St eed 34 eae SHH aM ER q bi 49, nt) a ha ieee Nah! Na ; a Se Ep a ~ = = = os Vf ede aed 4h ae 5 iy a Ne . ed i tirdestares gh rust Ne i 3 La i SL: pate a aN P hie ies me ae Md SRO Ni UAL ar ee ya years 7 + sph jet ht ; 7. t Gy SMa WW Ma se We Erie ee ee ea ih, seh M93 Marea er Nees aan He yeast Ae Ci Bane 2) ve vy Mui Bru Re A, Rhy cee a WSs. ie ae Parka i at Rye arg j RAE Ss ~ > Se ln, eS a ae sae ei iis i ‘a ae 3 i i @ wh se oy ma t pil pea aie det ata Rae ne i iii ati vy mie rx; ; wan v, vattnsen hans i Al : 4 4 Ne 4 * HY ah Rye 4 ‘ ; fey Woh yy 4 i Bi KiKi A Fhe eH t es voy ni ihe Ue ay 4 Liege Sucitaty cn aS he if bt 4 ley ‘ Jutet,* ' VN RAE RE ae) é VLU i Kai Wri CSE ib LA Va be ey, ay ae a evi f me Mileat hs 44 bo Tad i ea gir ts ite shy i tidy an BAU . ty +; Deeb 4 ¥ 4 aa by Ehoetay ny aot a HA a) Ce ye iC . RE hat 1 x i ta sete Ht 34 ; Pe nba eis u ey att WAL ae is oe a) ) Nits At ui} r Ds : He i POURRA. CROC th ie avi bty ‘ A Miter hea As Sa ‘pt! a Mi a, i i aie i me BRUNT sy tk nC ote mh ons tines ved talk ue hou ah r* bine sere ae Mae a be 4 i " Shh aia Mater oo sei ul hi ee oH ey iey a oe i aS Mian ue aye bogey 9! nes! an) he ead ae i ee : Dy era ca ae Nae h i) ih et nah : Hants ai i yma ahs Pana ey ty BRN, Maan ARNT ae ma CKoE eR " pe Veatch Ry Bievihs Goh ees a } on ut thie DAMS tah Ys ea hs rab tite anit eat h ey AS it # ae ft’ Weta wey Hearne nie v ‘3 y “ahs ‘ ’ s i ee hi fey act a ty ; ih tat ey 8 Ora rie ai i oi ’ beats hp vn IF Ut ek HN Odds aes sop Wyte ive Se PEPE ' COM 3 LM Aad" } Pe Bi CNR Hn Ni He and es ‘ nae oH ry ” ce ’ 7 + Twit) LD, hs Sts Hn a nea 1 Ny 4 ie wir, as REN yy brah 1 ty U f = i ba AY Ne ate! ; , ui Oe Mg my Pa). Baas A Sen ya nf ih ny nih Da Hs Ugh ah Daa i Mba heat o ie ery tana et San pent LS AHA HEN ? 1 4 ets i 1 p wit ayaa’ BHA A i cas me ae i an Mra 3 i aw me is ae ane i tntaty ye i TA At oh it 5 t DG Dye TORN IN ye mal ai mish is WH) Hiavh at ei aN Wii ayn 1, pa Ua a halitety M un ata i i A ast at mth a if mic 46 of sh) Mike ths int at iaeht , aT UN asa datebede ERT aOean OSD ty eh a Ny eK} TA eh Qe be i an KeKS ela fat hy iy i) F SR RUC NE \ 14" i ; aa Natal amen ant ayy $ ch ett ih a ARAN ASA 2 i ent ‘ SM pricey ty ey MLN MT ae) i ARR mening Dae PTY TTA, AMO HICK I My SSN lathe aaa valety in Bh te hin ht, ; ine hy Wi RUNES NEN he aay SAAS ARANMH ARH MICE ROC OL POOR ah aha heh Ai ANRMIOR VAS NA SNA A Ne WRK POMOC MA IN RENE ne Ar ro ge Ta ee t at ? Pye AMAR ty te . UAT RS RAO RUINS ULI Pt hy a eats SUH MeN MANA KLAUS WAIUDEN i Buys ee that lt CMAN NIG kk ch) t ‘eS oe nnd : ‘ia ty ah yh Vighs Mish, yea at Q RRNE RRR Coe sti: NAMA athe See yen nana bthtahy OOO. That z BN) Ay) taht hh * nyt ss er ena \ si ; BOMBAY UH RASENGAN eh Oa yt Hides Iitelada thy y : y » lotr Veh htt hha toh a aly 5 ' Hy, ty Ne hi STAY tt shi) yy tv oh hata? a ane 4 in Mi vate th min i ‘ oe eas User + PAW RDI bh y Viplal a RSG Rees ( Bhai ay } pothtipntcs ner sh ty ET A AOTES bb PARC pale ite ak yy ah Bee ie fh tyra! biytat Bett ala tity g F Mat taal, AT aL Wi ta LAW ak On aly tied L 4's") ofa :% OTe Lost MEL) ha bi) 1} i Say hy sya ates re as ae Apne Go Ra. rel “ Mirae AAR SAR SGCERR EAE AN ARS ASC WAN RA Nit neh ie Wahl} AT i) } fy yar gh ins ate pride ih Wt adit yh ASK, ah A Pleat RR 408 A AN It: ieee wlatith lot ead tyt Aa Besa! {4.9 Hn: yet iene ' Ye ys ca A Oh ee ' ay MA EE ere la litatat ay oot ari Wh yteg 4 etre ie ath ade AEE Re au Hy Na has AAO An mabel sar iyteeia & A Pr ey ene TAN PAL NEA 4 ty eats Ieee y At PA Chale eta Oaah A MEP rs et ye Myla gstet! ty 4 BCH EN ¥ ye int PROV Rh ey et athtornta tarde eh etieal eka 4 eet MTR CMH RAUL te a] eA OU a apr SRA. C4 Ya ta Wetland Len i oh vine RE See MAAN ay $0.4 hI) a baled tatitah Vehatite ted aleiemtane hs italg: His A telly ? AU FP wet italia yeety st ebay pie vat i shyt aaa iit tt: : DEHN YY ! ey we NS Re a Baily ly YEG Dar et ay Salida tt nail 4 ARN CA ron 9 ' Pb Atle & we TAL an San ' a4 Ril? ms oh ai ithe HP itatah: SEAR HACE NRRL CTO AN SOME TALS BOAR IAAITUS AA i ' ive ily ae eataad . es sh FR AC gg: VARA AACR Ve MOW CAN a circle ANE AOS RL RU MME Ae ad Ag SPO, Yat 4 404 \ r £4 ) Aa} ’ , 1 .- UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN BOOKSTACKS The person charging this material is re- sponsible for its return to the library from which it was withdrawn on or before the Latest Date stamped below. Theft, mutilation, and underlining of books are reasons | for disciplinary action and may result in dismissal from the University. To renew call Telephone Center, 333-8400 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN JUN 06 1894 L161—O-1096 ot ~ — ‘< - tt < Cant a ee ee EE Ge eats hy a? ee i Tf Uwins det. - Carter, Andrews & GO. Se. Lhe World thencetorth becomes a. Temple and lite thselt one continued act of adoration. Boston: Published by Lincoln & Edmands. ci siting PALEY’S THEOLOGY, WITH ILLUSTRATIONS. NATURAL THEOLOGY: ’ oR, bs 4 ™~ EVIDENCES ‘i. ¥ OF THE ait EXISTENCE AND ATTRIBUTES . OF rr THE DEITY, COLLECTED FROM THE APPEARANCES OF NATURE. ~~ * ae ew 4% Y WILLIAM PALEY, D. D. ; ARCH-DEACON OF CARLISLE. ILLUSTRATED BY THE PLATES, AND BY A SELECTION FROM THE NOTES OF JAMES PAXTON, Member of the Royal College of Surgeons, London. WITH & ADDITIONAL NOTES, ORIGINAL AND SELECTED, FOR THIS EDITION. AND A VOCABULARY OF SCIENTIFIC TERMS, Stereotype Wvitton, BOSTON : LINCOLN AND EDMANDS, No, 59 Washington Street. 183f. % il Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1831, By LincoLy anD EpManDs, in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of Massachusetts. ae PUBLISHERS’ NOTICE. To give this valuable work a more extended circulation in our col- leges and high schools, the publishers engaged a competent professional gentleman of Boston, to superintend this edition. And they fel confi- dent that his Notes, and those he has selected—the References to the Plates—and his Vocabulary, will be found greatly to enhance the value of the book. They have been at much expense to procure the Illustra- tions; but as these plates are as necessary to facilitate the scholar in his study of this work, as an atlas is to aid the pupil’s progress in geography, they believe they shall be remunerated by the patronage which a dis- cerning public will bestow upon their endeavours to present a complete edition of this standard work of acknowledged merit. ee a RD STEREOTYPED BY LYMAN THURSTON & CO. BOSTON. ; nS PREFACE TO THIS EDITION. THE present edition of the Natural Theology of Dr. Paley was under~ taken with the view of making this admirable 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 a 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 itis probable that few other writers would have made a book so intelligible, which relates to subjects remote from common observation, without the aid of plates arid illustrations. Still it must be imperfectly comprehended in many important parts, except by those acquainted with the sciences from which his illustrations are drawn. . Enough it is true may be understood by all, to carry them along with the arguinent, and produce a general conviction of its truth. But the concep- tions eyen 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 3°" was, however, suggested to them that the value of their edition might be - increased by the addition of Notes, and they had made arrangements for ‘this purpose and were going on with the work, when Mr. Paxton’s edition - of the Natural Theology fell into their hands, containing, beside the WE plates, a considerable number of Notes. From these Notes a selection has been made of such as seemed most valuable and interesting. A number of Notes have also been made up of quotations from the excellent treatise of Mr. Charles Bell on Animal Mechanics, published in the Library of ). Useful Knowledge ; a tract which cannot be too highly recommended < to the perusal of those who take pleasure in studying the indications of a wise and benevolent Providence in the works of creation. -—> A few additional Notes have also been subjoined, which have not been © o© before published. a iv 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 for 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 str ength 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 engrayed 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. Boston, March, 1829. TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE AND RIGHT REVEREND SHUTE BARRINGTON, LL. D. LORD BISHOP OF DURHAM. MY LORD, Tue 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 greaf"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 Jate, a painful state of health, deprived me of the power of discharging the duties of my sta- tion, in a manner at all suitable, either to my sense of those duties, or to my most anxious wishes concerning them. My inability for the public functions of my profession, amongst other consequences, left me much at leisure. That leisure was not to be lost. It was only in my study that I could repair my deficiencies in the church. It was only through the press that I could speak. ‘These circumstances, in particular, entitled your Lordship to call upon me for the only species of exertion of which I was capable, and disposed me, without hesitation, to obey the 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 evidences of natural reli- A 4 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, togproduce 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, I beg leave to subscribe myself, with great respect and gratitude, My Lord, Your Lordship’s faithful And most devoted servant, WILLIAM PALEY. Bishop-Wearmouth, July, 1802. TO THE HONORABLE AND RIGHT REVEREND Sho) A RINGO NE Lies Ds: 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 reeeption 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 suggestor 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 writer, I shall consider it the highest gratification. Iam,my Lorp, With great veneration, Your Lordship’s most obliged, And obedient servant, JAMES PAXTON. Oxford, January 1, 1826. Chapter 1 e oS Se ae 14, 25. 26. 27. CONTENTS. State of the Argument, . ; : ote nts ° State of the Argument, continued, ° : ; Application of the Argument, Of the succession of Plants and Animals, Application of oo: continued, The Argument ulative, Of the mechanical and immechanical parts sia Fuifesieis of Animals and Vegetables, Of mechanical Arrangement in the banneh Frame=-Of the Bones, : Of the Muscles, % 3 j : Of the Vessels of animal Bodies x . ‘ 2 Of the animal Structure, regarded as a Mass, Comparative Anatomy, : ‘ E F ‘ : Peculiar Organizations, Prospective Contrivances, . A : . ‘ ‘ Relations, Compensation, The Relation of ehicaion Bodies t to inepinbaie N cub Instincts, Of Insects, . : : ; A : i s Of Plants, Of the Elements, Astronomy, , Personality of the Deity, Of the Natural Attributes of the Detiys The Unity of the Deity, . ; : ° : The Goodness of the Bia Conclusion, i : : 2 i : Vocabulary, , ; : : . F i S Fs 109 122 137 145 149 157 166 170 180 193 207 212 229 246 249 252 292 299 NATURAL THEOLOGY.’ CHAPTER I. STATE OF THE ARGUMENT. In crossing a heath, suppose I pitched my foot against a stone, and were asked how the stone came to be there; I might possibly answer, that, for anything I knew to the contrary, it had lain there forever: nor would it perhaps be very easy to show the absurdity of this answer. But suppose I had found a watch upon the ground, and it should be inquired how the watch happened to be in that place; I should hardly think of the answer which I had be- fore given, that, for 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 ‘ind 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 different size from what they are, or placed after any other manner, or in any other order, than that in which they are placed, either no motion at all would have been carried on in the machine, or none which would have answered the use that is now served by it. ‘To reckon up a few of the plainest of these parts, and of their offices, all tending to one result: [See Plate I.|—-We see a cylindrical box containing a coiled elastic spring, which, by its 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 the spring from the box to the fusee. We then * A 6 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 infereriee, 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 géherality of mankind, of the more curious produc- tions of modern manufacture. Does one man in a million know how oval frames are turned? Ignorance of this kind exalts our opinion of the unseen and unknown artist’s skill, if he be unseen and unknown, but raises no doubt in our 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 different species, or an agent possessing, m 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 way we ac- STATE OF THE ARGUMENT. = j counted for the irregularity of the movement, or whether we could account for it or not. It is not necessary that a machine be perfect, in order to show with what design it was made: still less necessary, where the only question is, whether it were made with any design at all. 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 ascer- tain whether they conduced to that effect in any manner whatever. For, as to the first branch of the case; if by the loss, or disorder, or decay of the parts in question, the movement of the watch were found in fact to be stopped, or disturbed, or retarded, no doubt would remain in our minds as to the utility or intention of these parts, although we should be unable to investigate the manner according to which, or the connexion by which, the ultimate effect depended upon their action or assistance; and the more complex is the machine, the more likely is this obscurity to arise. Then, as to the second thing supposed, namely, that there were parts which might be spared, without 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, must have contained some internal configuration or other; and that this configuration might be the structure now exhibited, viz. of the works of a watch, as well as a different 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 form 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 to induce the mind to think so. “ ial a 8 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 are both dis- tinct from itself, the law does nothing; is nothing. The expression, ‘‘the law of metallic nature,” may sound strange and harsh to a philosophic ear; but it seems quite as justi- fiable as some others which are more familiar to him, such as ‘‘the law of vegetable nature,” ‘‘ the law of animal na- ture,” or indeed as ‘‘the law of nature” in general, when assigned’as the cause of phenomena, in exclusion of agen- cy and power; or when it is substituted into the place of these. VIII. Neither, lastly, would our observer be driven out of his conclusion, or from his confidence in its truth, by - being told that he knew nothing at all about the matter. He knows enough for his argument. He knows the utility of the end: he knows the subserviency and adaptation of the means to the end. ‘These points being known, his igno- rance of other points, his doubts concerning other points, 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 who found the watch, should, after sometime, discover, that, mm 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 a discovery to have upon his former conclusion. ‘ : STATE OF THE ARGUMENT, 9 I. The first effect would be to increase his admiration. of the contrivance, and his conviction of the consummate skill of the contriver. Whether he regarded the ob- ject of the contrivance, the distinct apparatus, the intri- cate, yet in many parts intelligible mechanism, by which it was carried on, he would perceive, in this new observa- tion, nothing but an additional reason for doing what he had already done,—for referring the construction of the watch to design, and to supreme art. If that construction without this property, or, which is the same thing, before this property had been noticed, proved intention and art to have been employed about it, still more strong would the proof appear, when he came to the knowledge of this 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 different 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 the stream cannot be said to be the cause or author of the effect, still less of the arrangement. Understanding and plan in the formation of the mill were not the less neces- sary, for any share which the water has in grinding the 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 oy observer had found was made 10 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 now than they were before. In the same thing, we may ask for the cause of different properties. We may ask for the cause of the 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 use, that relation to an end, which we have remarked in the watch before us. No answer is given to this question by telling us that a preceding watch produced it. There can- not be design without a designer; contrivance, without 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, 7. 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. Wee 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 ease to which this sort of reasoning applies. Where there is a tendency, or, as we increase the number of terms, a continual approach towards a limit, there, by supposing the number of terms to be what is called infinite, we may con- i : STATE OF THE ARGUMENT. 11 ceive the limit to be attained: but where there is no 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 we are assured, (though we never can have tried the ex- periment,) because, by:increasing the number of links, from ten, for instance, to a hundred, from a hundred toa thousand, &c. we make not the smallest approach, we ob- serve not the smallest tendency, towards self-support. There is no difference in this respect (yet there may be a great difference in several respects) between a chain of a greater or less length, between one chain and another, between one that is finite and one that is infinite. This very much resembles the case before us. ‘The 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 this necessity. It is the same with any and every succession of these machines; a succession of ten, | of a hundred, of a thousand; with one series as with an- other; a series which is finite, as with a series which is infinite. In whatever other respects they may differ, in this they do not. In all, equally, contrivance and design are unaccounted for. The question is not simply, How came the first watch into existence? which question, it may be pretended, is done away by supposing the series of watches thus pro- duced from one another to have been infinite, and conse- quently to have had no such first, for which it was neces- sary to provide a cause. This, perhaps, would have been nearly the state of the question, if nothing had been before us but an unorganized, unmechanized substance, without mark or indication of contrivance. It might be difficult to show that such substance could not have existed from eter- nity, either in succession (if it were possible, which I think 12 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. Ifit 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 either 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. i 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 anew discovery. The watch APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT. 13 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 have, upon our former inference? What, as hath al- ready been said, but to increase, beyond measure, our ad- miration of the skill which had been employed in the for- mation of such a machine! Or shall it, instead of this, all at once turn us round to an opposite conclusion, viz. that no art or skill whatever has been concerned in the business, although all other evidences of art and skill re- © main as they were, and this last and supreme piece of art be now added to the rest? Can this be maintained with- out absurdity? Yet this is atheism. — CHAPTER III. APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT. Tuis 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 and variety: yet, in a multitude of cases, are not less evidently mechanical, not less evidently contrivances, not less evi- dently accommodated to their end, or suited to their office, than are the most perfect productions of human ingenuity. I know no better method of introducing so large a sub- ject, than that of comparing a single thing withasingle 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 are made upon the same principles; both being adjusted to the laws by which the transmission and refraction of rays of light are regulated. I speak not of the origin of the laws themselves; but such laws being fixed, the construction, in both cases, is adapted to them. For instance; these laws require, in order to produce the same effect, that the rays of light, in passing from water into the eye, should be __ B 14 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, 1s 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 show his knowledge of his principle, his application of that knowledge, his suiting of his means to his end; J will not say to display the compass or excel- lence 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 ofthe 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 mechanism to a certain point, and then we are stopped; either the mechanism becoming too subtile for our discernment, or something else beside the known laws of mechanism taking place: whereas, in the automaton, for the comparatively few motions of which it is capable, we trace the mechanism throughout. But, up to the limit, the reasoning is as clear and certain in the one case as in the other. Inthe example before us, it is a matter of certainty, because it is a matter which experience and observation demonstrate, that the formation of an 1m- age at the bottom of the eye is necessary to perfect vision. The image itself canbe shown. Whatever affects the dis- tinctness of the image, affects the distinctness of the vision. The formation then of such an image being necessary (no % APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT. 15 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 Il. 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 over 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. ‘T’o 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 different 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 falls accurately on the concave surface of the retina. — Paxton, 16 APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT. made from different materials, the effects of the different humours through which the rays of light pass before they reach the bottom of the eye. Could this be in the eye without purpose, which suggested to the optician the only effectual means of attaining that purpose? * But 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: — *— CHAPTER VI. THE ARGUMENT CUMULATIVE. Were there no example in the world of contrivance ex- cept that of the eye, it would be alone sufficient to support the conclusion which we draw from it, as to the necessity of an intelligent Creator. It could never be got rid of; because it could not be accounted for by any other suppo- sition, which did not contradict all the principles we pos- sess of knowledge: the principles, according to which things do, as often as they can be brought to the test of 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 the proper office of the organ: the provisign 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, for its constant lubricity and moisture, which we see in its socket and its lids, in its gland for the secretion FUNCTIONS OF ANIMALS, Xc, 45 of the matter of tears, its outlet or communication with the nose for carrying off the liquid after the eye is washed with it; these provisions compose altogether an apparatus, a system of parts, a preparation of means, so manifest in their design, so exquisite in their contrivance, so successful in their issue, so precious, and so infinitely beneficial in their use, as, in my opinion, to bear down all doubt that can be raised upon the subject. And what I wish, under the title of the present chapter, to observe is, that if other parts of nature were inaccessible to our inquiries, or even if other parts of nature presented nothing to our examination but disorder and confusion, the validity of this example would remain the same. Ifthere 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 for drawing water,*or a thousand different kinds for other purposes. Of this point, each machine is a proof, inde- pendently of all the rest. So it is with the evidences of a divine agency. ‘The proof is not a conclusion which lies at the end of a chain of reasoning, of which chain each instance of contrivance is only a link, and of which, if one link fail, the whole falls; but it is an argument separately supplied by every separate example. An error in stating an example affects only that example. The argument is cumulative, in the fullest sense of that term. The eye proves it without the ear; the ear without the eye. The proof in each example is complete; for when the design of the part, and the conduciveness of its structure to that de- sign is shown, the mind may set itself at rest; no future consideration can detract anything from the force of the example. —»—- CHAPTER VI. , OF THE MECHANICAL AND IMMECHANICAL PARTS AND FUNC= TIONS OF ANIMALS AND VEGETABLES. Ir is not that every part of an animal or vegetable has not proceeded from a contriving mind; or that every part is not constructed with a view to its proper end and pur- 46 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 whilst 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 other 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 tous. 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 obhged to give names to things which we know little about)—I say the nervous influence, by which the belly, or middle, of the muscle is swelled, is not mechanical. The utility of the effect we perceive; the means, or the preparation of means, by which it is produced, we do not. But obscurity as to the origin of muscular motion brings 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 sw2éling of the belly or middle part is neces- sarily and mechanically followed by a retraction of the tendons: 2dly, to the number and variety of the muscles, and the corresponding number and variety of useful powers— which they supply to the animal; which is astonishingly great: 3dly, to the judicious, (if we may be permitted to use that term, in speaking of the author, or of the works AND FUNCTIONS OF ANIMALS, &c. AT 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, exactly in the same manner as a rope in a ship is carried over a block or round a stay, in order to make it pull in the direction which is wanted. [Pl. 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, or the marks of contrivance, displayed in the automaton, would be exactly the same thing, as it isto 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- eal 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 nor justice in endeavouring to bring a cloud over our under- standings, or a distrust into our reasonings upon this sub- ject, by suggesting that we know nothing of voluntary motion, of irritability, of the principle of life, of sensation, of animal heat, upon all which the animal functions de- pend; for, our ignorance of these parts of the animalframe 48 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 to conduct us to the same conclusion. There is what may be called the chemical part of our frame; of which, by reason of the imperfection of our chemistry, we can attain to no distinct knowledge; I mean, not to a knowledge, either in degree or kind, similar to that which we possess of the mechanical part of our frame. It does not, therefore, afford the same species of argument as that which mechanism affords; and yet it may afford an argument 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. Inthe 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 toauniform 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. Con- sider, moreover, that this fluid, stronger in its operation than a caustic alkali or mineral acid, than red precipitate, or aqua-fortis itself, is nevertheless as mild, and bland, and inoffensive to the touch or taste, as saliva or gum-water, which it much resembles. Consider, I say, these several properties of the digestive organ, and of the juice with which it is supplied, or rather with which it is made to sup- AND FUNCTIONS OF ANIMALS, &c. 49 ply itself, and you will confess it to be entitled to a name, | which it has sometimes received, that of ‘‘the chemical wonder of animal nature.”’ Still we are ignorant of the composition of this fluid, and of the mode of its action; by which is meant, that we are not capable, as we are in the mechanical part of our frame, of collating it with the operations of art. And this I call the imperfection of our chemistry; for should the time ev- er arrive, which is not perhaps to be despaired of, when we can compound ingredients, so as to form a solvent which will act in the manner in which the gastric juice acts, we may be able to ascertain the chemical principles upon which its efficacy depends, as well as from what part, and by what concoction, in the human body, these principles are generated and derived. In the meantime, ought that, which is in truth the de- fect of our chemistry, to hinder us from acquiescing in the inference, which a production of nature, by its place, its properties, its action, its surprising efficacy, its invaluable use, authorises us to draw in respect of a creative design? Another most 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 organs 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 E 50 MECHANICAL AND IMMECHANICAL PARTS cannot tell) is shown by the consequence of the separation being long suspended; which consequence is disease and death. Akin to secretion, if not the same thing, is assim- ilation, by which one and the same blood is converted into bone, muscular flesh, nerves, membranes, tendons; things -as different as the wood and iron, canvass and cordage, of which a ship with its furniture is composed. We have no operation of art wherewith exactly to compare all this, for no other reason perhaps than that all operations of art are ex- ceeded by it. No chemical election, no chemical analysis or resolution ofa 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. Ina few, and only a.few instances, we can discern a little of the constitution ofagland. In the kidneys of large animals, we can trace the emulgent artery dividing itself into an infinite number of branches; their extremities everywhere communicating with little round bodies, in the substance of which bodies the secret of the machinery seems to reside, for there the change is made. We can discern pipes laid from these round bodies towards the pelvis, which is a basin within the solid of the kidney. (Pl. VI. fig. 2.) . We can discern these pipes joining and collecting together into larger pipes; and when so collected, ending in innumerable 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 we know nothing of animal secretion, or nothing satisfactorily, and with 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 which we want, that of evincing intention, we know a great deal. And what we know is this. We see the blood carried by a pipe, conduit, or duct, to the gland. Wesee 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, 2. e. by a third pipe or conduit; which new fluid is in some cases discharged out of the body, in more cases retained within it, and there executing some impor- AND FUNCTIONS OF ANIMALS. 51 tant 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- ing-machine, or a threshing-machine, at work, the fabric and mechanism of which, as well as all that passes within, is hidden from his sight by the outside case; or, if seen, would be too complicated for his uninformed, 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 cardig-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 a new state; and, what is more, in a state manifestly adapted to future uses; the grain in meal fit for the making of bread, the wool in rovings ready for spinning into threads, the sheaf in corn dressed for the mill. Is it 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 ofthat 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 answered, No account can be given of this, without re- 52 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 great 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 alleged as proofs and specimens of design. — “ CHAPTER VIII. OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT IN THE HUMAN FRAME. WE proceed, therefore, to propose certain examples ta- ken out of this class: making choice of such as, amongst those which have come to our knowledge, appear to be the most striking, and the best understood; but obliged, per- haps, to postpone both these recommendations to a third; that of the example being capable of explanation without plates, or figures, or technical language. OF THE BONES. I. I challenge any man to produce, in the joints and pivots of the most complicated or the most flexible ma- -chine that was ever contrived, a construction more artifi- IN THE HUMAN FRAME. 53 cial, or more evidently artificial, than that which is seen in the vertebra of the human neck. [Pl. 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: [Pl. VII. fig. 2, 3, 4.] First, the head rests immediately upon the uppermost of the vertebrz, 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, we use the tenon and mor- tice, which runs between the first bone of the neck and the second. We see the same contrivance, and the same prin- ciple, employed in the frame or mounting of a telescope. It is occasionally requisite, that the object-end of the in- strument be moved up and down, as well as horizontally, or equatorially, For the vertical motion, there is a hinge, upon which the telescope plays; for the horizontal or equatorial motion, an axis upon which the telescope and the hinge turn round together. And this is exactly the mechanism which is applied to the motion of the head: nor will any one here doubt of the existence of counsel and design, except it be by that debility of mind, which can trust to its own reasonings in nothing. We may add, that it was, on another account also, ex- pedient, that the motion of the head backward and for- E* 54 OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT ward should be performed upon the upper surface of the first vertebre: for, if the first vertebre itself had bent for- ward, it would have brought the spinal marrow, at the very beginning of its course, upon the point of the tooth. 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. [Pl. VIII. fig. 1, 2.) Here, for the perfect use of the limb, two motions are wanted; a - motion at the elbow backward and forward, which is called a reciprocal motion; 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, t. e. towards the elbow, a tubercle of the radius plays into asocket of the ulna; whilst below, 7. 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 which he can shake his hand at the wrist circularly, (mov- IN THE HUMAN FRAME. 55 ing likewise, if he pleases, his arm at the elbow at the same time, ) in competition with the comparatively slow and laborious motion with which his arm can be made to turn round at the shoulder, by the aid of a ball and socket joint. III. The spine, or back bone, is a chain of joints of very wonderful construction. [Pl. LX. 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; for by firmness I mean, not only strength, but stability:) jirm, 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 support for the ends of the ribs to rest upon. Bespeak of a workman a piece of mechanism which shall comprise all these purposes, and let him set about to contrive it; let him try his skill upon it; let him feel the *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 distributed to all parts of the body. Dr. Paley in this instance prob- ably had in view the animal spirits, a subtile fluid, which was formerly believed to be seated in the brain, and carried through the nerves to the different parts.— Ed. 56 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 chai: 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 a settled posture is inconsistent with its use, a great diffi- culty still remained, which was to prevent the vertebre 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 abow. These dangers, which are mechanical, are mechanically provided against. ‘The vertebrae, 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- tion of the parts. I say, of all the motion which is necessa- ry; for although we bend our backs to every degree almost of inclination, the motion of each vertebree is very small: such is the advantage we receive from the chain being composed of so many links, the spine of so many bones. IN THE HUMAN FRAME. 57 Had it consisted of three or four bones only, in bending the body the spinal marrow must have been bruised at every angle. The reader need not be told, that these 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 vertebre 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 vertebre are put together, these notches, exactly fitting, form small holes, through which the nerves, at each articulation, issue out in pairs, in order to send their branches to every part of the body, and with an equal bounty to both sides of the body. The fourth purpose assigned to the same instrument is the 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 long processes, to which processes the muscles necessary to the motions of the trunk are fixed; and fixed with such art, that, whilst the verte- bra 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 of studious precaution. For this purpose, the vertebre are articulated, that is, the moveable joints between them are formed by means of those projections of their substance, which we have mentioned under the name of processes; and these so lock in with, and overwrap one another, as 58 OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT to secure the body of the vertebrx, 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 the animals which come upon his table. Let him take, for example, into his hands, a piece of the clean-pick- ed bone of a hare’s back; consisting, we will suppose, of three vertebre. 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 vertebra. 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 vertebra, the ridge ap- plying itselfto the intervening cartilage. Now this is the very contrivance which is employed in the famous iron bridge at my door-at Bishop-Wearmouth; and for the same purpose of stability; viz. the cheeks of the bars, which pass between the arches, ride across the joints, by which the pieces composing each arch are united. Each cross-bar rests upon two of these pieces at their place of junction; and by that position resists, at least in one direction, any tendency in either piece to slip out of its place. Thus perfectly, by 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 to the other, sufficient to resist any force which is ever likely to act in the direction of the back, or parallel to it, and consequently to secure the whole combination in their places. The general result is, that not only the motions of the human body necessary for the ordinary offices of life IN THE HUMAN FRAME. 59 are performed with safety, but that it is an accident hard- ly ever heard of, that even the gesticulations of a harlequin distort his spine. Upon the whole, and as a guide to those who may be in- clined to carry the consideration of this subject 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.* *Tt 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, whe 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 instructive as giv- 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. 7 ‘— 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 constitution 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 which they are surrounded. I. Can it be doubted, whether the wings of birds bear a relation to air, and the fins of fish to water? ‘They are instruments of motion, severally suited to the properties of the medium in which the motion is to be performed: which properties are different. Was not this difference contemplated, when the instruments were differently con- stituted ° 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 than the ear, indebted for the success of their opera- tion to the peculiar qualities of the fluid in which the animal is immersed. ‘They, therefore, as well as the ear, are constituted upon the supposition of such a fluid, 1. e. of a fluid with such particular properties, being always pres- ent. Change the properties of the fluid, and the organ cannot act; change the organ, and the properties of the fluid would be lost. The structure therefore, of our or- TO INANIMATE NATURE. 167 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 ight. To this new, this singular element; to qualities perfectly peculiar, perfectly distinct and remote from the qualities of any other substance with which we are acquainted, an organ is adapted, an instrument is cor- rectly adjusted, not less peculiar amongst the parts of the body, not less singular in its form, and in the substance of which it is composed, not less remote from the materials, the model, and the analogy of any other part of the animal frame, than the element to which it relates is specific amidst the substances with which we converse. [If this does not prove appropriation, I desire to know what would prove it. Yet the element of light and the organ of vision, how- ever related in their office and use, have no connexion whatever in their original. The action of rays of light upon the surfaces of animals, has no tendency to breed eyes in their heads. The sun might shine 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 pro- portioning of one thing to another. The size of animals, of the human animal especially, when considered with re- spect to other animals, or to the plants which grow around him, is such, as a regard to his conveniency would have pointed out. A giant or a pigmy could not have milked goats, reaped corn, or mowed grass; we may add, could not have rode a horse, trained a vine, shorn a sheep, with the same bodily ease as we do, if at all. A pigmy would have been lost amongst rushes, or carried off by birds of rey. It may be mentioned likewise, that the model and the materials of the human body being what they are, a much onli bulk would have broken down by its own weight. he persons of men who much exceed the ordinary stat- ure, betray this tendency. , VI. Again (and which includes a vast variety of partic- ulars, and those of the greatest importance;) how close is 168 THE RELATION OF ANIMATED BODIES the suitableness of the earth and sea to their several in- habitants; and of these inhabitants, to the places of their 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 inhab- itants as they are; and consider the substances which the earth yields for their use. They can scratch its surface, and its surface supplies all which they want. This is the length of their faculties! and such is the constitution of the globe, and their own, that this is sufficient for all their occasions. When we pass from the earth to the sea, from land to water, we pass through a great change; but an adequate change accompanies us of animal forms and functions, of animal capacities and wants; so that correspondency remains. The earth in its nature is very different from the sea, and the sea from the earth; but one accords with its inhabitants as exactly as the other. VII. The last relation of this kind which I shall men- tion is that of sleep to might; 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 net 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 satisfaction, no less than the regularity, with which the greatest part of the irration- al world yield to this soft necessity, this grateful vicissi- tude: how comfortably the birds of the air, for example, address themselves to the repose of the evening; with what alertness they resume the activity of the day! Nor does it disturb our argument to confess, that certain _ Species of animals are in motion during the night, and at rest in the day. With respect even to them, it is still true, that there is a change of condition in the animal, and an external change corresponding with it. There is still the relation, though inverted. The fact is, that the repose of other animals sets these at liberty, and invites them to their food or their sport. If the relation of sleep to night, and, in some instances, its converse, be real, we cannot reflect without amazement upon the extent to which it carries us. Day and night are things close to us; the change applies immediately to our sensations; of all the phenomena of nature, it is the most 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 the 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 the cold, but the want of food which the approach of winter induces, the Preserver of the world has provided in many animals by migration, in many others. by torpor. As one example out of a thousand; the bat, if it did not sleep through the winter, must have starved, as the moths and flying insects, upon which it feeds, disappear. But the P 170 INSTINCTS. transition from summer to winter carries us into the very midst of physical astronomy; that is to say, into the midst of those laws which govern the solar system at least, and probably all the heavenly bodies. —p— CHAPTER XVIII. INSTINCTS. 2 Tuer order may not be very obvious, by which I place instincts next to relations. But I consider them as a species of relation. They contribute, along with the ani- mal organization, to a joint effect, in which view they are related to that organization. In many cases, they refer from one animal to another animal; and when this is the case, become strictly relations in a second point of view. An INSTINCT is a propensity prior to experience, and 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 upon any other hypothesis than that of an instinet 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 feel in a particular part of her body, from the growth and so- lidity of the ege within her, could not possibly inform her, that she was about to produce something, which, when pro- INSTINCTS, UT in, duced, was to be preserved and taken care of. Prior to experience, there was nothing to lead to this inference, or to this suspicion. ‘The analogy was all against it; for, in every other instance, what issued from the body, was cast out and rejected. But, secondly, let us suppose the egg to be produced into day; how should birds know that their eggs contain their young? there is nothing, either in the aspect, or in the internal composition of an egg, which could lead even the most daring imagination to 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. Ifwe should go so far, as, from the appearance of order and distinction in the dis- position of the liquid substances which we noticed in the egg, to guess that it might be designed for the abode and nutriment of an animal, (which would be a very bold hy- pothesis, ) we should expect a tadpole dabbling in the slime, much rather than a dry, winged, feathered creature; a compound of parts and properties impossible to be used in a state of confinement in the egg, and bearing no conceiv- able relation, either in quality or material, to anything ob- served init. 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 our 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 ofa chick- en both would be, and ought to be, to a philosopher, 172 INSTINCTS. But admit the sparrow by some means to know, that within that egg was concealed the principle of a future bird, from what chemist was’she to learn, that warmth was necessary to bring it to maturity, or that the degree of warmth, imparted by the temperature of her own body, was the degree required? To suppose, therefore, that the female bird acts in this process from a sagacity and reason of her own, is to sup- pose her to arrive at conclusions which there are no prem- ises to justify. _If our sparrow, sitting upon her eggs, expect young sparrows to come out of them, she forms, I will venture to say, a wild and extravagant expectation, in opposition to present appearances, and to probability. She must have penetrated into the order of nature, 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, ‘‘ could not 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 nests, 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 sufficient to prove an instinct, without having recourse to experiments upon birds hatched by artificial heat, and deprived from their birth of alk communication with their species; for we can hardly bring ourselves to believe, that the parent bird informed her un- fledged pupil of the history of her gestation, her timely preparation of a nest, her exclusion of the eggs, her long incubation, and of the joyful eruption at last of her expected offspring; all which the bird in the cage must have learned in her infancy, if we resolve her conduct into institution, 7 INSTINCTS, 173 Unless we will rather suppose, that she remembers her own escape from the egg; had attentively observed the conformation of the nest 1n 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 callow 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- ject of instruction or of tradition, it should seem that this distinction would have formed part of the lesson; whereas the instinct of nature is calculated for a state of nature; the exception here alluded to taking place chiefly, if not solely, amongst domesticated fowls, in which nature is forced out of her course. There is another case of oviparous economy, which is still less likely to be the effect of education than it is even in birds, namely that of moths and butterfites, 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- tionto 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, will at a future period produce a living creature, not like p* 174 INSTINCTS. herself, but like the caterpillar, which she remembers herself once to have been. Under the influence ofthese 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 yourg, to be traced to some probable origin; still there is left to be accounted for, that which is the source and foundation of these phenomena, that which sets the whole at work, the orogyy, 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- philus equi) whose larve are destined to be nourished in the stomach and intestines of the horse! How shall the parent convey them there ? By a mode truly extraordinary—Flying round the animal she curiously poises her body while she 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 into 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 parts the horse is sure to lick.—Pazton. INSTINCTS, 175 young; yet, in her way, she is as careful in making provi- sion for them, as any other bird. She does not leave her egg in every 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 her return home. Moths and butterflies, as hath already been observed, seek out for their eggs those precise situations and sub- stances, in which the offspring caterpillar will find its ap- propriate food. ‘That dear caterpillar the parent butterfly must never see. ‘There are no experiments to prove that she would retain any knowledge of it, if she did. How shall we account for her conduct? I do not mean for her art and judgment in selecting and securing a maintenance for her young, but for the impulse upon which she acts. What should induce her to exert any art, or judgment, or choice, about the matter? The undisclosed grub, the ani- “mal which she is destined not to know, can hardly be the object of a particular affection, if we deny the influence of instinct. There is nothing, therefore, left to her, but that of which her nature seems incapable, an abstract anx- 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 diiferently 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; 1. e. that in each situa- tion she prepares against the danger which she has most occasion to apprehend: suppose, | 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 build at all? Nor does parental affection accompany generation by any universal law of animal organization, if such a thing were intelligible. Some animals cherish their progeny with the most ardent fondness, and the most assiduous attention; others entirely neglect them; and this distinction always meets the constitution of the young animal, with respect to its wants and capacities. In many, the parental care extends to the young animal; in others, as in all oviparous fish, it is confined to the 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 father * Goldsmith’s Nat. List. vol. iv. p. 244. INSTINCTS. 177 nor the mother, but by the neutral bee. Probably the case is the same with ants. I am not ignorant of the theory which resolves instinct into sensation; which asserts, that what appears to have a view and relation to the future, is the result only of the present disposition of the animal’s body, and of pleasure or pain experienced at the time. ‘Thus the incubation of eggs is accounted for by the pleasure which the bird is supposed to receive from the pressure of the smooth con- vex surface of the shells against the abdomen, or by the relief which the mild temperature of the egg may afford to the heat of the lower part of the body, which is observy- 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 it may be said, First, that of the cases which require solution, there are few 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 offer to suck, or to seek out any such food. What is the conclusion, but that the sugescent parts of animals are fitted for their use, and the knowledge of that use put into them? 178 INSTINCTS. -We assert, secondly, that, even as to the cases in which the hypothesis has the fairest claim to consideration, it does not at all lessen the force of the argument for inten- tion and design. ‘The doctrine of instincts is that of ap- petencies, superadded 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 upoa 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 which we see fulfilled by them; and the train of intermediate effects, as manifestly laid and planned with a view to that purpose; that is to say, design is as completely evinced by the phe- -komena, as it would be, even if we suppose the operations to begin, or to be carried on, from what some will allow to be alone properly called instincts, that is, from desires di- oy INSTINCTS. 179 rected to a future end, and having no accomplishment or gratification distinct from the attainment of that end. In a word; I should say to the patrons of this opinion, Be 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, ina 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 the 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 often found the female wasted to skin and bone by sitting upon her eggs. One observation more, and I will dismiss the subject. The pairing of birds, and the non-pairing of beasts, forms a distinction between the two classes, which shows that the conjugal instinct is modified with a reference to utility 180 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 and bring home which, in a sufficient quantity for the de- mand of a numerous brood, requires the industry of both parents. In this difference, we see a reason for the vagrant instinct of the quadruped, and for the faithful love of the feathered mate. ie CHAPTER XIX. OF INSECTS. We are not writing a system of natural history; there- - fore we have not attended to the classes into which the subjects of that science are distributed. What we had to observe concerning different species of animals, fell easily, for the most part, within the divisions which the course of our argument led us to adopt. There remain, however, some remarks upon the msect 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 antenna, [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 aclear, 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 wish 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 elytra, or scaly wings of the genus of scarabeus or beetle, furnish an example of this kind. The true wing of the animal! isa 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 rum 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- vure hath given to them; or to expand again their folds, when wanted for action. [Pl. XXXII. fig. 1.] in some insects, the elytra cover the whole body; in oth- ers, half; in others, only a small part of it; but in all, they completely hide and cover the true wings. [Pl. XXXII, ag ..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; an 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, I]. Another contrivance, equally mechanical and equal- ly clear, is the awl 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 hay- ing pierced the substance, they deposit their eggs in the hole. The descriptions which 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 Q 182 OF INSECTS. out at pleasure, for the purpose of making 4 puncture 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 gulier 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.* Inthe estrus 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? [Pl. XXXII. fig. 3, 4.] Ill. The sfings 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 msect, 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. In the next place, with respect to the mechanism, the sting is not a simple, but a compound instrument. The visible sting, though drawn to a point exquisitely sharp, is, in strictness, only a sheath; for, near to the extremity may be perceived by the microscope two minute orifices, from which orifices, in the act of stinging, and, as it should seem, after the point ‘ *'There are numerous variations in the structure of this organ; an exam- ple of the one just mentioned is seen in the ovipositor of the buprestis, Fig. 9. It consists of three long and sharp laminz, the two lateral ones forming a sheath to the intermediate one, which is the tube which conveys the ege, In some cases the instrument forms.a saw, or what Paley here calls a dentated stem, which conveys the eggs, as in the tenthredo, cicid@, cimbex, &c.—Paxton. ; OF INSECTS. 188 of the main sting has buried itself in the flesh, are launch- ed out two subtile rays, which may be called the true or proper stings, as being those through which the poison is infused into the puncture already made by the exterior sting. T 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. [ Pl. XXXII. fig. 5.] IV. The proboscis, with which many insects are en- dowed, comes next in order to be considered. (Pl. XXX. fig.6,7,8.] It is a tube attached to the headof 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, when not in use, is coiled up like a watch spring. In the same bee, the proboscis serves the office of the mouth, the insect 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 corolle, 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 antenne, 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 mtegu- 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 cular system, which supplies nutrition, growth, and life, to all of them together. VI. Almost all insects are oviparous. Nature keeps her butterflies, moths,’ and caterpillars, locked up during the winter in their egg state; and we have to admire the various devices to which, if we may so speak, the same nature hath resorted, for the security of the egg. Many insects enclose their eggs 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 they 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. Inall 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, perhaps, 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. [Pl. XX XIII. fig. 1.] They wind round the intestine; when drawn out, they are ten inches in length, though the animal itself be only two. Within these bags is collected a glue; and communicating with the bags, are two paps or outlets, perforated, like a grater, by a number of small holes. The glue or gum, being pass- % Q 186 OF INSECTS. ed through 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 the thread through the holes above described, by an operation, as hath been observed, exactly similar to the drawing of wire. The thread, like the wire, is formed by the hole through which it passes. In one respect there is a dif- ference. The wire is the metal unaltered, except in figure. In the animal process, the nature of the substance is some- ~ what changed as well as the form; for, as it exists within the insect, it is a soft clammy gum or glue. The thread acquires, it is probable, its firmness and tenacity from the action of the air upon its surface, in the moment of expo- sure; and a thread so fine is almost all surface. This property, however, of the paste is part of the contrivance. [Pl. XX XIII. 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 1s 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. Il. 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 relation which obtains between the wax and the honey. No per- son who has inspected a bee-hive, can forbear remarking how ecommodiously the honey is bestowed in the comb, and, amongst other advantages, how effectually the fermenta- tion of the honey is prevented by distributing it into small cells, ‘The fact is, that when the honey is separated from 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 anicety; but, independently of any nicety in the matter, I would ask, what could the bee do with the honey if it had not the wax? how, at least, could it store it up for winter? The wax, therefore, an- swers a purpose with respect to the honey; and the honey constitutes that purpose with respect to the wax. This is the relation between them. But the two substances, though together of the greatest use, and without each other of 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 isa ductile, te- nacious paste, made out of a dry powder, not simply bys 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. If. 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. XXXII. 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 six feet, (I do not remember that he describes the species,) the pair next the head and the pair next the tail, have brushes at their extremities, with which the fly dresses, as there may be occasion, the anterior or the posterior part of its body; but that the middle pair have no such brushes, the situation of these legs not admitting of the brushes, if they were there, being converted to the same use. This is a very ex- act mechanical distinction. . V. Ifthe reader, looking to our distributions of science; wish to contemplate the chemistry, as well as the mechan- ism of nature, the insect creation will afford him an ex- ample. Irefer 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. [Pl. XX XIII. 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 never 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- died; 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. Ner is the last the only instance that entomology affords, in which our discoveries, or rather our projects, turn out to be imitations of nature. Some years ago, a *Vol. i. p. 342, OF INSECTS. 189 plan was suggested, of producing propulsion by reaction in this way: By the force of a steam-engine, a stream of water was to be shot out of the stern of a boat; the im- pulse of which stream upon the water in the river, was to , push the boat itself forward; it is, in truth, the principle | by which sky-rockets ascend in the air. Of the use or practicability of the plan, I am not speaking; nor is it my concern to praise its ingenuity: but it is certainly a con- 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, 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. [Pl]. XX XIII. fig. 6.) _ VII. Again: Europe has lately been surprised by the elevation of bodies in the air by means ofa 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 spiders 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 er 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 watt- ed on her thread, sustained by a levity not her own, and | traversing regions, which, if we examined only the body of the anima], 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 coyered by shells, , J, 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 proper retreats, their hybernacula also, or winter-quarters, but the snail carries these about with him. He travels with his tent; and this tent, though, as was necessary, both light and thin, is completely impervious either to moisture or air. The young snail comes out of its egg with the shell upon its back; and the gradual enlargement which the shell receives, is derived from the slime excreted by the animal’s skin. Now the aptness of this excretion to the purpose, its property of hardening into ashell, 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 hkewise 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 inte 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 exsiccation, like the drying of clay into bricks. : OF INSECTS. 193 If. In the bivalve order of shell-fish, cockles, muscles, oysters, &c. 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 pursued 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, | 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. rnultitude of species which the microscope discovers, that we are struck with what Cicero has called ‘‘the wsatiable 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 sects, 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, [Pl. X XXIII. fig. 7,] but through holes in the sides,) the nymphs of gnats have an apparatus to raise their backs to the top of the water, and so take breath. (Pl. XXXIII. fig. 8.] The hydrocanthari do the like by thrusting their tails out of the water.[ The maggot of the eruca labra [Pl. XX XIII. fig. 9,] has a long tail, one part sheathed within another, (but which it can draw out at pleasure,) with a starry tuft at the end, by which tuft, when expanded upon the surface, the insect both supports 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.—Ep. . + Derham, p. 7. OF PLANTS. 193 shock,* and, as is credibly related of some animals, of driving away their pursuers by an intolerable foetor, or of blackening the water through which they are pursued.T The consideration of these appearances might induce us to believe, that variety itself, distinct from every other reason, was a2 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 animal appetites. For the final cause of this we have not far to seek. Did all animals covet the same element, retreat, or food, it is evident how much fewer could be supplied and accommodated, 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 isatreat to dogs, ravens, vultures, fish. The exhalations of corrupted substances attract flies by crowds. Maggots revel in putrefaction. —ga—— CHAPTER XX. OF PLANTS. i rink 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, gymnotus electricus, and some other fish, have a curious apparatus of nerves, which in its effects may be compared to an electrical battery. In the first named fish, the electrical organs are situated between the head and the pectoral fins. When the integu- ments are raised the organ appears, consisting of some hundred pentagonal and hexagonal cells, filled with a glairy fluid. Minute blood-vessels are dispersed over it, and its nerves are of extraordinary size. When the hand is applied to the electrical organs, a benumbing effect is instantly felt in the fingers and the arm. When caught in a net, it has been known to give a violent shock to the hands of the fisherman who ventures to seize it. Phil. Trans. 1816, p. 120. Ibid. 1817, p. 32.—Pazton. + The several species of sepie or cuttle fish have this faculty. They possess a bag situated on, or near the liver, called the ink-bag, from its containing a black fluid, the contents of which 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 jit.—Jb. R 194 OF PLANTS. stronger is at hand. There are, however, a few observa- tions upon the vegetable kingdom, which lie so direetly in our way, that it would be improper to pass by themy 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 preserving of it until ié 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 anthera, the stamina, and the stigmata. These parts are usually lodged in the cen- tre, the recesses, or the labyrinths of the flower; during their tender and immature state, are shut up in the stalk, or sheltered in the bud: as soon as they have acquired firmness of texture sufficient to bear exposure, and are ready to perform the important office which is assigned to them, they are disclosed to the light and air, by the burst- ing of the stem, or the expansion of the petals; after which, they have, in many cases, by the very form_of the flower during its blow, the light and warmth reflected upon thenz from the concave side of the cup. What is ealled also the sleep * of plants, is the leaves or petals ‘imal pric themselves * «