; and the
secret should come to be discovered; we might be in dan-
ger 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 satisfaction which all men receive from success in
their respective 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 honors which apply solely to sentiment and imagina-
tion, the truth is, that what is gained bv 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

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

279

lead 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: and in
that competition their use consists. It is not, as hath been
rightly observed, by what the Lo7'd Mayor feels in his
coach, but by what the apprentice feels who gazes at him,
that tlie 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 to am-
bition all its pleasures. The poet asks, “What is grandeur,
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 hu-
man affairs, the very reverse of this is nearer to the truth.
Command is anxiety, obedience ease.

Artificial distinctions sometimes promote real equality.
Whetherthey be hereditary, or be the homage paid tooffice,
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 run
into large masses. Public laws should be so constructed as
to favor its diffusion as mq|ph as they can. But all that
can be done by laws consistently with that degree of gov-
ernment of his property which ought to be left to the sub-
ject, 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 grind-
ing, when no pretension is allowed to be set up against it.

So that the evils, if evils they must be called, which
spring either from the necessary subordinations of civil
life, or from the distinctions which have, naturally, though
not necessarily, grown up in most societies, so long as they
are unaccompanied by privileges injurious or oppressive 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 wickednesses and cruelties; by
tyrannical exercises of power; by rebellions against just
authority; by wars, by national jealousies and competi-

280

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

tions operating to the destruction of their countries, or by
other instances of misconduct either in individuals or soci
eties, are all to be resolved into the cjiaracter of man as &
free agent. Free agency in its very essence contains lia-
bility to abuse. Yet, if you deprive man of his free agency,
you subvert his nature. You may have order from him and
regularity, as you may from the tides or the trade-winds,
but you put an end to his moral character, to virtue, to merit,
to a ’countableness, 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 this: human passions are either necessary to human wel-
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 an-
swer their purpose unless they w^ere 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) appear to spring. This account, whilst it
shows us the principle of vice, shows us, at the same time,
the province of reason and of self-government; the want also
of every support which can be procured to either from the
aids of religion; and it shows this, without having recourse
to any native gratuitous malignity in the human constitu-
tion. Mr. Hume, in his posthumous dialogues, asserts
indeed of idleness^ or aversion to labor (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 distinguish idleness from the love of ease.^ or
is he sure, that the love of ease in individuals is not the
chief foundation of social tranquillity.^ It will be found, I
believe, to be true, that in every community there is a
large class of its members, whose idleness is the best qual-
ity about them, being the corrective of other bad ones.
If it were possible, in every instance, to give a right de-
termination to industry, we could never have too much of
it. But this is not possible, if men are to be free. And
without this, nothing would be so dangerous as an inces-
sant, universal, indefatigable activity. In the civil world,
as well as in the material, it is the vis inertice which keeps
:hings ii .heir places.

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

281

Naturai Theology has ever been pressed with this
question: ^V^hy, 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 chancel

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 partic-
ular cases, and also to embrace a considerable number of
cases.

I. There must be chance in the midst of design: b_y
which we mean, that events which are not designed, neces-
sarily arise from the pursuit of events which are designed.
One man travelling to York, meets another man travelling
CO London. Their meeting is by chance, is accidental,
and so would be called and reckoned, though the journeys
which produced the meeting were, both of them, under-
taken 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 rencounter might be 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 unfavorable, 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 acts without a good purpose,
accidental consequences, like these, may be either good or
bad.

II. The appearance of chance will always bear a pro-
portion to the igi) orance 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
laws 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
a id rational agent. The verdicit of a jury, the sentence ol

282

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

a judje, 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,
according as we were less or more acquainted with the
reasons which influenced the deliberation. The differ-
ence 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, conies to be applied to
the operations of the Deity, it is easy to foresee how fruit-
fil it must prove of difficulties, and of seeming confusion.
It is only to think of the Deity, to perceive, what variety
of objects, what distance of time, what extent of space
and action, his counsels may, or rather must, comprehend.
Can it be wondered at, that, of the purposes which dwell in
such a mind as this, so small a part should be k’Mown to
us.? 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.

III. In a 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. Each person’s
place and precendency in a public meeting, may be deter-
mined by lot. Work and labor may be allotted. Tasks
and burdens may be allotted: —

Operumque laborem

Partibiis scquabat justis, aut sorte trahebat.

Military service and station may be allotted. The dis-
tribution of provision may be made by lot, as it is in a sail-
or’s mess; n some cases also, the distribution of favors
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 is by appointment that they
do so.

In other events, and such*as are independent of human
will, the reasons for this preference of uncertainty to rule,
appear to be still stronger. For example, it seems to bo
expedient thal the period of human life should be uncertain

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

Did mortality follow any fixed rule, it would produce a se-
curity in those that were at a distance from it, which would
lead to tlie greatest disorders; and a horror in those who
approached it, similar to that which a condemned prisorier
feelj on the night before his execution. But, that death be
uncertain, the young must sometimes die, as well as the
old. Als), were deaths never sudden, they who are in
health wou.d he too confident of life. The strong and the
active, who want most to be warned and checked, would
live without appr^^hension 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
and enjoyment intended for us; and human life be too pre-
carious for the business and interests which belong to it.
There could not be dependence either upon our own lives,
or the lives of those with whom we are connected, suffi-
cient to carry on the regular offices of human society.
The manner, therefore, in which death is made to occur,
conduces to the purposes of admonition, without overthrow-
ing the necessary stability of human affairs.

Disease being the forerunner of death, there is the same
reason for its attacks coming upon us under the appear-
ance of chance, as there is for uncertainty in the time ot
death itself.

The seasons are a mixture of regularity and chance.
They are regular enough to authorise expectation, whilst
their being in a considerable degree irregular, induces, on
the part of the cultivators of the soil, a necessity for per-
sonal 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
agricultural life, of all modes of life the best, being tne
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 de-
pressed. Uncertainty, therefore, has its use, even to those
who sometimes complain of it the most. Seasons of scar-
city themselves are not without their advantages. They
call forth new exertions; they set contrivance and ingenui-
ty at work ; they give h rth to improvements in agriculture
and economy; they promote the investigation and manage-
ment of public resources.

284

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

Again; there are strong intelligible reasons, why there
should exist in human society great disparity of xoealth
and station; not only as these things are acquired in dif-
ferent degrees, but at the first setting out of life. In order,
for instance, to answer the various demands of civil life,
Ihere ought to be amongst the members of every civil soci-
ety a 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 hjpMesi, 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
is the commanding circumstance which in general fixes
each man’s place in civil life, along with everything which
appertains to its distinctions. It may be the result of a
beneficial rule that the fortunes or honors of the father de-
volve upon the son; and, as it should seem, of a 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 lefl, as they are left, to
chance, 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
case 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 in subjection to government, has not been shown;
for the poor, that is, they who seek their subsistence by
constant manual labor, must still form the mass of the com-
munity; otherwise the necessary labor of life could not be
carried on; the work would not be done, which the wants
of mankind, in a state of civilisation, 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, CO :rage and timidity, ambition and contentedness, not

say even indolence and dulness, are all wanted in the

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

285

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 expe-
dient, that they be promiscuously scattered amongst the
different classes of society; can the distribution of talents,
dispositions, and the constitutions upon which they depend
be better made than by c/iance?

The opposites of apparent chance are, constancy and
sensible interposition; every degree of secret direction be-
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 radical
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 hereaf-
ter. But the question with which we are now concerned
is, how far it would be consistent wfith our condition, sup-
posing 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 labo.
continues, on 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 habits which engender patient industry,
might introduce negligence, inactivity, and disorder, into
the most useful occupations of human life; and thereby
deteriorate the condition of human life itself.

As moral agents, we should experience a still greatei
alteration; 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

2^6

THE GOODNESS OP THE DEITY.

i\'hich issue from himself, do in fact interpose to alter oi
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
to the imperfection of our knowledge when applied to 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 exertions present themselves, can be
attended with no practical influence upon our conduct;
that, although we believe ever so firmly that there is a Prov-
idence, we must prepare, and provide, and act, as if there
were none; I answer that this is admitted; and that w^e
farther 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
advantage of the present state of our information, that our
provisions and preparations are not disturbed by it. Or if
it be still asked, of what use at all then is the doctrine, if
it neither alter our measures nor regulate our conduct.^ I
answer again, that it is of the greatest use, but that it is 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
c(ir 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 as a state of probation. If the course of the
world were separated from the contrivances of nature, I do
not know that it w^ould 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 m/en-
hon; and since the course of the world and the contrivan-

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

287

ces of nature have the same author; we are, by the force
of 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 may be reconcilable, though we
cannot reconcile them. The mind, however, which contem-
plates 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 thought which these observations excite, can hardly
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
probation; and that many things in it suit with this hy-
pothesis, which suit no other. It is not a state of unmixed
happiness, or of happiness simply: it is not a state of de-
signed misery, or of misery simply: it is not a state of re-
tribution: it is not a state 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, exer-
cise, and improvement of moral qualities, with a view to a
future state, in which these qualities, after being so pro-
duced, exercised, and improved, may, by a new and more
favoring constitution of things, receive their reward, or be-
come their own. If it be said, that this is to enter upon a
religious rather than a philosophical consideration, I an-
swer, that the name of religion ought to form no objec-
tion, if it shall turn out to be the case, that the more reli-
gious our views are, the more probability they contain
The degree of beneficence, of benevolent intention, and of
power, exercised in the construction of sensitive beings,
goes strongly in favor, not only of a creative, but of a con-
tinuing care, that is, of a ruling Providence. The degree
of chance which appears to prevail in the world, requires to
be reconciled with this hypothesis. Now it is one thing to
maintain the doctrine of Providence along with that of a fu-
ture state, and another thing without it. In my opinion,
the two doctrines must stand or fall together. For although
more of this apparent chance may perhaps upon other prin-
ciples, be accounted for, than is generally supposed, yet

288

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY

a future state alone rectifies all disorders: and if it can be
shown, that the appearance of disorder is consistent with
he uses of life as a preparatorij state, or that in some re-
spects it promotes these uses, then, so far as this hypo-
thesis may be accepted, the ground of the difficulty is done
away.

In the wide scale of human condition, there is not per-
japs one of its manifold diversities which does not bear
upon the design here suggested. Virtue is infinitely vari-
ous There is no situation in which a rational being is
placed, from that of the best instructed Christian down to
the condition 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, enjoyment and suffering, riches and poverty,
knowledge and ignorance, power and subjection, liberty
and bondage, civilisation and barbarity, have all their offi-
ces 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 circumstan
ces. The best dispositions may subsist under the most de-
pressed, the most afflicted fortunes. A West Indian slave,
who, amidst his wrongs, retains his benevolence, I, for my
part, look upon, as amongst the foremost of human candi-
dates for the rewards of virtue. The kind master of such
a slave, that is, he who, in the exercise of an inordinate
authority, postpones in any degree his own interest to his
slaves’ comfort, is likewise a meritorious character: but
still he is inferior to his slave. All however which I con-
tend 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. Savages appear to us all alike; but it
is owing to the distance at which we view savage life, that
we perceive in it no discrimination 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 regular civil insti-
tutions, and the coercion of public laws. So again, to turn

THE GOODNESS OF THE DE jTY.

289

our eyes to the other end of the scale, namely, that part
of it which is occupied by mankind enjoying the benefits
of learning, together with the lights of revelation, there
also, the advantage is all along probalionary. Christianity
itself, I mean the revelation of Christianity, is not only
a blessing, but a trial. It is one of the diversified means
by which the character is exercised: and they who require
of Christianity, that the revelation of it should be univer-
sal, may possibly be found to require, that one species of
probation should be adopted, if not to the exclusion 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.*

Nevv 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 behavior in it; then is it a much
more fit subject of chance than we usually allow or appre-
hend it to be, in what manner the variety of external cir-
cumstances which subsist in the human world, is distributed
amongst the individuals of the species. “This life beings
a state of probation, it is immaterial,’* says Rousseau, '
“what kind of trials we experience in it, provided they
produce their effects.” Of two agents who stand indiffer-
ent to the moral Governor of the universe, one may be ex-
ercised by riches, the other by poverty. The treatment
of these two shall appear to be very opposite, whilst in
truth it is the 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

* The reader will observe, that I speak of the revelation of Ch/ istian-
ity as distinct from Christianity itself. That dispeiisation may £. heady
be universal. That part of mankind which never heard of Christ’s r.rme,
may nevertheless be redeemed, that is, be placed in a better condition,
with respect to their future state, by his intervention; may be the objects
of his benignity and intercession, as well as of the propitiatoiy virtue of
his passion. But this is not “ natural theology,” therefore I will not
dwell longer upon it.

290

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

portion of faculties and opportunities, as any unki owi.
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-
atory; can any rule, adapted to that inequality, be more
agreeable, even to our apprehensions of distributive justice
than this is ?

We have said that the appearance of casualty y 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, affliction,
and pain; a steadfast keeping up of our confidence in God,
and of our reliance upon his final goodness, at the time
when everything 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 perfec-
tion of our moral nature, would not have found their pro-
per 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
trial. 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 benevolence which endeavours to relieve, must be real-
\y 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 intel-
ligibly such, benevolence would only stand in the way of

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

291

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 ap-
pellate or superior authority. This consideration, which is
founded in our most acknowledged apprehensions of the na-
ture of penal justice, may possess its weight in the Divine
counsels. Virtue perhaps is the greatest of all ends. In
human beings, 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 ;
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
better suited to a state of trial and probation, than a great-
er degree would be. The truth is, we are rather too much
delighted with the world, than too little. Imperfect, broken,
and precarious as our pleasures are, they are more than suffi-
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-
sign.^ 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. In a religious view (however we may complain of
them in every other,) privation, disappointment, and satiety,
ere not without the most salutary tendencies.

292

CONCLUSION.

C iAPTER XXVII.

CONCLUSION.

Lf all cases, wherein the mind feels itself in danger of
being confounded by variety, it is sure to rest upon a fe\>
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
upon 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-
ism I should be apt to draw out from the copious catalogue
which it supplies, are the pivot upon which the head turns,
the ligament within the socket of the hip-joint, the pulley
or trochlear muscles 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 de-
gree, 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 learned,
and upon the subject of which no proofs were wanted.
Now 1 answer, that, by invKsU ^ration, the following points
are always gained, in favor ofdoctriries even the most gen-
erally acknowledged, (supposing them to he true,) viz.
stability and impression. Occasions will arise to try the
firmness of our most habitu'.l opinions. And upon these oc-

COxVCLUSION.

293

casions, it is a matter of incalculable use to feel our foun-
dation; 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 as a
truth of universal concern ought to rest upon. They are
sufficiently open to the views and capacities of the unlearn-
ed, at tlie same time that they acquire new strength and
lustre from the discoveries of the learned.” If they had
been altogether abstruse and recondite, they would not
have found their way to the understandings of the mass of
mankind; if they had been merely popular, they migbt
have wanted solidity.

J3ut, 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, obtains
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; and another,
and a very different thing, to have properly imbibed its in-
fluence. I take the case to be this: Perhaps almost every
man living has a particular train of thought, into which his
mind 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 it is by frequent oi 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. It is 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 pheno-
mena of nature with a constant reference to a supreme
intelligent Author. JTo have made this the ruling, the habit-
ual sentiment of ou * minds, is to have laid the foundation
of everything whio*"' s religious. The world thenceforth
Aa*

294

CONCLUSION.

becomes a temple, and life itself one continued act of ado-
ration. The change is no less than this; that whereas form-
erl)^ God was seldom in our thoughts, we can now scarcely
look upon anything without perceiving its relation to him.
Every organized natural body, in the pro\ isions which it
contains for i s sustentation and propagation, testifies 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; compared
with one another, no less wonderfully diversified. So that
the mind, as well as the eye, may either expatiate in vari
ety and multitude, or fix itself down to the investigation
of particular divisions of the science. And in either case
it will rise up from its occupation, possessed by the subject,
in a very different manner, and with a very diferent degree
of influence, from what a mere assent to any verbal pro-
position which can be formed concerning the existence of
the Deity, at least that merely complying assent with which
those about us are satisfied, and with which we are too
apt to satisfy ourselves, will or can produce upon the
thoughts. More especially may this difference be per-
ceived, in the degree of admiration and of awe with which
the Divinity is regarded, when represented to the under-
standing 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 everything 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 in-
habitants; and, at the other, bending a hooked tooth, con-
certing and providing an appropriate mechanism, for the
clasping and reclasping of the filaments of the feather of the
humming bird. We have proof, not only of both these
works proceeding from an intelligent agent, but of their
proceeding from the same agent: for, in the first place, we
can trace an identity of plan, a connexion of system, from
Saturn to our own globe: and when arrived upon our globe,
we can, in the second place, pursue the connexion through
all the organized, especially the animated, bodies which it
supports. We can observe marks of a common relation

CONCLUSION.

295

as well to one another as to the elements of which then
habitation is composed Therefore one mind hath planned
or at least hath prescribed, a general plan for all these pro-
ductions. One Being las 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 earivig, and
the joints of its antennae, 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-
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. In
none, however, is it more so, than as rt facilitates the l^e-
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. It is a farther step to know, that
amongst the invisible things of nature, there must be an in-
telligent mind, concerned in its production, order, and sup-
port. These points being assured to us by Natural The-
ology, we may well leave to Revelation the disclosure of
many particulars, which our researches cannot reach, re-
specting either the nature of this Being as the original cause
of all things, or his character and designs as a moral gov-
ernor; and not only so, but the more full confirmation of
other particulars, of which, though they do not lie alto-
gether beyond our reasonings 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 commu-
nication of Divine knowledge. Nothing which he has
learned from Natural Theology, will diminish his desire
of farther instruction, or his disposition to receive it with
humility and thankfulness. He wishes for light: he re-
joices in light. His inward veneration of this great Being,
will incline him to attend with the utmost seriousness, not
only to all that can be discovered concerning him by re-
searches into nature, but to all that is taught by a revela-
tion, which gives reasonable proof of having proceeded
from him.

But above every ether article of revealed religion, does
the anterior belief of a Deity bear w‘ h the strongest force

296

CONCl USION

upon that gtand 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 is 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
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 w^as prepared requires its use. 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

CONCLUSION.

297

in tliis analogy applicable to their difficulties, for, what-
ever can transmit a similari.y of organization will answer
their purpose, because, according even to their own theory,
it may be tbe vehicle of consciousness; and because con-
sciovisness 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 organi-
zation is either itself similar to the old organization, or
has the power of communicating to new matter the old
organic form. But it is not restricted to this rule. There
are other cases, especially in the progress of insect life, in
which the dormant organization does not much resemble
that which encloses it, and still less suits with the situation
in which the enclosing body is placed, but suits with a dif-
ferent 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
yeaVs afterwards is to mount 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 in-
stances, it shows completely, that the Deity can mould and
fashion the parts of material nature, so as to fulfil any pur-
pose 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 caus-
es, hold very little affinity to any properties of matter with
which we are acquainted,) adopt perhaps a juster reaspning
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
iU 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 no even in their own way of regarding it, any-
thing greatly beyond, or totally unlike, what takes place

298

CONCLUSION.

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
expectations 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
fluxions;^ or who then shall say, what farther amplification
of intellectual powers, what accession of knowledge, what
advance and improvement, the rational faculty, be its con-
stitution 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 everything which respects this awful,
but, as we trust, glorious change, we have a wise and
powerful Being (the author, in nature, of infinitely various
expedients, for infinitely various ends) upon whom to rely
for the choice and appointment of means, adequate to the
execution of any plan which his goodness or his justice
may have formed, for the moral and accountable part of his
terrestrial creation. That great office rests with him: be
it ou7's to hope and to prepare, under a firm and settled
persuasion, that, living and dying, we are his; that life is
passed in his constant presence, that death resigns us to
bis merciful disposal.

* See Sea sh’s Light of Nature, passim.

VOCABULARY

Abdomen, the cavity of the belly.

Accretion, a growth; increase in size or extent

Adifose, fatty, containing fat.

Alkalies, a peculiar class of chemical substances which have the fiop-
erty of combitmg with and neutralizing the properties of acids.

Anconceus, the name of one of the muscles which extend the e'.bow
joint.

Anal, a term applied to one of the fins of fish, situated near the anus of
vent.

Anhelation, breathing hard or panting.

Annular, in the form of a ring.

Annuli, rings — applied to the muscular fibres which surroun^i the bodies
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 fila-
ments, and surround the germ or seed vessel.

Aorta, the main artery of the body, which receives the blood directly
from the heart and distributes it to the body.

Auricle, 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 des-
titute of life.

Buccinator, the principal muscle of the cheek.

Biceps, one of the muscles which bend the elbow-joint.

Bivalve, consisting of two valves or shells, as in shell-fish — e g thf
oyster.

Brachiceus, the name of two muscles moving the arm.

Brevis, short.

Calyx, the flower cup ; the external or outermost part of the flower,
generally resembling the leaves in color, and containing the othe-
parts of the flower within it. It is often wanting.

Camera ohscura, or dark chamber. An optical instrument in which
the rays of light from external objects are made to pass through a con-
vex lens into a dark box where they are received upon a screen, and
produce a representation of external objects.

Capsule, the seed vessel of plants.

Carnivorous, feeding or living on flesh.

300

VOCABULARY.

Carotid, the name of the arteries which pass up the neck on ^ach sid<r
of the windpipe, and convey the blood to the head.

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.

Cicat7'ix, 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.

Co7ige7'ies, 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 anything. The convo-
lutions of a snail’s shell are the spiral windings of the tube in which it
exists around a central pillar or basis.

Co7'nea, 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 colored leaves which give their beauty
and fragrance to most flowers.

Cretaceous, formed of, or consisting of chalk. It is applied not merely
to substances consisting of chalk, commonly so called, but to a variety
of others, which resemble it merely in having the same chemical com-
position, 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.

Deglutition, the act of swallowing.

Diaphragm, a muscular membrane which is stretched completely acrcss
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.

Diopt7'ic, 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 pul-
monary 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.

Elytra, the external, hard, scaly wings of many insects, such as iho
beetles.

Ento7nology, 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

VOCAtULARY.

301

Eustachian, applied to parts first discovered Dy Eustachias.

Exility, slenderness, smallness.

Exuviae, the cast off skins, shells, or other coverings of animals

Exsiccation, drying, parting with moisture to air or lieat.

Evagation, wandering, deviation from an appointed course.

Farina. This word is sometimes used instead of pollen for the fertili-
zing dust produced from the stamens and anthers of flowers, and col-
lected 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.

Gallinaceous. Birds of a particular order, living generally upon grains
or seeds of plants, of a stately aspect, and confined powers of flight,
^uch are the common domestic fowl, the turkey, the peacock, &c.

Gestation, the act of carrying the young within the body of the parent,
whether in the state of the egg or of the living foetus.

Graminivorous, living or feeding upon grass.

Granivorous, living or feeding upon grain* and seeds.

Gregarious, herding together — flocking together — assembling in herds
and companies.

Halitus, the watery vapor 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 b
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 homo-
logous 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

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.

JriSy plural Hides ; the colored ring surrounding the pupil of the eye.

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 surface

309

VOCABULARY.

of the intestines, absorbing the chyle or nutritious fluid prepared by
the digestive organs from the food, and conveying it through the me-
sentery 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 it a buoyant ten-
dency.

Longus, long. A name applied to several muscles of the Jody on ac-
count of their length when compared with other muscles.

Lubricity, facility of the slipping or gliding of one surface over another
witnoui friction, whether in consequence of the smoothness of the sur
faces, or the interposition of some soft, slippery fluid, or substance.

Lubricate, to give lubricity.

Luxation, dislocation of a bone, throwing a bone out of joint.

Lymphatics, small vessels in the bodies of animals carrying lymph.

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.

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 dissolved.

Mesentery, a double fold of the membrane lining the abdomen and cover-
ing 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 flower
cup.

Mectaria, that part of the corolla of plants which produces honey.

JYictitating, winking. Applied generally to the third eyelid of birds .inO
some other animals.

JSrigella, the name of a plant.

JSTymphae, insects in the second preparatory state, before their fma
transformation.

Oblate. A sphere flattened at the poles is said to be oblate.

Oesophagus, the tube or canal which conveys food from the mouth to tr^s
stomach.

Omentum, the caul; a kind of apron formed of fat and membrane which
hangs down and covers the intestines within the abdomen.

Os hyoides, the bone of the tongue and throat.

Os pubis, the bone whicli arches forward from the pelvis, and supporti
the lower part of the belly.

Ossification, a change of structure into bone.

Oviparous, bringing forth or bearing young by means of eggs.

VOCABULARY.

303

Pahnated, liaving a palm like that of the hand.

Pancreas^ a gland within the abdomen, just below the stomacn, 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 i of or resembling butterflies. Applied to a certain tiibe
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.

Peritonaeum, a membrane lining the cavity of the abdomen and giving
a close covering to all its contents.

Peristaltic, applied to the crawling, worm-like motion of the intestines.

Pericardium, the bag containing the heart.

Pericnrpium, a kind of seed vessels of plants.

Periosteum, the membrane which adheres to, and closely invests the
surface of bones.

Petals, the flower leaves, or leaves of the corolla of plants.

Pharynx, 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.

Pistil, the part of a flower intended to receive the pollen or fertilizing
dust of the stamens.

Piston, a movable cylinder in the tube of some machines, intended to
take ofF 'rv its motion the pressure of the air, or to receive the impulse
from steam; as in the pump and steam-engine.

Plaiitule, a little plant. Applied to the part which first sprouts from the
seed when it begins to grow. It refers to the same part with Plumule,

Pleura, the membrane lining the chest.

Plumule, see plantule.

Pneumatic, of or relating to the air or wind.

Polleti, the fertilizing dust of flowers, produced by the stamens, and falling
upon the pistils in order to render a flower capable of producing seed
or fruit.

Primordial, original.

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 diflerent
density.

Renitency, resistance.

Retina, a very sensible and delicate membrane at the back part of the
eye, intended to receive the images ofobjects 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.

Sanguiferous, carrying blood.

Sensorium, the seat or centre of sensations, to which all the impressions
made upon the external organs of sense are transuJlted, and where
they are perceived.

304

VOCABULARY

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 cluvh
cle 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 movable joints,
as in the flat bones of the skull. The edges in this case are offer,
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.

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 iu ends enter into
the formation of both the knee and ankle joints.

Trachea, the windpipe.

Tubercle, a swelling or prominence.

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

Vallisneria, the name of a plant.

Valvulae conniventes, folds formed by the internal membrane of tho
intestines, constituting partial valves, and intended to retard the pas-
sage of the food. ^

Vascular, containing or consisting of vessels.

Uena cava, one of the great veins which brings the blood from the ox
tremities of the body to the heart.

Ventral, of or appertainmg to the belly.

Ventricle, a term applied to s'everal small internal cavities in the body
as the ventricles of the brain and of the heart. *

Vertebrae, the separate bones constituting the back bone.

Viscus, plural Viscera; the internal organs of the body, as iunffs, heart
stomach, liver, brain, &c. j ^ •

Viviparous, producing or bringing forth young alive.
f ortex, plural Vortices ; anything whirled round. The heavenly bod-
les have been formerly supposed to be carried around in their orbits by
certain vertices or whirlpools which were imagined to exist.

PAXTON’S ILLUSTRATIONS,

WITH

DESCRIPTIONS.

INDEX TO THE PLATES.

Plate

Page

Plate

I’age

The watch

307

24.

The opossum

376

The eye

310

25.

Claw of the heron — Bill of

The eye of birds and of the

the Soland goose . . .

379

eel

313

26.

Stomach of the camel . .

382

The lachrymal apparatus

27.

Tongue of the woodpecker.

and nictitating membrane 316

and skull of the baby-

The human ear, and tym-

rouessa

385

panum of the elephant .

319

28.

Temporary and permanent

Trochlear muscle of the eye

teeth

388

and kidney

322

29.

Foramen ovale, and ductus

Vertebrae of the human

arteriosus

391

neck

325

30.

Fore extremity of the mole

Bones of the arm ....

328

— Head of the elephant —

The spine

331

Finger-like extremity of

10.

The chest, patella, and

the proboscis — Section of

shoulder-blade ....

334

the proboscis — Bat’s wing

11.

The hip, knee and ankle-

— Bill of the parrot —

joints

337

Eyes of insects — Eyes of

12.

The sartorius and oblique

a spider

394

muscles of the head . .

340

31.

The chameleon, and intes-

13.

The muscles of the arm .

343

tine of the sea-fox . . .

397

14.

The muscles that raise the

32.

The wings of the beetle.

eye-lids, and sphincter or

awl, sting of the bee, pro-

circular muscles . . .

346

boscis, &c

400

15.

The digastric muscle . .

349

33.

Silk secretors of the silk-

16.

The tendons of the toes .

350

worm — Spinnerets of the

37.

The heart

355

spider — Panorpa commu-

18.

The stomach, gall-bladder,

nis — Female and male

358

glow-worm — Larva libel-

19.

The lacteals and thoracic

lulae — Breathing spiracu-

duct

361

Ise — Pupa of gnat — Stra-

20.

The parotid gland . . .

364

tyomis chameleon . . .

403

21.

The larynx

367

34.

The capsule, pistil, stamina

22.

Package of the viscera and

of nigella; plumule, and

mesentery . . . . .

370

radicle

406

23.

Nerves of the bill of a duck

35.

Vallisneria

409

— Valvulae conniventes —

36.

Cuscuta Europaea ....

412

Chap. XIII. Air-bladder

37.

The autumnal crocus . .

415

of a fish, and fang of the

38.

The dionaea muscipula . .

418

viper

373

39.

Astronomy

422

Bb^

305

CHAPTER 1.

Plate I. — the watch.

Fig. 1. The box, or barrel, containing the main spring, which k
rlie first power ; and the chain, which communicates the power
to— “

Fig. 2. The/w^ee and great wheel. The fusee \% tapered at the
top to correct the irregular recoil of the spring. The great wheel
turns —

Fig. 3. The cenfre wheel and pinion, which makes one revolution
in an hour, carries the minute nand, and turns —

Fig. 4. The third wheel and pinion, which turns the contrite
wheel.

Fig. 5. The contrite wheel, which makes one revolution in a
minute, and turns the balance or escape wheel.

Fig. 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.

Fig. 7. The balance verge and balance ov pendxdum which

regulates the whole machine.

Fig. 8. The cannon pinion, affixed to the centre whee^ arbour,
on which the minute hand is placed.

Fig. 9. The minute wheel.

Fig. 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
Paley. Their relative situation, and combined movement, may
be seen by the simple inspection of a watch.

306

PLATE r.

PLATE II,

CHAPTER 111.

Plate II. — the eye.

F^ig. 1. The crystalline lens of a fish; it is proporiionably larg:er
than in other animals, and perfectly spherical.

Fig. 2. A section of the human eye. It is formed of \arioiii
coais^f or membranes, containing pellucid humours of different de-
grees of density, and calculated for collecting the rays of light into
a focus, upon the nerve situated at the bottom of the eye-bail.

The external membrane, called sclerotic^ is strong and firm, and
is tne support of the sphericat figure of the eye : it is deficient in the
centre, but that part is supplied by the cornea^ which is transparent
and projects like the segment of a small globe from one of larger
size. The interior of the sclerotic is lined by the choroif which is
covered by a dark mucous secretion, termed pigme7itum in-

tended to absorb the superfluous rays of light. The choroid is rep-
resented in the plate by the black line. The third and inner mem-
brane, 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 ; h, the aystalline lens, of a dense
texture; c, the vitreous humour, a very delicate gelatinous substance,
named from its resemblance to melted glass. Thus the ciystalline
is more dense than the vitreous, and the vitreous more dense than
the aqueous humour: they are all perfectly transparent, and togeth-
er 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
reiina, inverted.

Fig. 3. The lens of the telescope.

Fig. 4. The crystalline lens, or, as it has been called, the crystal
line humour, of the eye.

Fig. 5, 6. A plan of the circular and radiated fibres which tne
iris is supposed to possess ; the former contracts, the latter dilates
the pupil, or aperture formed by the inner margin of the iris.

Fig. 7. a, a, a, a, the four straight muscles, arising from the bol
tom of the orbit, where they suiTound, c, the optic nen^e ; and are
inso ted by broad, thin tendons at the fore part of the globe of the
eve into the tunica sclerotica.

311

CHAPTER 111.

Plate III. — the eye of birds and of the eel.

Fig. 1,2. T^ie Jlexihle lim, or hoop, of the eye of birds, consist*
mg of bony plates, which occupy the front of the sclerotic; lying
close together and overlapping each other. These bony plates in
general 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.

Fig. 3, 4, 6. Exhibit the marsupium; it arises from the back of
the eye, proceeding apparently through a slit in the retina ; it pas-
ses obliquely 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

Fig. 5. The head of an eel ; the skin is represented turned back ;
and as the transparent, homy covering of the eye, a, a, is a cuticular
covering, it is separated with it. Other fish have a similar, insensi-
ble, dense, and thick adnata, which is designed to protect the eye ;
and it seems es| ecially necessary, as fish have no eyelids.

312

PLATE III.

PLATE IV.

CHAPTER III.

Plate IV. — the lachrymal apparatus and nictitatino

MEMBRANE.

Fig. 1. a, is the organ which supplies this fluid, called the lachry-
'nal gland, it is situated at the outer and upper part of the orbit of
the eye. This is the gland which secretes or separates the tears
from the blood. There are five or six ducts or tubes, b, which con
vey this fluid to the globe of the eye, for the purpose of keeping it
moist, and for facilitating its movements ; the motion of the eyelid
difliises the tears, and c, c, the puncta lachrymalia, take up the su-
perfluous moisture, which passes tlirougli d, the lachrymal sac and
duct into the nostril at e.

Fig. 2. The nictitating membrane, or tliird 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 verti-
cal, 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.

Fig. 3. The two muscles of the nictitating membrane are vei v
singular in their form and action ; they are attached to the back of
the sclerotica; one of them, a, which from its shape is called quad-
ratus, has its origin from the upper and back part of the sclerotica ;
its fibres descend towards the optic nerve, and terminate in a cur-
ved margin with a cylindrical canal in it. The other muscle, b,
which is called pyramidalis, arises from the lower and back part of
the sclerotica. It has a long 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 refei-s also to
Fig. 4, a profile of the eye, and Fig. 5, the membrane and its mus-
rle.s detached from the eye.

Cc*

317

CHAPTER III.

P1.ATE V. THE HUMAN EAR, AND TYMPANUM OF THE iXEPHA^T

Fig. 1. The organ of hearing; a, the external ear ; Z>,the meaiiu
iiiditoj'ius extemus, or outward passage of the ear; leading to c, tlie,
memhrana tympanic or drum ; c?, the ossicula auditus, or httle hones
of tiie ear; e, the semicircular canals ;f, the cochlea; g, a section of
the eustacldan tube, which extends from the cavity of the tympa-
num, to the back of the mouth or fauces.

Fig. 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, h, the incus, 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 conveying an idea of their form. They are united by lig-
aments, and form an uninterrupted chain to transmit the vibrations
of the atmosphere.

F iG. 3. The labyrinth, so named from the intricacy of its cavi
ties ; it is situated in the petrous part of the temporal bone, and con-
sists of the vestibule, or central cavity, three semicircular canals, and
cochlea, so named 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 tympa-
ni, 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 auditory nerve, and finally to the brain.

Fish require no tympanum, nor external opening to the ear; the
fluid in which they live is the medium for conducting souiuls
through the bones of the head.

Fig. 4. The tympanum of the elephant, of its natural size, show-
ng ils radiated fibres, supposed to be musculai*.

318

PLATE V

PLATE VI,

CHAPTER VIL

Plate VL — trochlear muscle of the eye, and kidney.

Fig. 1. The trochlear or superior oblique muscle, aiiscs with the
straight muscles from the bottom of the orbit. Its muscular poriioiij
a, is extended over the upper part of the eye-ball, and gradually as-
sumes the form of a smooth, round tendon, 6, which passes through
the pulley, c, and is fixed to the inner edge of the orbit, d, then re-
turning backwards and downwards, eis inserted into,y5the sclerotic
membrane. The use of this muscle is to bring the eye forwards,
and to turn the pupil downwards and upwards.

Fig. 2. A section of the human kidney ; a, the emulgent artery^
which conveys the blood to, 6, ihepapxlleB^ where the peculiar fluid
is secreted ; from whence it passes by tubes into, c, the pelvis; 6, the
ureter^ or tube, which conducts the secretion to its receptacle ; d^
the emulgent vein^ for returning the blood, after it has been submit-
ted to the acti )n of the gland.

323

CHAPTER VIIl.

Plate VIL — vertebras of the human neck.

Fig. 1. A representation of the head and the neck ; the latter is
composed of seven bones called verteircE.

Fig. 2. Exhibits the fii*st and second vertebi*?e, wth their mode
of connexion. The uppermost vertebra, termed the atlas, from iis
siip[)oiting the globe of the head, has an oval concave suidace on
either side, a, a, for the reception of two coiTesponding convex
surfaces placed on the lower part of the head, in such a manner
as only to admit of the action of bending and raising the head.

Fig. 3. The atlas.

Fig. 4. The second vertebra, called dentata, has two plane sur-
faces, 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 firtn pivot for the produc tion of the lateral
motion just described. This process is received into a coiTespond-
ing indentation of the adas. Fig. 3, 6, 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, c, indicates a perforation in the lat-
eml process ; and, as there is a corresponding perforation in each
lateml, or as k is termed, transverse process of the seven cervical
vertebrjB, a contLuious passage is thus fonned for the protection
of two important blood-vessels destmed to supply the brain.

324

PIRATE VII

v;-.

•PLATE VIII.

CHAPTER VIII.

Plate VIII. — bones of the akm.

•

Fig. 1. a, the humerus; the head, 6, is a portion of a sphere, an i
exhibits an example of the hall and socket^ or univei*sal joint ; c, tlirt
hinge-jointy instanced in the elbow ; d, the radius ; e, the idncu
radius belongs more peculiarly to the wrist, being the bone which
supports the hand, and which turns with it in all its revolving mo-
tions. The ulna principally belongs to the elbow-joint, for by it we
perform all the actions of bending or extending the arm.

Fig. 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.

Dd*

329

CHAPTER VIII,

Plate IX. — the spine.

Fig. 1. The human spine, so named from the series of shaip pro-
cesses projecting from the posterior part of the veitebrse. The
spine consists of seven vertebrai of the neck, distinguished by tJie
perforations in their transverse processes ; of twelve belonging tc
the back, and marked by depressions for the heads of the ribs and,
lastly, of ^ve belonging to the loins, which are larger than the other
vertebrae.

Fig. 2. A separated dorsal vertebra: a, the body of the vertebra^
6, the ring through which the spinal marrow passes: c, c, the artic-
ulating surfaces to which the ribs are united.

Fig. 3. The vertebra of a veiy large seipent, drawn from a spe-
cimen belonging to the x\natomy School of Christ Church, Oxford.
This figure shows the socket of the vertebra.

Fig. 4. The ball or rounded joint, evidently calculated for ex-
tensive motion.

Fig. 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
articulation.

330

PLATE IX,

PLATE X

CHAPTER VIII.

Plate X. — the chest, patella, 4nd shoulder-blade.

Fig. 1. The spine, ribs, and sternum, constitute the frame work
of the chest 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 first ten ribs to the breast bone.
This is a farther provision, relative to the mechanical function of
the lungs, deserving notice. The muscles of respiration enlarge
the capacity of the v’hest by elevating the ribs; and during the
momentary interval of muscular action, the cartilages, fi'om their
great elasticity, restore tlie ribs to their former position.

Fig. 2. Represents the true shape of the patella, the antenor
surface convex. Fig. 3, the posterior surface, which has two con-
cave depressions adapted to the condyles of the thigh bone. 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 “ un-
like 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 : some also are discovered, though not so constant-
ly, under the corresponding joints of the other toes. The sesamoid
bones, like the patella, remove their tendons from the centre of mo-
tion, facilitate their glidings over the bone, and protect their artic-
ulations.

Fig. 4. The shoulder-blade [scapula] is joined to the collar bone
oy ligaments, and to the thorax by powerful muscles which are ca-
()able of sustaining immense weights, and wnose action gives the
various directions to the arm, and enables it freely to revolve at thr
shoulder-joint.

Fig. 5. The os hyoides, a small bone situated at the root of the
tongue. It serves as a lever or point for attaching the muscles of
the tongue, larynx, and those of deglutition.

335

CHAPTER VIII.

Plate XL — the hip, knee and ankle joints.

F G. 1. The capsular ligament is here opened in order to shov^
tlie ligament of the hip, named the round ligameiit It allows con-
siderable latitude of motion, at the same time that it is the gi*eai
safeguard against dislocation.

Fig. 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, tlie posterior into
the back of the articulation of the tibia. This structure properly
limits the motions of the joint, and gives the firmness requisite for
violent exertions. Viewing the form of the bones, we should con-
sider it one oPthe weakest and most superficial, but the sti*ength of
its ligaments and the tendons passing over it, render it the most
secure, and the least liable to dislocation of any joint in the whole
Dody.

Fig. 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
deeper, 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 veiy frequent, or which move under a great
weight. It is a contrivance found at the jaw-bone, 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.

Fig. 4. a, the Jibula; b, the tibna, the lower extremities of which,
c, d, form the outer and inner ankle, and receive, c, the great artic-
ulating bone of the foot, called the astragalus between them. When
the foot sustains the weight of the body the joint is finn, but when
rfiised it easily rolls on the ends of these bones, so that the toe is
ilirected to the place on which we intend to step.

336

PLATE XI.

PLATE XII.

CHAPTER IX.

Plate XIL — the sartorius and oblique muscles or thb

HEAD.

Fig. 1. a, a, the sartorius, is the longest muscle of the whole
fabi-ic : 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.

Fig. 2. There are two pairs of oblique muscles ; a, a, the ohliquus
capitis superior, arising from the transvei*se process of the atlas, and
uiserted into the occipital bone ; b, h, the ohliquus capitis inferior,
arising from the spinous process of the dentata, and inserted into
the transverse process of the atlas. I’hese muscles roll the head
on one side, ana draw it backwards.

Ee^

341

CHAPTER XI

Plate XIII. — the muscles of the ^rm.

Fig. I. a, the biceps, (biceps flexor cubiti) arise oy two portions
from the scapula ; tliey form a thick mass of flesh in the middle
of the arm, which is finally inserted into the upper end of the ra-
dius ; b, the brachiccus intemus, arises from the middle of the os
humeri, and is inserted into the ulna. Both these muscles bend the
fore-arm. c, the longus et brevis brachimis extemus ; these are bet-
ter named as one muscle, triceps extensor ciibiti. 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
none, becoming a strong tendon which is implanted into the elbow.
It is a powerful extensor of the fore-arm. d, the anconceiis, a small
triangular muscle, situated at the outer side of the elbow: it assists
the last muscle. ^

Fig. I and 2. c, c, the annular ligament of the wrist, under
which pass the tendons of the muscles of the fingers.

Fig. 1. y; the deltoid muscle; the muscle at the shoulder by
which the arm is raised.

342

PLATE XIII.

PLATE XIV.

CHAPTER IX

Plate X1\ — the muscles that raise the eye-lids, and

SPHINCTER OR CIRCULAR MUSCLES.

Fig. 1. A front view of this muscle, named levator paJpebrcB sk^
verioris: Fig. 2. a profile of the same in its natural position. This
muscle arises within the orbit, and is inserted by a broad tendon
into the upper eye-lid. Its name is expressive of its use.

Fig. 3. Exhibits examples of sphincter muscles: a, a, the orbi-
cidans palpebrarum^ encircling the eyelid ; it closes the eye, and
compresses it with spasmodic force, when injured by particles of
dust, &c. &, the orbicularis oris, surrounding the mouth ; its chief
use is to contract the lips.

347

CHAPTER IX.

Plate XV — the digastric muscle.

Fig. 1 and 2. The digiistric muscle has its origin, a, at the lower
part of the temporal [)one; it runs downwards and forwards, and
forms a strong, round tendon, 6, which passes through a pei-foration
in the stylo-hyoideus muscle, f ; it is then fixed by a strong liga-
ment, c, to the os hyoides, d ; it again becomes fleshy, runs ilpwards,
and is inserted into, e, the chin. This description differe from Dr.
Paley’s, and it will be found by reference to dissections or the plate,
that the os hyoides furnishes a stay or brace instead of a pulley,
and that the hop or ring is in the stylo-hyoideus muscle.

348

PLATE XV,

PLATE

XVI,

CHAITER IX.

Plate XVI. — the tendons of the toes.

Fio. 1. a, the tendon of the long flexor of the toes, which divides
about the middle of the foot into four portions, passing through the
slits in, h, the short flexor tendons. Fig. 2. explains a similar con-
trivance belonging to each finger: a, a tendon of the flexor sublimi^ ;
b, a tendon of the flexor profundus, 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 retain-
ed in situ by, c, the anmdar ligament of the instep, which consists
of two distinct cross bands, going from the outer ankle to the inner
ankle and neighbouring bones.

Ff*

353

CHAPTER X.

Plate XVIL — the heart.

Fig. 1. A section of the human heart; a, a, the superior and in
ferior vena cava^ the a eins which convey the blood to the. 6, righi
mncle ; and thence into, c, the corresponding venfncZe ; from this
ventricle the blood is impelled through, e, the pulmonary artery^ in-
to the lungs ; and returning by^^/, the pidmonary veins, it is receiv-
ed into, g, the left aur'cle ; it flows next into, h, the left ventmcle ;
which by its contraction distributes the blood through the general
arterial system: — j, tlie aorta, the great artery which transmits
blood to the different parts of the body, from whence it is returned
by veins to the cav(B ; k, the right subclavian ; I, the right carotid
arteries, originating from one common trunk ; m, the carotid ;
n, the left subclavian ; d, the valves of the right ; i, the valves of
the left ventricle.

Fig. 2. The valves of the right side (tricuspid valves) separated
from tlie heart ; a, a, a, the camacB columnce, or muscular fibres of
the valves ; h, b, 6, the chordce tendincce, or tendinous filaments which
are attached to, c, the valves.

Fig. 3. Exliibits the aiiery cut open with tlie form of the semilu-
nar valves*

Fig. 4. A portion of the arteiy filled, showing how effectually
the valves prevent the retrograde motion of the blood in the aorta
and pulmonary zuteiy.

Fig. 5, 6. A section of a cutting and gidnding tooth, showing
the apertures at the root and the cavities for the vessels and nerves,
which supply the bony pait of the teeth, the enamel not being an
organized substance.

354

plate xvii.

PLATE XVIII,

CHAPTER X.

Plate XVIIL — the stomach, gall-bladder, &:u.

Fig. 1. a, the stomach; 6, the cardia ; c, the 'pylorus. The gastric
juice is a secretion derived from the inner membrane of the stom-
ach, and digestion is principally performed by it. In the various
orders of animated beings it differs, being adapted 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 tlie ingesta lose their specific quauiies •
and the chemical changes to which they would otherwise be liable,
as putridity and rancidity, &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 ;
c, part of the small intestines ; f, the pancreas ; and g, the spleen.

Fig. 2. Explains the several ducts and their communicaticn with
ihe duodenum ; a, XhQ gcdl-hladder ; 6, the ductus cysticus; which
uniting with, c, the ductus hepaticus, forms, d, the ductus communis ;
which, after passing between the muscular and inner coats of the
intestine, opens into it at e, f, the pancreatic duct. The bile is said
to become more viscid, acrid, and bitter, from the thinner i)arts being
absorbed during its retention in the gall-bladder.

359

CHAPTER X.

Pirate XIX. — the lacteals, and thoracic duct.

The figure in this plate represents the course of the food, from ite
CL ranee at the mouth to its assimilation with the blood ; a, the (Esoph
(tgus, extending from the pharynx to, 6, the stomach ; where the ali-
mentaiy matter, ha vuig undergone the digestive process, is converted
into chyme^ a soft, homogeneous substance, and escapes at c, the py-
lorus, into, d, the intestines. In this plate a large portion of the lat-
ter is spread out to show a part of the absorbent system, called lac-
teals : 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, (receptacidum chyli,) from wliich, g, the tho-
racic duct ascends in a more or less tortuous direction to the lower
vertebrsB of the neck, and after forming an arch, it descends and
entere h, the left subclavian vein, at the point where that vein is
united with the interned jugular. The absorbents of the right side
fiecpiently form a trunk, which enters the right subclavian vein.

360

PLATE XIX

PLATE XX.

CHAPTER X.

Plate XX. — the parotid gland.

Fig. 1. A dissection to exhibit tlie parotid gland.

Fig. 2. Explains the former ; a, a, the integuments turned hack;
parotid gla;nd ; 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 wiliva into
the mouth is incessant, and it is one oi' the most useful digestive
fluids. It is favorable to the maceration and division of the (bod,
it assists it in degluition and transformation into chyme; it also
rendera more easy the motions of the tongue in speech ainJ
singing.

Gg*

365

CHAPTER X.

Plate XXL — the larynx.

Fig. 1 The larynx^ pharynx^ &c. a, the os hyoides^ 6, the epiglottis
pressed down, thus covering the glottis, or opening of the larynx ;
as it does in the act of deglutition.

Fig. 2. Exhibits the larynx, and trachea; which is a continua-
tion of the former ; h, the epiglottis ; g, the arytenoid cartilages ; e
die thyroid cartilage, exceedingly strong, for the protection of the
upper part of the air tube ; d, the cartilaginous ringlets of the trachea
or ivind-pipe, each forming nearly two-thirds of a circle, and com
pleted by f, a soft membrane, which, from its apposition to, e. Fig.
], the oesophagus, accommodates itself to tne substances passing
into the stomach.

Fig. 3. The larynx or upper part of the wind-pipe of a liird.
Tliis is called the infenor larynx, where the vocal organ is formed
by a compression of the trachea, for it is here contracted into a
nari'ow chink, and divided into two openings by a slender bone,
or tense membrane, which, in producing sounds, resembles the
mechanism of a musical instrument. In the plate this part of the
larynx is a little turned up to show the tendinous hand at this ex-
tremity stretched across it, which is furnished from the surrounding
parts with muscles to modulate the tone.

366

PLATE XXI

PLATE XXII.

CHAPTER XL

Plate XXIL— package of the viscera, and mesentery.

Fig. 1. In this plate the parietes of the chest and abdomen, with
die omentum, are removed to show the viscera in situ; a, tli<3
heart; 6, the aorta; c, the descending vena cava; d, the lungs divi-
der! by the mediastinum into two [lortions ; 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 ; /, the
liver ; g*, the gall-bladder ; h, the stomach ; i, tlie spleen ; k, the large
intestines ; I, the small intestines ; m, the bladder.

The viscera of the thorax and abdomen, i. e. the viscera of or-
ganic life, are irregidarhj disposed. The agents of volition are
double, but the instruments of involuntary motion, namely, the in-
terior life, are single, and at least are irregular in their form.

The several viscera are correctly described in the Theology, and
sufficient is said for the purposes for which they are introduced.
To the supposed use of the spleen only an objection must be taken :
various hypotheses have been entertained as to its office, but none
are conclusive ; the most probable is, that it is a source of supply
of blood for fumishing the gastric secretion, or that the blood un-
dergoes some important change in it.

Fig. 2. The mesentery. This membrane is fonried by a reflec-
tion of the periton(Eum from each side of the vertebrae ; it connects
the intestines loosely to the spine, to allow them a certain degi*ee
of motion, yet retains them in their places; and furnishes their ex-
terior covering. Between the laminae of, a, the mesentery, are re-
ceived the glands, vessels, and nerves ; and its extent admits of a
proj or distril ution of each.

871

CIlAP'i’KK X!!.

Plate Will. — ^nerves uf the bill of a pick, .alvil.^

tU>MVK.\TKS. CHAP. XIII. AIR-P> LAPPF H OF A PISH, AM;

FANG OF THE VIPER

Fig. 1. The iijiper mandiblt of the duck, on wliich are distri-
biiied the first and second branches of tlie fifth pair of neiTes; the
former passing through the orbit to the extremity of the bill, and,
together with the latter, supplying the whole palatine surface.
This gustatory sensibility is the more necessary to those races ot
birds called palmipedes, such as penguins, the wild goose, ducks,
&:c. and the grallte, such as water-hens, curlews, woodcocks, &c.
their sight being of no assistance to them in finding their prey in
the mire.

Fig. 2. A small portion of the human intestine cut open in
order to show the valvvla conniventes. It may be questioned,
whether these extremely soft rugae or folds of the villous coat of
the intestine can in the least retard the passage of the food througli
its canal ; nor does the erect attitude of man require them ; for,
since there are as many of the convolutions of the intestines ascend-
ing as there are descending, the weight of the food can have no in-
fluence in the action of the intestine : it is certain, however, that
this arrangement of the internal coat, affords a more extensive sur-
face for the lacteals and secreting vessels ; and this appeal's to be the
real use of the vcdvidce conniveiites.

Fig. 3. The air-bladder in the roach. This vessel diffei's in size
and shape, in difiercnt species of fish ; generally communicating,
by one or more ducts, either with the oesophagas or stomach ; by
which means the fish receives or expels the air, tlius sinking or
rising without effort: but as some are destitute of this organ, it is
consiilered as an accessary instrument of motion. Such fish live
almost uniformly at the bottom of the wat(‘r.

Fig. 4. The head of a viper of the natural size.

Fig. 5. The fang magnified, at the root of which is the gland
wMich secretes the venom : a hair is represented in the tube tlirougb
w iiich the poison is ejected.

F'ig. 6, 7. See note, p. 126.

372

PILATE XXIII

PLATE XXIV.

CHAPTER XIIL

Plate XXIV. — the opossum.

•*

Fig. 1. The American opossum ; [didelphis marsupiulis virginia-
wa.) The body of the animal is of a grayish yellow color, some
haii*s entirely black, with others entirely white ; the tail furnished
with scales ; the hands, nose, and ears naked. The female has the
whole lengtli of the belly clefl or slit, and appears like a person’s
waistcoat buttoned only at the top and bottom. This cavity tho
animal has the power of fu'mly closing. Within are thirteen teats,
extremely small, one in the centre, and the rest ranged round it.

Fig. 2. One of the young of the opossum.

Fig. 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 sinflar structure.

Hh*

377

CHAPTER XIII.

Plate XXV. — claw of the heron, and bill of the soland

GOOSE.

Fig. I. The middle claw of the heroru

Fig. 2. The head of the Soland goose, {pelicantis hassanusy drawn
from a specimen in tlie Ashmolean Museum, Oxford. This bird
inhabits the coldest parts of Great Bntaln, more especially the nortli-
em isles of Scotland. The inhabitants of St. Kilda make it thek
principal article of food, and are said to consume annually near
30,000 young birds, beside an amazing quantity of eggs.

378

PLATE XXV.

. -■

PLATE XXVI.

CHAPTER XIII.

Plate XXVI. — stomach of the camel.

The figure in this plate exhibits the cells in the stomach of (hi
tamely from a prepai-ation in the museum of tlie Royal College of
Surgeons, London. In the camel, dromedary, and lama, there are
four stomachs, as in horned ruminants; but the structuje, in some
respects, differs from those of the latter. The camel tribe have iu
the first and second stomach numerous cells, several inches deep
formed by bands of muscular fibres crossing each other at right an-
gles ; these are constructed so as to retain the water, and conn»lete-
ly exclude the food. In a camel dissected by Sir E. Home, the cells
of the stomach were found to contJiin two gallons of water ; but in
consequence of the muscular contraction, which had taken jilace
immediately after death, he was leil to conclude this was a quanti-
ty much less than these cavities were caj)able of receiving in the
living animal. See Lectures on Comparative Anatomy, by Sir E.
Home, vol. i. p. IG8.

Mr. Bruce states, in his Travels, that he procured four gallons of
water from a camel, which fi'om necessity he slaughtered in Upper
Egypt.

383

CHAPTER XIIL

Plate XXVII. — tongue of the woodpecker, and skull o

THE BABYROUESSA.

Fio. 1. The head of the woodpecker^ {picus viridis,)

Fig. 2. The tongtie, the natural size.

Fig. 3. The claw of the same bird, refeiTed to in Chap. V.

Fig. 4. The skidl of the babyroiiessa, from a specimen in the
Anatomy School, Christ Church, Oxford.

This animal is nearly the size of the common hog, and instead of
bristles, is covered w ilh fine short and woolly hair, of a deej) brown
or black color. It is also distinguished by the extraordinary position
and form of the upper tusks, which are not situated on the edge of
the jaw, as in other animals, but are placed externally, jierforating
the skin of the snout, and tuniing upwards towards the forehead.

The babyrouessa is found in large herds in many parts of Java,
Amboina, and other Indian islands, and feeds on vegetables.

884

PLATE XXVII,

PLATE XXVIII.

CHAPTER XIV.

Plate XXVIIL — temporary and permanent teeth.

Fig. 1. The gums and oiuer plate of the bone are removec
showing the teeth of the infant, as they exist at the time of its biilh ,
tiiey are without roots, and contained in a capsule witliin the jaws.

Fig. 2, In this figure, also, the outer alveolar plate of the jaws
has been removed to show the succession of teeth. This is the
state at six years of age. The temporal'll teeth are all shed between
the ages of seven and fourteen, and are supplied by the permanent
teeth already nearly perfectly formed, and situated at the roots of
tlie former.

li*

389

CHAPTER XIV.

Plate XXIX. — foramen ovale, and ductus arteriosus.

F 10. 1. A view of the foetal heart ; a, the ascending, &, the de-
scending vena cava ; c, the right auricle ; d, c, yj mark the elevated
ring of the foramen ovale^ or the opening between the two auricles.

Fig. 2. The foetal heart; a, the pulmonary artery; &, 6, its
branches ; c, the ductus arteriosus^ or canal for transmitting the l)lood
into, d, the aorta. As the lungs are useless in the foetus, unless as
a “ prospective contrivance,” ilie heart has to carry on a single cir-
culation only: the free communication between the two auricles
identifies them as one cavity; and toe ventricles also force the
blood into one vessel, the aorta.

390

PLATE XXIX.

3^*

PLATE XXX,

CIIAPTHRS XV. AWD XVL

Plate XXX. — fore extremity of the mole — head of the

El-EPHANT — finger-like EXTREMITY OF THE PROBtjSCIb SEC-
TION OF THE PROBOSCIS BAT’s WING BILL OF THE PARROT

— -EYES OF INSECTS EYES OF A SPIDER.

Fig. 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 b, one head
to the scapula, and by c, another to the clavicle ; it is altogether of such a
nature as tc turn the palm outwards for working.

The foot, or we may name it the hand, has eleven bones in the carpus
or wrist, wh.ch is two more than the carpus of man. One of which, d,
is remarkable, and from its shape is called the falciform hone; it gives
the shovel form to the hand.

Fig. 2. The head the Elephant,

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 : 6, b, the transverse faciculi of
n\uscles, 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 f)hh.que fi-
bres approximate the skin and the tubes, without contracting 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 lonoitudinal faciculi,
forming four large muscles, which occupy all the exterior of the organ.

Fig. 6. The extended wings of the bat. Ostrologically considered,
they are hands, the bony stretches of the membrane being tho finger
bones extremely elongated : a, a, the thumb, is short, and armed with a
nooked 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 mandiMe of the parrot, which is articulated with
the cranium by an elastic ligament, admitting of a considerable degree
of motion.

Fig. 8. An eye compounded of a number of lenses. The eyes of in-
sects differ widely from vertebrated animals, by being incapable of mo-
tion ; the compensation, therefore, is a greater number of eyes, or an eye
compounded of a number of lenses. Hook computed the lenses in a
horse-fly to amount to 7,000, and Leuwenhoek found the almost incredi
ble number of 12,000 in the dragon-fly.

Fig. 9. The eyes of a spider, drawn from nature. The number ol
eyes in insects varies from two to sixteen. The spider here referrea to
answers the description of the garden spider, {Kpeira Dindema,) the
eyes of which are planted on three tul ercles, four on the central one, and
two on each side of the lateral ones.

BO 5

CHAPTER XVL

pLAlE XXXL THE CHAMELEON, AND INTESTINE OF THE

SEA-FOX.

Fig. 1. The chameleon^ drawn from one of the species prcser\’ed
in the Anatomy School, Clirist Churcli, Oxford. The eyes of lliis
creature are very peculiar: they are remarkably large, and project
more than half their diameter. They are covered with a single
eye-lid, witli a small opening in it opposite the pupil. The eye-lid is
granulated like every part of the surface of the body, with this differ-
ence, over the eye the gi’anulations 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 ceiTical vertebrae exceedingly limit the motion;
this, however, is admirably compens.ated by the not less singular
local position than motion of the eye, .as the animal can see behind,
before, or on either side, without turning the head.

Fig. 2. The spiral intestine of the 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 sliark, (squalus vul[)es.) The convoluted intestinal
tube is also found in some other genera of fish. In this specimen
the internal membrane is converted into a spiral valve, having
thirty-six coils ; so that the alimentary substances, instead of passing
speedily away, by proceeding round the turns of the valve, traverse
a very consiilerable circuit: an extensive surface for the absorbents
.s thus provided.

Fig. 3. The spiral valve removed, showing the mode of its
soiling.

396

PLATE XXXT.

PLATE XXXII.

CHAPTER XIX.

Plate XXXII. — the wings of the beetle, awl, sting of

THE BEE, PROBOSCIS, &C.

Fig. 1. Is an instance of the homy and gauze wings in one of
the most beautiful of the becile class of tliis country, the cetonia
auraia, or rose chafer; showing the expanded elytra^ a, a: the true
wings, b, h.

Elytra are the wing covers of all the coleoptera order. They
are frequently grooved, and curiously ornamented, in some spe-
cies with scaly variegations of metallic lustre, as in the diamond
beetle, and some species of Buprestis. One of the latter, of extra-
ordinary brilliancy, forms an object in the “Cabinet of Beauty’-
in the Ashmolean Museum. The use of the elytra is to protect the
wings and body; and they are of some assistance in flying.

Fig. 2. A specimen of tlie elytra covering half the body in the
tar-ivig^ (forficula auricularia:) one of the elytra is .extended, and
the membranous wing unfolded ; showing the numerous diverging
nervures, or “ muscular tendons,” whicli run in horny tubes, to keep
the wing extended, a, a, anteim/B usually consist of a number of tu-
bular joints, with a free motion in each, enabling the insect to giv€'
them every necessary flexure; they vary in number and in shape
in tiie various orders, and are covered with hair, down, or bristles,
frequently elegant and diversifled, as every one may observe. En-
tomologists conceive, that the anteiinre, by a peculiar structure,
may collect notices from the atmosphere, receive vibrations, and
communicate tjiem to the sensorium, which, though not jirecisely
to be called hearing, is something analogous to it, or may answer
that purpose.

Fig. 3. The aivl of the cestruin bovis, or gad-fly, highly magni-
fied. 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 gimlet,
with which the skin is pierced in a few seconds.

Fig. 4. One of the hooks.

Fig. 5. The sting of a bee, drawn from nature as it appears b}
means of a magnifier of very high powers: a, a, a, a, the appara-
tus for [irojecting the sting ; b, the exterior, c, the interior sheath of,

d, the true sting, which is divided into two parts barbed at the sides ;

e, the bag which contains the poison.

Fig. C. The proboscis of a bee extended, a, a, the case oi
sheath ; b, the tube ; c, the exterior; d, the interior fringes; e, the
tongue ; f, f, the exterior, g, g, the interior palpi.

Fig. 7. The appearance of the proboscis when contracted, and
folded up.

Fig. 8. The head of a buttei*fly, showing the coded proboscis

Fig. 9. Ovipositor of the buprestis.

Kk*

401

CHAPTER XIX.

Plate X.XXIIL — silk secretors of the sii^cworm — spin

NERETS OF THE SPIDER PANORPA COMMUNIS FEMALE AND

MALE GLOW-WORM LARVA LIBELLUL^ BREATHING SPIRACU-

L.^C PUPA OF GNAT — STRATYONIS CHAMELEON.

Fig. 1. The organs for forming the silk consist of two long vessels.
They unite to form the spinneret (fusulus) through which the larva draws
the silken thread employed in fabricating its cocoon. «, a, the silk bags,
6, the spinneret.

F’ig. 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 spinnerets, the fluid
j matter forming the web being secreted in adjacent vessels, a, c, d.
the sjrinnerets.

Fig. 3. Panorpa corjwiunis y (Linn.) is an insect frequently seen in
meadows during the early part of summer. It is a long-bodicd fly,
of moderate size, with four transparent wings, elegantly variegated with
deep brown spots.

Fig. 4. The female glow-worm.

Fig. 5. The male of the same insect.

Fig. 6. The larva of some dragon-flies {csshna and lihellula, 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 currant of water is produced by this pump-
ing in a contrary direction. Sometin)es it will raise its tail out of the
water, when a stream of water issues from it.

Fig. 7. The spiracnla, or breathing pores of insects, are small ori-
fices in the trunk or abdomen, opening into a canal called the trachece ;
by which the air enters the body, or is expelled from it. In the larvae or
caterpillars, a trachea runs on each side of the body, under the skin, and
generally opens externally by nine or ten apertures or spiraculae ; from
these the same nurnber of air-vessels of a silver color pass off to be dis-
persed through the body, a, a, spiracula ; h, b, trachea.

Fig. 8. The pupae 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 de-
scend, the animal unfolds it, and with sudden strokes which she gives
w'ith it and her anal swimmers to the water, she swims from right to
left, as well as upwards and dow'nwards, with the greatest ease.

F iG. 9. This is a well known fly, {stratyonis chamceleon, F.) cha-
meleon 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 dis-
posed 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 righ to left, contracting itself into the form
of the letter S, and then extend ng itself again into a straight line, it
moves itself in any direction.

402

PLATE XXXIII,

plate XXXIV.

CHAPTER XX.

Plate XXXIV. — the capsule, pistil, stamina, nioell.!,

PLUMULE, AND RADICLE.

Fig. 1. The capsule or seed-vessel of the poppy: (papaver
somniferum :) it is divided to exhibit its internal structure.

Fig. 2. Is an instance of an erect flower, the agave Americana;
in which the pistil is shorter than the stamina, a, the pistil ; 6, the
stigma ; c, the stamina ; d, the antherae.

Fig. 3. A flower of the crown-imperial. The relative length of
the parts is now inverted, a, the pistil ; 6, the stamina.

Fig. 4. A blossom of the nigclla.

Fig. 5. A grain of barley, showingthe plumule and radicle grow^
ixgfrom iU

407

CHAPTER XX.

Plate XXXV. — vallisneria.

Fig. 1. Valisneria spiralis. The female plants the flowers of
which arc purple. This is drawn from a specimen in the posses-
sion of Dr, Ogle.

Fig. 2. The male plants producing white flowers; these when
mature rise like air bubbles, and suddenly expandhig 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 fii*st mentioned blossoms, whose stalks soon afterwards re-
sume their spiral figure, and the fruit comes to maturity at the bot-
om of the water.”

Fig. 3. One of the separated male flowers magnified.

408

-PLATE XXXVI.

CHAPTER XX.

Plate XXXVI. — cuscuta europjea.

This plant is a native of England, 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 sy)ecimen which grew in the Physic Gardens, Oxford. Ii
is represented twining about some nettles, 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 veg-
etables al)out which they twine, and into whose tender bark they
inseit small villous tubercles serving as roots, the original root of
the dodder withering away entirely, as soon as the young stem has
fixed itself to any other plant so that its connexion with the etuih
is cut off. ” English Botany, p. 55.

413

CHAPTER XX.

Plate XXXV 11. — the autumnal cRdcua

The colchicum autumnale. This j)lam before us exliibits a mode
of fructification scarcely j)arallele(i among Hritish v^egetables. Tlie
flo\v»n-s appearing very late in autumn, the impregnated germen*
remains latent under ground close to tlie hulh till the foIItAving
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 decay. See British Botany, vol. i. p. IBB.
The phint is represented 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.

414

PLATE

v'^

mr':

PLATE XXXVIII.

CHAPTER XX.

PliATE XXXVIIL — THE DIONJEA MUSCIPULA.

The dionaa muscipulay or Venus’s fly-trap. Some parts of this
plant are so remarkable as to desei*ve a particular descnption. It is
a native of North Carolina; the root perennial; leaves all radical,
supported 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 reddish color on the upper surface ; the
sides of both lobes are furnished with a row of cartilaginous ciliae
which stand nearly 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 destroying
the entrapped insect. In warm weather liie lobes are fully expanded
and highly irritable, and if a fly or other insect at this time light
upon them they suddenly ^lose, and the poor animal is imprisoned
till it dies. See Curtis’s Botanical Magazine, No. 785.

419

CHAPTER XXII.

Plate XXXIX. — astl onomy.

Fig. 1,2. The remarkable ring which surrouncs the planot
Saturn.

Fig. 3. The eaithan oblate spheroid. See note, p. 217,

Fig. 4. See note, p. 220
Fig. 5. See note, p. 223.

Fig, 6. Centripetal forces illustrated. See notes, pp. 219, 226.

420

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in a dramatic style many facts hitherto unknown.

LIMITS OP KELIGIOIJS THOUGHT EXAMINED, in Eight Lec-
tures delivered in the Oxford University Pulpit, in the year 1858, on the “ Bampton
Foundation.” By Rev. II. Longueville Mansel, B. D., Reader in Moral and Meta-
physical Philosophy at Magdalen College, Oxford, and Editor of Sir William Hamilton’s
Lectures. With the Copious Notes translated for the American Ed. 12mo, cloth, $1.00.

This volume is destined to create a profounder sensation in this country than any philosophical
or religious work of this century. It is a defence of revealed religion, equal in ability to the
“ Analogy ” of Bishop Butler, and meets the scepticism of our age as effectually as that great work
in an earlier day. The Pantheism and Parkerism infused into our popular literature will here find
an antidote. The Lectures excited the highest enthusiasm at Oxford, and the Volume has already
reached a edition in England. The copious “Notes” of the author having been translated
for the American edition by an accomplished scholar, adds greatly to its value.

THE HISTOKICAL EVIDE]SrCES OP THE TRUTH OP THE
SemPTURE RECORDS, STATED ANEW, with Special Reference
to the Doubts and Discoveries of Modern Times. In Eight Lectures, delivered in the
Oxford University pulpit, at the Bampton Lecture for 1859. By Geo. Rawlinson, M. A.,
Editor of the Histories of Herodotus. With the Copious Notes translated for the
American Edition by an accomplished scholar. 12mo, cloth, $1.00.

SIR WILLIAM HAMILTON’S LECTURES ON LOGIC. With
Notes from Original Materials, and an Appendix containing the Latest Development of
his New Logical Theory. Edited by Prof. H. Longueville Mansel, Oxford, and
John Yeitch, M. A., Edinburgh. Royal octavo, cloth, $3.00. (In press.)

MORAL PHILOSOPHY, including Theoretical and Practical Ethics. By Jo-
seph Haven, D. D., late Professor of Moral and Intellectual Philosophy in Amherst
College j author of “ Mental Philosophy.” Royal 12mo, cloth, embossed, $1.25.

It is eminently scientific in method, and thorough in discussion, and its views on unsettled ques-
tions in morals are discriminating and sound. It treats largely of Political Ethics — a department
of morals of great importance to American youth, but generally overlooked in text-books. In the
history of ethical opinions it is unusually rich and elaborate.

POPULAR GEOLOGY ; With Descriptive Sketches from a Geologist’s PoRfolio.
By Hugh Miller. With a Resume of the Progress of Geological Science during the
last two years. By Mrs. Miller. I2mo, cloth, $1.25.

This work is likely to prove the most popular of Hugh Miller’s writings, and to attain the widest
circulation. It is written in his best style, and makes the mysteries of Geology intelligible to the
common mind. As an architect explains the structure of a house from cellar to attic, so this ac-
complished geologist takes the globe to pieces, and explains the manner in which all its strata have
been formed, from the granite foundation to the alluvial surface. It supplies just the information
which many readers have been longing for, but unable to find. Also,

HUGH MILLER’S WORKS. Seven volumes, uniform style, in an elegant
box, embossed cloth, $8.25 •, library sheep, $10.00 •, half calf, $14.00 ; antique, $14.00.

MANSEL’S MISCELLANIES; including “Prolegomina Logica,” “Meta-
physics,” “ Limits of Demonstrative Evidence,” “ Philosophy of Kant,” etc. 12mo, cloth,
(in press.) (3g)

WOEKS FOE BIBLE STUDENTS

KITTO’S POPUIiAK CYCLOPEDIA OP BIBLICAL LITEBA-
TCJBE. Condensed from the larger work. By the Author, John Kitto, D. D. As-
sisted by James Taylor, D. D., of Glasgow. With over five hundred Illustrations. One
volume, octavo, 812 pp. Cloth, $3.00 ; sheep, $3.50 5 cloth, gilt, $4.00 ; half calf, $4.00.

A Dictionary of the Bible. Serving, also, as a Commentary, embodying the products of
the best and most recent reseanihes in biblical literature in which the scholars of Europe and
America have been engaged. The work, the result of immense labor and research, and enriched
by the contributions of writers of distinguished eminence in the various departments of sacred liter-
ature, has been, by universal consent, pronounced the best work of its class extant, and the one best
suited to the advanced knowledge of the present day in all the studies connected with theological
science. It is not only intended for ministers and theological students, but it is also particularly
adapted to parents. Sabbath-school teachers, and the great body of the religious public.

THE HISTOBY OP PALESTINE, from the Patriarchal Age to the Present
Time *, with Chapters on the Geography and Natural History of the Country, the Cus-
toms and Institutions of the Hebrews. By John Kitto, D. D. With upwards of two
hundred Illustfations. 12mo, cloth, $1.25.

A work admirably adapted to the Family, the Sabbath, and the week-day School Library.

ANALYTICAL CONCOBDANCE TO THE HOLY SCBIP-
TUBES ; or, the Bible presented under Distinct and Classified Heads or Topics. By
John Eadie, D. D., LL. D., Author of “ Biblical Cyclopaedia,” “ Ecclesiastical Cyclopae-
dia,” “ Dictionary of the Bible,” etc. One volume, octavo, 840 pp. Cloth, $3.00 j sheop,
$3.50 } cloth, gilt, $4.00 *, half Turkey morocco, $4.00.

The ohiect of this Concordance is to present the Scriptures entire, under certain classified
and exhaustive heads. It differs from an ordinary Concordance, in that its arrangement depends
not on WORDS, but on subjects, and the verses are printed in full. Its plan does not bring it at
all into competition with such limited works as those of Gaston and Warden ; for they select doc-
trinal topics prncipally, and do not profess to comprehend as this the entire Bible. The work
also contains a Synoptical Table of Contents of the whole work, presenting in brief a system of
biblical antiquities and theology, with a very copious and accurate index.

The value of this work to ministers and Sabbath-school teachers can hardly be over-estimated t
and it needs only to be examined, to secure the approval and patronage of every Bible student.

CBUDEN’S CONDENSED CONCOBDANCE. A Complete Concord-
ance to the Holy Scriptures. By Alexander Cruden. Revised and Re-edited by the
Rev. David King, LL. D. Octavo, cloth backs, $1.25 ; sheep, $1.50.

Tl^ondensation of the quotations of Scripture, arranged under the most obvious heads, while
It dirmmshes the hulk of the work, greatly facilitates the finding of any required passage.

“ We have in this edition of Cruden the best made better. That is, the present is better adapted
to the purposes of a Concordance, by the erasure of superfluous references, the omission of unne.
cessary explanations, and the contraction of quotations, &c. It is better as a manual, and is better
adapted by its price to the means of many who need and ought to possess such a work, than the
former large and expensive edition,” — Puritan Recorder.

A COMMENTABY ON THE 0BIG3;NAL TEXT OF THE ACTS
OP THE APOSTLES. By Horatio B. Hackett, D. D., Prof, of Biblical Liter-
ature and Interpretation, in the Newton Theol. Inst. HIT A new, revised, and enlarged
: edition. Royal octavo, cloth, $2.25.

i^*“ This most important and very popular work has been thoroughly revised ; large portions
entirely re-written, with the addition of more than one hundred pages of new matter; the result of
thft author’s continued, laborious investigations and travels, since the publication of the first edition*

(22>

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Full text of "Natural theology : or, Evidences of the existence and attributes of the Deity, collected from the appearances of nature"

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