PALEY’S THEOLOGY, WITH ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 NATURAL THEOLOGY: 
 
 OK, 
 
 EVIDENCES 
 
 OF THE EXISTENCE AND ATTRIBUTES OF THE DEITY. 
 COLLECTED FROM THE APPEARANCES 
 OF NATURE, 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM PALEY, D. D. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY 
 
 THE PLATES, AND BY A SELECTION FROM THE NOTES 
 
 OF 
 
 JAMES PAXTON. 
 
 WITH 
 
 ADDITIONAL NOTES, ORIGINAL AND SELECTED, FOR THIS EDITION, 
 AND A VOCABULARY OF SCIENTIFIC TERMS. 
 
 BY JOHN WARE, M. D. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 aOUED AND LINCOLN, 
 
 59 'WASHINGTOtT STREET. 
 
 NEW YORK: SHELDON AND COMPANY. 
 CINCINNATI : GEO. S. BLANCHARD, 
 1860 . 
 
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1854, by 
 GOULD AND LINCOLN, 
 
 In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of Massaebaaottn 
 
 PUBLISHERS’ NOTICE. 
 
 Several years since the publishers of this valuable and very popnlaf 
 work engaged the services of Dr. John Ware, of this city, to prepare an 
 improved edition, by the addition of forty elegant pages of the illustra- 
 tions of Paxton, “with references to the same in the- text; extensive 
 notes, original and selected ; a vocabulary of scientific terms, etc. ; with 
 a view of adapting it more perfectly to the wants of our colleges and 
 schools, so as thereby to increase its circulation and usefulness. 
 
 The sale, with these additions and improvements, has been gradually 
 on the increase, until it has become very generally introduced into our 
 best schools and colleges throughout the country ; and having passed 
 through some forty or more editions, the publishers found the plates, by 
 constant use, very much worn, and in some cases imperfect. They 
 have consequently procured an entirely new and beautiful set of illus- 
 trations, which, with other improvements, render the work all that can 
 be desired, and in view of which they anticipate a wider and still more 
 extensive sale of the work. 
 
 Boston, January, 1854. 
 
 rmiTTED BT 
 
 GEORGE C. RAND & AVERY. 
 
PKEFACE 
 
 TO THE 
 
 REVISED AMERICAN EDITION. 
 
 The present edition of the Natural Theology of Dr. Paley was under* 
 taken witn the view of making this admhable work more extensively 
 useful than it could ever be under the form in which it has been usually 
 circulated. A great proportion of those who have read it must have sensi 
 bly felt the disadvantage under which they labor in comprehending the 
 descriptions; and of course the arguments of the author, from the want 
 of jL knowledge of the subjects to which they relate. No man could so 
 well supply the want of this knowledge, by clearness of statement and 
 description, as Dr. Paley; and it is probable that fevV other writers would 
 have made a book so intelligible, which relates to subjects remote from 
 common observation, without the aid of plates and illustrations. Still it 
 must be imperfectly comprehended in many important parts, except by 
 those acquainted with the sciencqs from which his illustrations are drawn. 
 Enough it is true may be understood by all, to carry them along with the 
 argument, and produce a general conviction of its truth. But the concep- 
 tions even of professional readers would be much more clear, definite, and 
 satisfactory, were the description aided by visible representations. 
 
 It was the original design of the publishers to have merely attached the 
 plates and references of Paxton, which have been published in England 
 and in this country in a separate volume, to the text of Dr. Paley. It 
 was, however, suggested to them that the value of their edition might be 
 increased by the addition of Notes, and they had made arrangements for 
 this purpose and were going on with the work, when Mr. Paxton’s edition 
 of tho Natural Theology fell into their hands, containing, beside the 
 plates, a considerable number of Notes. From these Notes a selection has 
 made of such as seemed most valuable and interesting. A number 
 of Notes have also been made up of quotations from the excellent treatise 
 of Mr. Charles Bell on Animal Mechanics, published in the Library of 
 L^scful Knowledge ; a tract which cannot be too highly recommended 
 ^ fo the perusal of those who take pleasure in studying the indications of a 
 ^ wise and benevolent Providence in the works of creation. 
 
 A few additional Notes have also been subjoined, which have not b»®^ 
 before published. 
 
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 foi 
 valuable additions to it. It will readily appear, however, upon reflection,, 
 that this is not likely to be the case, and that no particular advantage to 
 the argument is to be expected from bringing it down, as it is often ex- 
 pressed, to the present state of science. The object of the work is, not 
 to teach science in its connexion with Natural Theology, a plan entirely 
 different, and one upon which distinct works may, and have been written, 
 but to gather materials from the knowledge communicated by science, 
 wherewith to construct an argument for the existence and attributes of 
 God. The excellence of such a work, then, will not consist in the num- 
 ber of illustrations, or in the copiousness and completeness of the materi- 
 als, but in the judgment with which they are selected, and the aptness 
 with which they are made to bear upon the question at issue. 
 
 So far, therefore, as the argument is concerned, no additional strengtn 
 will be given to it by new discoveries in science. As Dr. Paley has him- 
 self admitted, a single case thoroughly made out, proves all that can be 
 proved, and, generally speaking, the most familiar instances which can 
 be selected and made intelligible are the best for this purpose, and will 
 have the greatest influence upon men’s minds. All the knowledge, there- 
 fore, which is necessary for the completeness and strength of the argu- 
 ment was possessed long ago. 
 
 Still there is an advantage in selecting and arguing from a variety of 
 examples, arising out of the different constitutions of men’s minds, or 
 their different habits of thinking and reasoning. Some are more affected 
 by examples of one kind, and some by those of another. In this way 
 much more might be done in the way of illustrating and enforcing the 
 argument, and holding it up in every possible light, than has been attempt- 
 ed in the present edition. The principal object here had in view, has 
 been to make such additions, as with the help of the engraved views, 
 would bring the argument, as stated by the author, clearly within reach 
 of all readers. 
 
 To give a correct edition, various English and American copies have 
 been consulted, in which variations have been found; but those readings 
 have been adopted, which appeared best to comport with that familiarity, 
 and originality of expression, which gives its principal charm, and its 
 great force and clearness to Dr Paley’s style. 
 
 J W 
 
TO THE 
 
 RIGHT HONORABLE AND RIGHT REVEREND 
 
 S H U T E BARRINGTON, L L. IK 
 
 LORD BISHOP OF DURHAM. 
 
 MY LORD, 
 
 The following work was undertaken at your Lordship’s recom- 
 mendation; and amongst other motives, for the purpose of making the 
 most acceptable return I could make for a great and important benefit 
 conferred upon me. 
 
 It may be unnecessary, yet not perhaps, quite impertinent, to state to 
 your Lordship and to the reader, the several inducements that have led 
 me once more to the press. The favor of my first and ever honored 
 patron had put me in possession of so liberal a provision in the church, as 
 abundantly to satisfy my wants, and much to exceed my pretensions. 
 Your Lordship’s munificence, in conjunction with that of some other ex- 
 cellent Prelates, who regarded my services with the partiality with 
 which your Lordship was pleased to consider them, hath since placed me 
 in ecclesiastical situations, more than adequate to every object of reason- 
 able ambition. In the meantime, a weak, and, of late, a painful state 
 of health, deprived me of the power of discharging the duties of my sta- 
 vion, in a manner at all suitable, either to my sense of those duties, or to 
 my most anxious wishes concerning them. My inability for the public 
 functions of my profession, amongst other consequences, left me much at 
 leisure. That leisure was not to be lost. It was only in my study that I 
 could repair my deficiencies in the church. It was only through the press 
 Inat I could speak. These circumstances, in particular, entitled your 
 Lordship to call upon me for the only species of exertion of which I was 
 capable, and disposed me, without hesitation, to obey the call in the best 
 manner that I could. In the choice of a subject I had no place left for 
 doubt : in saying which, I do not so much refer, either to the supreme 
 importance of the subject, or to any skepticism concerning it with which 
 the present times are charged, as I do, to its connexion with the subjects 
 treated of in my former publications. The following discussion alone was 
 wanted to make up my works into a system : in which works, such as 
 they are, the public have now before them, the 3vidence3 of natural reli- 
 
 A 
 
2 
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 gion, the evidences of revealed religion, and an account of the duties that 
 result from both. It is of small importance, that they have been written 
 in an order, the very reverse of that in which they ought to be read. I 
 commend therefore the present volume to your Lordship’s protection, not 
 only as, in all probability, my last labor, but as the completion of a con 
 sistent and comprehensive design. 
 
 Hitherto, my Lord, I have been speaking of myself and not of my Pa- 
 tron. Your Lordship wants not the testimony of a dedication, nor any 
 testimony from me : I consult therefore the impulse of my own mind 
 alone when I declare, that in no respect has my intercourse with your 
 Lordship been more gratifying to me, than in the opportunities, which 
 it has afforded me, of observing your earnest, active, and unwearied 
 solicitude, for the advancement of substantial Christianity: a solicitude, 
 nevertheless, accompanied with that candor of mind, which suffers no 
 subordinate differences of opinion, when there is a coincidence in the main 
 intention and object, to produce an alienation of esteem, or diminution of 
 favor. It is fortunate for a country, and honorable to its government, 
 when qualities and dispositions like these are placed in high and influential 
 stations. Such is the sincere judgment which I have formed of your 
 Lordship’s character, and of its public value: my personal obligations I 
 can never forget. Under a due sense of both these considerations, 1 beg 
 leave to subscribe myself, with great respect and gratitude, 
 
 My Lord, 
 
 Your Lordship’s faithful 
 
 And most devoted servant, 
 
 WILLIAM PALEY 
 
TO THE 
 
 HONORABLE AND RIGHT REVEREND 
 
 SHUTE BARRINGTON, LL. D 
 
 LORD BISHOP OF DURHAM. 
 
 MY LORD, 
 
 To your suggestion the world is indebted for the existence of Dr. 
 Paley’s valuable work on Natural Theology. The universal and perma- 
 nent esteem in which it has been held in this country, and its favorable 
 reception in France, even after the desolating influence of the Revolution, 
 have abundantly approved your Lordship’s selection both of the subject 
 and of the person to whom you intrusted it. 
 
 In looking round, then, for a patron for these Illustrations, it was 
 natural to have recourse to him who was the original suggcstor of the 
 work which it is their object to explain. Nor was I disappointed in my 
 wish; your Lordship not only condescending to approve of the design, 
 but to encourage me in its prosecution, by your very liberal support. 
 For this distinguished honor you will believe me deeply sensible ; and 
 if I may indulge the hope that my humble efforts will increase the utility 
 of so eminent a v, liter, I shall consider it the highest gratification. 
 
 I am, my Lord, 
 
 With great veneration. 
 
 Your Lordship’s most obliged. 
 
 And obedient servant. 
 
 JAMES PAXTON. 
 
Chapter 
 
 1. State of the Argument, . • • • • 
 
 2. Stale of the Argument, continued, • • • 
 
 3. Application of the Argument, • • • • 
 
 4. Of the succession of Plants and Animals, • • • 
 
 5. AppJ'cation of the Argument, continued, • • • • 
 
 6. The Argument cumulative, . . • • • 
 
 7. Of the mechanical and immechanical parts and functions of 
 
 Animals and Vegetables, 
 
 8. Of mechanical Arrangement in the human Frame— Of the 
 
 Bones, 
 
 9. Of the Muscles, 
 
 10. Of the Vessels of animal Bodies, .... 
 
 11. Of the animal Structure, regarded as a Mass, . • 
 
 12. Comparative Anatomy, 
 
 13. Peculiar Organizations, 
 
 14. Prospective Contrivances, . . • • • • 
 
 15. Relations, . . ..••••• 
 
 16. Compensation, . 
 
 17. The Relation of animated Bodies to inanimate Nature, 
 
 IS. Instincts, ....... 
 
 19 Of Insects, • 
 
 20 Of Plants, • 
 
 21 Of the Elements, .... • . . 
 
 22 Astronomy, ....•••• 
 
 23. Personality of the Deity, . . ... 
 
 24. Of the Natural Attributes of the Deity, • • . 
 
 25. The Unity of the Deity, • . • 
 
 26. The Goov^ness of the Deity, ..... 
 
 27. Conclusim, . . * • • ; • 
 
 Vocabulary, 
 
 Pag* 
 
 5 
 
 8 
 
 IS 
 
 31 
 
 35 
 
 44 
 
 45 
 
 52 
 
 74 
 
 90 
 
 109 
 
 122 
 
 137 
 
 145 
 
 149 
 
 157 
 
 166 
 
 170 
 
 180 
 
 193 
 
 207 
 
 212 
 
 229 
 
 246 
 
 249 
 
 252 
 
 292 
 
 299 
 
NATURAL THEOLOGY 
 
 t 
 
 CHAPTER 1. 
 
 STATE OF THE ARGUMENT. 
 
 In crossing a heath, suppose I pitched my foot against 
 a stonsy and were asked how the stone came to be tliere; 
 I might possibly answer, that, for anything I knew to the 
 contrary, it had lain there forever: nor would it perhaps 
 oe very easy to show the absurdity of this answer. But 
 suppose I had found a walcli upon the ground, and it 
 should be inquired how the watch happened to be in that 
 place; I should hardly think of the answer which I had be- 
 fore given, that, for anything I knew, the watch might 
 have always been there. Yet why should not this answer 
 serve for the watch as well as for the stone? Why is it 
 not as admissible in the second case, as in the first? For 
 this reason, and for no other, viz. that, when we come to 
 inspect the watch, we perceive (what we could not dis- 
 cover in the stone) that its several parts are framed and put 
 together for a purpose, e. g. that they are so formed and ad- 
 justed as to produce motion, and that motion so regulated 
 as to point out the hour of the day; that if the different 
 parts had been differently shaped from what they are, of a 
 dilTerent size from what they are, or placed after any otlier 
 manner, or in any other order, than that in which they 
 are placed, either no motion at all would have been carried 
 on in the machine, or none which would have answered the 
 use that is now served by it. To reckon up a few of the 
 plainest of these parts, and of their offices, all tending to ono 
 result: [See Plate L] — We see a cylindrical box containing 
 a coiled elastic spring, which, by its endeavor to relax itself, 
 turns round the box. We next observe a flexible chain (ar- 
 tificially wrought for the sake of flexure) communicating the 
 action of 4 he sj ring from the box to the fusee. We then 
 
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 inference, we think, is inevitable ; that the 
 watch must have had a maker ; that there must have exist- 
 ed, at sometime, and at some place or other, an artificer or 
 artificers, who formed it for the purpose which we find it 
 actually to answer ; who comprehended its construction, 
 and designed its use. 
 
 I. Nor would it, I apprehend, weaken the conclusion, 
 that we had never seen a watch made: that we had never 
 known an artist capable of making one ; that we were alto- 
 gether incapable of executing such a piece of workman- 
 ship ourselves, or of understanding in what manner it was 
 performed ; all this being no more than what is true of some 
 exquisite remains of ancient art, of some lost arts, and, to 
 the generality of mankind, of the more curious produc- 
 tions of modern manufacture. Does one man in a million 
 know how oval frames are turned.^ Ignorance of this kind 
 exalts oi.ir opinion of the unseen and unknown artist’s sldll, 
 if he be unseen and unknown, but raises no doubt in our 
 minds of the existence and agency of such an artist, at 
 some former time, and in some place or other. Nor can 
 I perceive that it varies at all the inference, whether the 
 question arise concerning a human agent, or concerning an 
 agent of a diflerent species, or an agent possessing, in 
 some respects, a different nature. 
 
 II. Neither, secondly, would it invalidate our conclu- 
 sion, that the watch sometimes went wrong, or that it sel- 
 dom went exactly right. The purpose of the machinery, 
 the design and the designer, might be evident, and in the 
 case supposed would be evident, in whatever we ac- 
 
STATE OF THE ARGUMENT. 
 
 7 
 
 counted for the irregularity of the movement, or whether 
 we could account for it or not. Jt is not necessary that a 
 machine be perfect, in order to show with what design it 
 was made: still less necessary, where the only question is, 
 whether it were made with any design at all. 
 
 III. Nor, thirdly, would it bring any uncertainty into the 
 argument, if there were a few parts of the watch, concern- 
 ing which we could not discover, or had not yet discovered, 
 in what manner they conduced to the general effect; or 
 even some parts, concerning which we could not ascci- 
 tain whether they conduced to that effect in any manner 
 whatever. For, as to the first branch of the case; if by 
 the loss, or disorder, or decay of the parts in question, the 
 movement of the watch were found in fact to be stopped, 
 or disturbed, or retarded, no doubt would remain in our 
 minds as to the utility or intention of these parts, although 
 we should be unable to investigate the manner according 
 to which, or the connexion by which, the ultimate effect 
 depended upon their action or assistance ; and the more 
 complex is the machine, the more likely is this obscurity to 
 arise. Then, as to the second thing supposed, namely, 
 that there were parts which might be spared, without pre- 
 judice to the movement of the watch, and that we had prov- 
 ed this by experiment — these superfluous parts, even if we 
 were completely assured that they were such, would not 
 vacate the reasoning which we had instituted concerning 
 other parts. The indication of contrivance remained, with 
 respect to them, nearly as it was before. 
 
 IV. Nor, fourthly, would any man in his senses think 
 the existence of the watch, with its various machinery, ac- 
 counted for, by being told that it was one out of possible 
 combinations of material forms; that whatever he had 
 found in the place where he found the watch, nust have 
 contained some internal configuration or other; and that 
 this configuration might be the structure now exhibited, 
 viz. of the works of a watch, as well as a different structure. 
 
 V. Nor, fifthly, would it yield his inquiry more satisfac- 
 tion to be answered, that there existed in things a principle 
 of order, which had disposed the parts of the watch into 
 their present form and situation. He never knew a watch 
 made by the principle of order; nor can he even foim to 
 himself an idea of what is meant by a principle of order 
 distinct from the intelligence of the watchmaker. 
 
 VI. Sixthly, he would be surprised to hear that the 
 mechanism of the watch was no proof of contrivance, only 
 a motive t'^ induce the mind to think so. 
 
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 areffiolh dis- 
 tinct from itself, the laiu does nothing; is nothing. The 
 expression, ‘The law of metallic nature,’’ may sound strange 
 and harsh to a philosophic ear; but it seems quite as justi- 
 hahle as some others which are more familiar to him, such 
 as “the law of vegetable nature,” “ the law of animal na- 
 ture,” or indeed as “the law of nature” in general, when 
 assigned as the cause of phenomena, in exclusion of agen- 
 cy and power; Dr when it is substituted into the place of 
 these. 
 
 VIII. Neither, lastly, would our observer be driven out 
 of his conclusion, or from his confidence in its truth, by 
 being told that he knew nothing at all about the matter. 
 He knows enough for his argument. He knows the utility 
 of the end: he knows the subserviency and adaptation of the 
 means to the end. These points being known, his igno- 
 rance of other points, his doubts concerning other points, 
 affect not the certainty of his reasoning. The conscious- 
 ness of knowing little need not beget a distrust of that 
 which he does know. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 STATE OF THE ARGUMENT CONTINUED. 
 
 Suppose, in the next place, that the person wffio found 
 the watch, should, after sometime, discover, that, in ad- 
 dition to all the properties which he had hitherto observed 
 in it, it possessed the unexpected property of producing, 
 in the course of its movement, another watch like itself, 
 (the thing is conceivable;) that it contained within it a 
 mechanism, a system of parts, a mould for instance, or a 
 complex adjustment of lathes, files, and other tools, evident- 
 ly and separately calculated for this purpose; let us in- 
 quire, what effect ought such adiscoi ery to have uoon his 
 forme conclus DU. 
 
STATE OF THE ARGUMENT. 
 
 9 
 
 I. The first cfiect would be to increase his admiration 
 of the contrivance, and his conviction of the consummate 
 skill of ’'he contriver. Whether he regarded the ob- 
 ject of f.ie contrivance, the distinct apparatus, the intri- 
 cate, yet in many parts intelligible mechanism, by which 
 it was carried on, he would perceive, in this new observa- 
 tion, nothing but an additional reason for doing what he 
 had already done, — for referring the construction of the 
 watch to design, and to supreme art. If that construction 
 luiZ/iownhis property, or, which is the same thing, before 
 this property had been noticed, proved intention and art 
 to have been employed about it, still more strong would 
 the proof appear, when he came to the knowledge of this 
 farther property, the crown and perfection of all the rest. 
 
 II. He would reflect, that though the watch before him 
 were, in some sense^ the maker of the watch which was 
 fabricated in the course of its movements, yet it was in a 
 very difterent sense from that in which a carpenter, for 
 instance, is the maker of a chair ; the author of its con- 
 trivance, the cause of the relation of its parts to their use. 
 With respect to these, the first watch was no cause at all 
 to the second: in no such sense as this was it the author 
 of the constitution and order, either of the parts which 
 the new watch contained, or of the parts by the aid and 
 instrumentality of which it was produced. We might ’pos- 
 sibly say, but with great latitude of expression, that a 
 stream of water ground corn ; but no latitude of expres- 
 sion would allow us to say, no stretch of conjecture could 
 lead us to think, that the stream of water built the mill, 
 though it were too ancient for us to know who the builder 
 was. What the stream of water does in the affair, is 
 neither more nor less than this ; by the application of an 
 unintelligent impulse to a mechanism previously arranged, 
 arranged independently of it, and arranged by intelligence, 
 an effect is produced, viz. the corn is ground. But the 
 effect results from the arrangement. The force of tlie 
 st'*eam cannot be said to be the cause or author of txie 
 eflect, still less of the arrangement. Understanding and 
 plan in the formation of the mill were not the less neces* 
 sary, for any share which the water has in grinding the 
 corn; yet is this share the same as that which the watch 
 would have contributed to the production of the new watch, 
 upon the supposition assumed in the last section. There- 
 fore, 
 
 III. Though it be now no longer probable, that the 
 individual watch which our < bserve:; had found was made 
 
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 n:)w than they were before. In the same thing, we 
 may ask for the cause of different properties. We may 
 ask for the cause of the color of a body, of its hardness, of 
 its heat; and these causes may be all different. We are 
 now asking for the cause of that subserviency to a ase, 
 that relation to an end, which we have remarked in the 
 watch before us. No answer is given to this question by 
 telling us that a preceding watch produced it. There can- 
 not be design without a designer; contrivance, without a 
 contriver; order, without choice; arrangement, without 
 anything capable of arranging; subserviency and relation 
 to a purpose, without that which could intend a purpose; 
 means suitable to an end, and executing their office in 
 accomplishing that end, without the end ever having been 
 contemplated, or the means accommodated to it. Arrange- 
 ment, disposition of parts, subserviency of means to an end, 
 relation of instruments to a use, imply the presence of in- 
 telligence and mind. No one, therefore, can rationally be- 
 lieve, that the insensible, inanimate watch, from which the 
 watch before us issued, was the proper cause of the me- 
 chanism we so much admire in it; — could be truly said to 
 have constructed the instrument, disposed its parts, assign 
 ed their office, determined their order, action, and mutual 
 dependency, combined their several motions into one re- 
 sult, and that also a result connected with the utilities of 
 other beings. All these properties, therefore, are as much 
 unaccounted for as they were before. 
 
 IV. Nor is anything gained by running the difficulty 
 farther back, i. e. by supposing the watch before us to have 
 been produced from another watch, that from a former, 
 and so on indefinitely. Our going back ever so far brings 
 us no nearer to the least degree of satisfaction upon the 
 subject. Contrivance is still unaccounted for. We still 
 want a contriver. A designing mind is neither supplied 
 by this supposition, nor dispensed with. If the difficulty 
 were diminished the farther we went back, by going back 
 indefinitely we might exhaust it. And this is the only 
 case to which this sort of reasoning applies. Where there 
 is a tendency, or, as we increase the number of terms, a 
 continual approach towards a limit, ihere, by supposing the 
 number of terms to be what is ^ ailed infinite, we may con- 
 
STATE OF THE ARGUMENT 
 
 11 
 
 ceive the limit to be attained: but where there is n j such 
 tendency, or approach, nothing is effected by lengthening 
 the series. There is no difference, as to the point in ques- 
 tion, (whatever there may be as to many points,) between 
 one series and another; between a series which is finite, 
 and a series which is infinite. A chain, composed of an 
 infinite number of links, can no more support itself, than 
 a chain composed of a finite number of links. And of this 
 wc are assured, (though we never can have tried the ex- 
 periment,) because, by inci easing the number of links, 
 from ten, for instance, to a hundred, from a hundred to a 
 thousand, Slc. we make not the smallest approach, we ob- 
 serve not the smallest tendency, towards self-support. 
 There is no difference in this respect (yet there may be 
 a great difference in several respects) between a chain of 
 a greater or less length, between one chain and another, 
 between one that is finite and one that is infinite. 
 This very much resembles the case before us. The 
 machine which we are inspecting demonstrates, by its 
 construction, contrivance and design. Contrivance must 
 have had a, contriver; design, a designer; whether the 
 machine immediately proceeded from another machine or 
 not. That circumstance alters not the case. That other 
 machine may, in like manner, have proceeded from a for- 
 mer machine: nor does that alter the case; contrivance 
 must have had a contriver. That former one from one 
 preceding it: no alteration still; a contriver is still neces- 
 sary. No tendency is perceived, no approach towards a 
 diminution of thi^ necessity. It is the same with any and 
 every succession of these machines; a succession of ten, 
 of a hundred, of a thousand; with one series as with an- 
 other; a series which is finite, as with a series which is 
 infinite. In whatever other respects they may differ, in 
 this they do not. In all, equally, ccntrivaiice and design 
 are unaccounted for. 
 
 The question is not simply. How came the first watch 
 into existence? which question, it may be pretended, is 
 done away by supposing the series of watches thus pro- 
 duced from one another to have been infinite, and conse- 
 quently to have had no such first, for which it was neces- 
 sary to provide a cause. This, perhaps, would have been 
 nearly the state of the question, if nothing had been before 
 us but an unorganized, unmechanized substance, without 
 mark or indication of contrivance. It might be difficult tG 
 show that such substance could not have existed from eter- 
 nity, either in succession (if it were possible, which I think 
 
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. If it be said, that, upon 
 the supposition of one watch being produced from another 
 in the course of that other's movements, and by means of 
 the mechanism within it, we have a cause for the watch in 
 my hand, viz. the watch from which it proceeded: I deny, 
 that for the design, the contrivance, the suitableness of 
 means to an end, the adaptation of instruments to a use, (all 
 which we discover in a watch,) we have any cause what- 
 ever. It is in vain, therefore, to assign a series of such 
 causes, or to allege that a series may be carried back to 
 infinity; for I do not admit that we have yet any cause at 
 all of the phenomena, still less any series of causes eithei 
 finite or infinite. Here is contrivance, but no contriver; 
 proofs of design, but no designer. 
 
 V. Our observer would farther also reflect, that the 
 maker of the watch before him, was, in truth and reality, 
 the maker of every watch produced from it; there being 
 no difference (except that the latter manifests a more ex- 
 quisite skill) between the making of another watch with 
 his own hands, by the mediation of files, lathes, chisels, &c. 
 and the disposing, fixing, and inserting of these instru- 
 ments, or of others equivalent to them, in the body of the 
 watch already made, in such a manner as to form a new 
 watch in the course of the movements which he had given 
 to the old one. It is only working by one set of tools in- 
 stead of another. 
 
 The conclusion which the first examination of the watch, 
 of its works, construction, and movement, suggested, was, 
 that it must have had, for the cause and author of that con- 
 struction, an artificer, who understood its mechanism, and 
 designed its use. This conclusion is invincible. A second 
 examination presents us with a new discovery. The watch 
 
. “ APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT. 
 
 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 hive, upon our former inference? What, as hath al- 
 ready been said, but to increase, beyond measure, our ad- 
 miration of the skill which had been employed in the for- 
 mation of such a machine! Or shall it, instead of Inis, 
 all at once turn us round to an opposite conclusion, viz 
 that no art or skill whatever has been concerned in the 
 business, although all other evidences of art and skill re- 
 main as they were, and this last and supreme piece of art 
 be now added to the rest? Can this be maintained with- 
 out absurdity? Yet this is atheism. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT. 
 
 This is atheism: for every indication of contrivance, ev- 
 ery manifestation of design, which existed in the watch, ex- 
 ists in the works of nature; with the difference, on the side 
 of nature, of being greater and more, and that in a degree 
 which exceeds all computation. I mean, that the contriv- 
 ances of nature surpass the contrivances of art, in the com- 
 plexity, subtilty, and curiosity of the mechanism; and still 
 more, if possible, do they go beyond them in number an^^ 
 variety: yet, in a multitude of cases, are not less evidently 
 mechanical, not less evidently contrivances, not less evi- 
 dently accommodated to their end, or suited to their office, 
 than are the most perfect productions of human ingenuity. 
 
 I know no better method of introducing so large a sub- 
 ject, than that of comparing a single thing with a single thing ; 
 an eye, for example, with a telescope. As far as the ex- 
 amination of the instrument goes, there is precisely the 
 same proof that the eye was made for vision, as there is 
 that the telescope was made for assisting it. They arc 
 made upon the same principles; both being adjusted to the 
 laws by which the transmission and refraction of rays of 
 light are regulated. I speak not of the origin of the laws 
 themselves; but such laws being fixed, the construction, 
 in both cases, is adapted to them. For instance; these 
 laws require, in order to produce the same effect, that the 
 'cays of light, in passing from water into the eye, should be 
 
 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, is much 
 rounder than the eye of terrestrial animals. [Plate II. fig. 1.] 
 What plainer manifestation of design can there be than this 
 difference ? What could a mathematical instrument-maker 
 have done more, to snow his knowledge of his principle, 
 his application of that knowledge, his suiting of his means 
 to his end; I will not say to display the compass or excel* 
 lejice of his skill and art, for in these all comparison is 
 indecorous, but to testify counsel, choice, consideration, 
 purpose ? 
 
 To some it may appear a difference sufficient to destroy 
 all similitude between the eye and the telescope, that the 
 one is a perceiving organ, the other an unperceiving instru- 
 ment. The fact is, that they are both instruments. And, 
 as to the mechanism, at least as to mechanism being em- 
 ployed, and even as to the kind of it, this circumstance va- 
 ries not the analogy at all. For, observe what the consti- 
 tution of the eye is. [Plate II. fig. 2.] It is necessary, in 
 order to produce distinct vision, that an image or picture of 
 the object be formed at the bottom of the eye. Whence this 
 necessity arises, or how the picture is connected with the 
 sensation, or contributes to it, it may be difficult, nay we 
 will confess, if you please, impossible for us to search out. 
 But the present question is not concerned in the inquiry. It 
 may be true, that, in this, and in other instances, we trace 
 mechanical contrivance a certain way; and. that then we 
 come to something which is not mechanical, or which is in- 
 scrutable. But this affects not the certainty of our inves- 
 tigation, as far as we have gone. The difference between 
 an animal and an automatic statue, consists in this, — that, 
 in the animal, we trace the mxechanism to a certain point, 
 and then we are stopped; either the mechanism becoming 
 loo subtile for our discernment, or something else beside 
 Ihe known laws of mechanism taking place: whereas, in 
 .he automaton, for the comparatively few motions of which 
 it is capable, we trace the mechanism throughout. But, 
 up to the limit, the reasoning is as clear and certain in the 
 one case as in the other. In the example before us, it is a 
 matter of certainty, because it is a matter which experience 
 and observation demonstrate, that the formation of an im- 
 age at the bottom of the eye is necessary to perfect vision 
 The image itself can be shown. Whatever alficts the dis- 
 tinctness of the image, affects the distinctness of the vision. 
 The formation then of such an image being necessary (no 
 
APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT. 
 
 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 II. fig. 3, 4.] and the humours of the eye, bear a 
 complete resemblance to one another, in their figure, their 
 position, and in their power ^ver the rays of light, viz. in 
 bringing each pencil to a point at the right distance from 
 the lens; namely, in the eye, at the exact place where the 
 membrane is spread to receive it. How is it possible, un- 
 der circumstances of such close affinity, and under the 
 operation of equal evidence, to exclude contrivance from 
 the one, yet to acknowledge the proof of contrivance hav- 
 ing been employed, as the plainest and clearest of all pro- 
 positions, in the other 
 
 The resemblance between the two cases is still more ac- 
 curate, and obtains in more points than we have yet repre- 
 sented, or than we are, on the first view of the subject, 
 aware of In dioptric telescopes there is an imperfection 
 of this nature. Pencils of light, in passing through glass 
 lenses, are separated into different colors, thereby tinging 
 the object, especially the edges of it, as if it were viewed 
 through a prism. To correct this inconvenience had been 
 long a desideratum in the art. At last it came into the 
 mind of a sagacious optician, to inquire how this matter 
 was managed in the eye; in which there was exactly the 
 same difficulty to contend with as in the telescope. His 
 observation taught him, that, in the eye, the evil was cur- 
 ed by combining lenses composed of diflJerent substances, 
 i. e. of substances which possessed different refracting 
 powers. Our artist borrowed thence his hint, and pro- 
 duced a correction of the defect by imitating, in glasses 
 
 * The comparison with the lens of the telescope is not perfectly exact 
 for the crystalline lens is a substance composed of concentric layers, of 
 unequal density, the hardness of which increases from the surface to the 
 centre/ and hence possesses a more refractive power than any artificial 
 lens. Mr. Ramsden supposes that this texture tends to correct the aber- 
 ration occasioned by the spherical form of the cornea, and the focus of 
 each oblique pencil of rays fails accurately on the concave surface of 
 the rotira — Paxton, 
 
16 
 
 APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT. 
 
 Hiade from different materials, the effects of the different 
 humours through which the rays of light pass before they 
 <each the bottom of the eye. Could this be in the eye 
 without purpose, which suggested to the optician the only 
 effectual means of attaining that purpose ? * 
 
 But farther; there are other points, not so much perhaps 
 of strict resemblance between the two, as of superiority of 
 the eye over the telescope, which being found in the laws 
 that regulate both, may furnish topics of fair and just com- 
 parison. Two things were wanted, to the eye, which 
 were not wanted (at least in the same degree) to the teles- 
 cope: and these were the adaptation of the organ, first, 
 to different degrees of light; and, secondly, to the vast 
 diversity of distance at which objects are viewed by the 
 naked eye, viz. from a few inches to as many miles. These 
 difficulties present not themselves to the maker of the 
 telescope. He wants all the light he can get; and he 
 never directs his instrument to objects near at hand. In 
 the eye, both these cases were to be provided for; and for 
 the purpose of providing for them a subtile and appropriate 
 mechanism is introduced: — 
 
 * “ It does not appear that the hint of this discovery was taken by 
 IMr. Dollond from the structure of the eye, as supposed l)y our author, 
 but was obtained in a different manner. '^I'his circumstance does not 
 however lessen the force of the reasoning. '1 he principle thus applied 
 in the construction of achromatic telescopes, has been since carried still 
 farther, and in its new application, illustrates more strongly, if possible, 
 the point so well insisted on by Dr. i’aley, namely, the resemblance be- 
 tween the eye and our optical instrutiients. Tn the best achromatic tele- 
 scopes, composed of the different kinds of glass, according to the discov- 
 ery of Mr. Dollond, white or luminous objects are not i^\\o\\\\‘pe7'fectIy free 
 from color, their edges being tinged on one side with a claret colored, 
 and on the other with a greenish fringe. M his remaining imperfection 
 has been got rid of by the combination p.uUd and finid lenses in the 
 object and eye-glasses of telescopes. For this beautif^ul discovery science 
 is indebted to Dr. Blair of i\linburgb, who found that by placing a con- 
 cave lens of muriatic acid with a metallic solution, between two convex 
 lenses of glass, a combined lens was Ibrrned which refracted rays with 
 perfect regularity and equality. A lens lil>:e this has been used with 
 great advantage. '1 he most important [)oint is, however, to consider 
 this improvement in iu applic.ition to the argument, and it will be seen 
 how much nearer this construction brings tin.* telescope to the eye. In 
 Dollond’s telescope there is a combination of srdid lenses of diflerent 
 substances. — In idair's, a combination oi' fluid and solid ; which is ex- 
 actly the case in the human eye. 'I be oidy ditference is, that in the eye 
 there is a solid lens between two fluid ones ; and in the telescope a fluid 
 between two solid, d he combination is closely similar, and the final 
 cause in both probably the same, namely, to correct the unequal refrac- 
 tion ofligh." — See Kdinhvr^h Journal of Science, iXo. viii p 212 : 
 Rjid Library of Useful Knowledge, iXo 1 & 12. \^Ed. 
 
APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT. 
 
 17 
 
 J. In order to exclude excess of light, when it is ex 
 cessive, and to render objects visible under obscurer degrees 
 of it, when no more can be had, the hole or aperture in 
 the eye, through which the light enters, is so formed, as to 
 contract or dilate itself for the purpose of admitting a great- 
 er or less number of rays at the same time. The cham- 
 ber of the eye is a camera obscura,* which, when the light 
 is too small, can enlarge its opening; when too strong, 
 can again contract it; and that without any other assist- 
 ance than that of its own exquisite machinery. It is far- 
 ther also, in the human subject, to be observed, that this 
 hole in the eye, which we call the pupil, under all its dif- 
 ferent dimensions, retains its exact circular shape. This 
 is a structure extremely artificial. Let an artist only try 
 to execute the same; he will find that his threads and 
 strings must be disposed with great consideration and con- 
 trivance to make a circle, which shall continually change 
 its diameter, yet preserve its form. This is done in the 
 eye by an application of fibres, i. e. of strings, similar, in 
 their position and action, to what an artist would and must 
 employ, if he had the same piece of workmanship to per- 
 form. [Plate II. Fig. 5 8c 6.] | 
 
 * As the rays of light flowing from all the points of an object through 
 the pupil of the eye, by the relVaction of the lens and humours of the 
 eye, form an exact representation at the bottom of the eye on the retina ; 
 80 the camera obscura, by means of a lens refracting the rays, exhibits a 
 picture of the scene before it on the opposite wall. — Paxton, 
 
 t Some eminent anatomists have doubted the muscularity of the iris, 
 and have given very diflerent explanations of its motions, attributing the 
 contraction and dilatation either to the varied impulse of the blood in its 
 vessels, or to its own vita propria. The enlightened physiologist Magen- 
 die aflirms, that the latest researches upon the anatomy of the iris proves 
 its muscular structure, and that it is composed of two layers of fibres, the 
 external, Plate II. (Fig. 5.) radiated^ which dilate the pupil, the other 
 (Fig. 6.) circular, which contract the pupil. The external circular 
 fibres appear to' be supported by a species of ring, which each of the ra- 
 diated fibres contribute to form, and in which they slide during the alter- 
 nate contractions and relaxations of the pupil. — Paxton. 
 
 There is a curious circumstance, in the way in which light produces the 
 contraction of the opening of the iris, which strengthens very much the ar- 
 gument derived from design manifested in its structure and adaptation to its 
 purpose. The object of the iris, it is to be observed, has reference to the 
 quantity of hght to be admitted upon the retina or expansion of ''he optic 
 nerve. It is the state of the retina then which regulates the motmns of the 
 iris, and it is the action of the lighten the retina which causes those mo- 
 tions and not its action upon the iris itself. This has been shown by a very 
 delicate experiment. If a ray of light be accurately thrown in such a 
 direction, that it shall fall upon the circle of the iris itself, and not pass 
 through its aperture, no contraction of the aperture takes place; but if it 
 
18 
 
 APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT. 
 
 II. The second difficulty which has been stated, was the 
 suiting of the same organ to the perception of objects tha. 
 lie near at hand, within a few inches, we will suppose, of 
 the eye, and of objects which are placed at a considerable 
 distance from it, that, for example, of as many furlongs; 
 (I speak in both cases of the distance at which distinct 
 vision can be exercised.) Now this, according to the 
 principles of optics, that is, according to the laws by which 
 the transmission of light is regulated, (and these laws are 
 fixed,) could not be done without the organ itself under- 
 going an alteration and receiving an adjustment, that 
 might correspond with the exigency of the case, that is to 
 say, with the different inclination to one another under 
 which the rays of light reached it. Rays issuing from points 
 placed at a small distance from the eye, and which conse- 
 quently must enter the eye in a spreading or diverging 
 order, cannot, by the same optical instrument in the same 
 state, be brought to a point, i. e. be made to form an image, 
 in the same place wdth rays proceeding from objects situat- 
 ed at a much greater distance, and which rays arrive at the 
 eye in directions nearly (and physically speaking) parallel. 
 It requires a rounder lens to do it. The point of concourse 
 behind the lens must fall critically upon the retina, or the 
 vision is confused;* yet other things remaining the same, 
 this point, by the immutable properties of light, is carried 
 farther back when the rays proceed from a near object than 
 when they are sent from one that is remote. A person who 
 was using an optical instrument, would manage this matter 
 by changing, as the occasion required, his lens or his tele- 
 scopes; or by adjusting the distance of his glasses with his 
 hand or his screw: but how is it to be managed in the eye? 
 What the alteration was, or in what part of the eye it took 
 place, or by what means it was effected, (for if the known 
 
 be so thrown as to pass through the aperture, and fall upon the retina 
 without touching the iris at all, still a contraction of the iris immediately 
 takes place. So that light upon the iris alone occasions no contraction, 
 although it is the part which really contracts when the same liglit falls 
 upon a distant part. The d-esign here is too obvious to need being en- 
 larged upon. How could the iris acquire the power of contracting when 
 light falls on another membrane, for the protection of that membrane ? 
 although it does not contract when the light falls upon itself alone ? — [ Ed. 
 
 * 'J lie focus of the refracted rays must fall exactly on the retina, so 
 that the point of vision may be neither produced beyond it, nor shorten- 
 ed 80 as not to reach it. 'The latter defect exists in short-sighted per 
 sons, from too great convexity of the cornea or lens. "J'he former is the 
 defect of long-sighted persons, in whom there is an opposite conforma- 
 tion of tliose parts. — Paxton. 
 
APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT. 
 
 19 
 
 /s which govern the refraction of light be maintained, 
 some alteration in the state of the organ there must be, ) 
 had long formed a subject of inquiry and conjecture. 
 The change. Chough sufficient for the purpose, is so minute 
 as to elude ordinary observation. Some very late discove- 
 ries, deduced from a laborious and most accurate inspection 
 of the structure and operation of the organ, seem at length 
 to haA e ascertained the mechanical alteration which the 
 parts of the eye undergo. It is found, that by the action of 
 certain muscles [PI. II. fig. 7.] called the straight muscles, 
 and which action is the most advantageous that could be 
 imagined for the purpose, — it is found, I say, that whenever 
 the eye is directed to a near object, three changes are produc- 
 ed in it at the same time, all severally contributing to the ad- 
 justment required. The cornea, or outermost coat of the 
 eye, is rendered more round and prominent ; the crystalline 
 lens underneath is pushed forwards; and the axis of 
 vision, as the depth of the eye is called, is elongated. 
 These changes in the eye vary its power over the rays of 
 light in such a manner and degree as to produce exactly 
 the effect which is wanted, viz. the formation of an image 
 upon the retina, whether the rays come to the eye in a 
 state of divergency, which is the case when the object is 
 near to the eye, or come parallel to one another, which is 
 the case when the object is placed at a distance. Can any- 
 thing be more decisive of contrivance than this is.^ The 
 most secret laws of optics must have been known to the 
 author of a structure endowed with such a capacity of 
 change. It is as though an optician, when he had a 
 nearer object to view, should rectify his instrument by 
 putting in another glass, at the same time drawing out 
 also his tube to a different length. 
 
 Observe a new-born child first lifting up its eyelids 
 What does the opening of the curtain discover? The an- 
 terior part of two pellucid globes, which, when they come 
 to be examined, are found to be constructed upon strict op- 
 tical principles ; the selfsame principles upon which we 
 ourselves construct optical instruments. We find them 
 perfect for the purpose of forming an image by refraction ; 
 composed of parts executing different offices ; one part 
 having fulfilled its office upon the pencil of light, deliver- 
 ing it over to the action of another part ; that to a third, 
 and so onward; the progressive action depending for its 
 success upon the nicest and minutest adjustment of the 
 parts conctrned; yet these parts so in fact adjusted, as t<? 
 
^iO 
 
 ArPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT. 
 
 produce, not by a simple action or effect, but by a combi- 
 nation of actions and effects, the result which is ultimately 
 wanted. And forasmuch as this organ would have to ope- 
 rate under different circumstances, with strong degrees of 
 light and with weak degrees, upon near objects, and upon 
 remote ones, and these differences demanded, according tc 
 the laws by which the transmission of light is regulated, a 
 corresponding diversity of structure ; that the aperture, 
 for example, through which the light passes, should be 
 larger or less ; the lenses rounder or flatter, or that their 
 distance from the tablet, upon which the picture is delinea- 
 ted, should be shortened or lengthened : this, I say, being 
 the case, and the difficulty to which the eye was to be 
 adapted, we find its several parts capable of being occa- 
 sionally changed, and a most artificial apparatus provided 
 to produce that change. This is far beyond the common 
 regulator of a watch, which requires the touch of a foreign 
 hand to set it; but it is not altogether unlike Harrison's con- 
 trivance for making a watch regulate itself, by inserting 
 within it a machinery, which, by the artful use of the dif- 
 ferent expansion of metals, preserves the equability of the 
 motion under all the various temperatures of heat and cold 
 in which the instrument may happen to be placed. The 
 ingenuity of this last contrivance has been justly praised. 
 Shall, therefore, a structure which differs from it, chiefly by 
 surpassing it, be accounted no contrivance at all } or, if it 
 be a contrivance, that it is without a contriver? 
 
 But this, though much, is not the whole : by different 
 species of animals the faculty we are describing is possess- 
 ed, in degrees suited to the different range of vision which 
 their mode of life, and of procuring their food, requires. 
 Birds, for instance, in general, procure their food by means 
 of their beak; and, the distance between the eye and the 
 point of the beak being small, ii becomes necessary that 
 they should have the power of seeing very near objects 
 distinctly. On the other hand, from being often elevaled 
 much above the ground, living in air, and moving through 
 it with great velocity, they require, for their safety, as well 
 as for assisting them in descrying their prey, a power 
 of seeing at a great distance; a power, of which, in birds 
 of rapine, surprising examples are given. The fact ac- 
 cordingly is, that two peculiarities are found in the eyes 
 of birds, both tending to fctcililofe the change upon which 
 the adjustment of the eye to diflerent distances depends. 
 The one is a bony, yet, in most species, a flexible rim or 
 
APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT. 
 
 2J 
 
 hoop,* [Plate III. fig. 1, 2.] surrounding the broadest part 
 of the eye; which, confining the action of the muscles to 
 vhat part, increases the effect of their lateral pressure upon 
 the orb, by which pressure its axis is elongated for the pur- 
 pose of looking at very near objects. The o^her is an ad- 
 ditional muscle, called the marsupium, [Plate III. fig. 3, 4, 
 D.] to draw, upon occasion, the crystalline lens hack, and 
 to fit the same eye for the viewing of very distant objects 
 By these means, the eyes of birds can pass from one ex 
 tieme to another of their scale of adjustment, with mere 
 case and readiness than the eyes of other animals. 
 
 The eyes of fishes also, compared with those of terres- 
 trial animals, exhibit certain distinctions of structure adap- 
 ted to their state and element. We have already ob- 
 served upon the figure of the crystalline compensating by 
 its roundness the density of the medium through which 
 their light passes. To which we have to add, that the eyes 
 of fish, in their natural and indolent state, appear to he 
 adjusted to near objects, in this respect differing from the 
 human eye, as well as those of quadrupeds and birds. The 
 ordinary shape of the fish’s eye being in a much higher 
 degree convex than that of land animals, a corresponding 
 difference attends its muscular conformation, viz. that it is 
 throughout calculated for flattening the eye. 
 
 The iris also in the eyes of fish does not admit of con- 
 traction. This is a great difference, of which the proba- 
 ble reason is, that the diminished light in water is never 
 too strong for the retina. 
 
 In the eel, [Plate III. fig. 5.]^which has to work its head 
 
 * The flexible rini, or hoop, consists of bony plates, which in all 
 birds occupy the front of the sclerotic; lying close together and overlap- 
 ping each other. These bony plates in general form a slightly convex 
 ring, Fig. 1, but in the accipitres they form a concave ring, as in Fig. 2, 
 the bony rim of a hawk. It is a principle in optics, that the rays of light, 
 passing through a lens, will be refracted to a point or focus beyond the 
 lens, and this focus will be less distant in proportion as the lens approach- 
 es to a sphere in shape. This principle is very naturally applied to the 
 explanation of the use of this apparatus. These scales partly lying over 
 each other, so as to allow of motion, will, on the contraction of the 
 straight muscles inserted into and covering them, move over each other, 
 and dinnnish the circle of the sclerotica; and thus the cornea, w^hich is 
 immediately within the circle made by these scales, must be pressed 
 forward* and rendered more convex, from the focus of the eye becoming 
 altered, oy its axis being elongated. This consequent convexity of the 
 cornea renders small objects near the animal very distinct. Without this 
 structure a bird would be continually liable to dash itself against tree‘s 
 when flying in a thick forest, and would be unable to see the minn' 
 objects on which it sometimes feeds. — Paxton, 
 
22 
 
 APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT. 
 
 througli sand and gravel, the roughest and harshest sub- 
 stances, there is placed before the eye, and at some dis- 
 tance from it, a transparent, horny, convex case or cover- 
 ing, which, without obstructing the sight, defends the or- 
 gan. To such an animal, could anything be more wanted, 
 or more useful? 
 
 Thus, in comparing the eyes of different kinds of ani- 
 mals, we see, in their resemblances and distinctions, one 
 general plan laid down, and that plan varied with the vary- 
 ing exigencies to which it is to be applied. 
 
 There is one property, however, common, I believe, to 
 all eyes, at least to all which have been examined,^ namely, 
 that the optic nerve enters the bottom of the eye, not in the 
 centre or middle, but a little on one side; not in the point 
 where the axis of the eye meets the retina, but between 
 that point and the nose. The difference which this makes 
 is, that no part of an object is unperceived by both eyes at 
 the same time. 
 
 In considen ng vision as achieved by the means of an 
 image formed at the bottom of the eye, we can never re- 
 flect without wonder upon the smallness, yet correctness, 
 of the picture, the subtilty of the touch, the fineness of the 
 lines. A landscape of five or six square leagues is brought 
 into a space of half an inch diameter; y^t the multitude of 
 objects which it contains, are all preservi^d; are all discrim- 
 inated in their magnitudes, positions, figures, colors. The 
 prospect from Hampstead-hill is compressed into the com- 
 pass of a sixpence, yet circumstantially represented. A 
 stage-coach, travelling at ^its ordinary speed for half an 
 hour, passes, in the eye, only over one-twelfth of an inch, 
 yet is this change of place in the image distinctly per- 
 ceived throughout its whole progress; for it is qnly by 
 means of that perception that the motion of the coach it- 
 self is made sensible to the eye. If anything can abate 
 our admiration of the smallness of the visual tablet compar- 
 ed with the extent of vision, it is a reflection, which the 
 view of nature leads us, every hour, to make, viz. that in 
 lie hands of the Creator, great and little are nothing. 
 
 Sturmius held, that the examination of the eye was 
 a cure for atheism. Besides that conformity to optical 
 principles which its internal constitution displays, and 
 which alone amounts to a manifestation of intelligence hav 
 ing been exerted in the structure; besides this, which forms 
 
 * The eve of tie seal or sea-calf, I understand, is an exception. — Mem 
 Acad Paris, 1701, p. 123. 
 
APPLICATION OF TUE ARGUMENT. 
 
 23 
 
 no doubt, the leading character of the organ, there is to be 
 seen, in everything belonging to it and about it, an ex- 
 traordinary degree of care, and anxiety for its preservation, 
 due. if we may so speak, to its value and its tenderness. It 
 is lodged in a strong, deep, bony socket, composed by the 
 junction of seven different bones,* hoik wed out at their 
 edges. In some few species, as that of the coatimondi, f 
 the orbit is not bony throughout; but whenever this is the 
 case, the upper, which is the deficient part, is supplied by 
 a cartilaginous ligament; a substitution which shows the 
 same care. Within this socket it is embedded in fat, of 
 all animal substances the best adapted both to its repose 
 and motion. It is sheltered by the eyebrows; an arch of 
 hair, which, like a thatched penthouse, prevents the sweat 
 Und moisture of the forehead from running down into it. 
 
 But it is still better protected by its lid. Of the super- 
 ficial parts of the animal frame, I know none which, in 
 its office and structure, is more deserving of attention than 
 the eyelid. It defends the eye; it wipes it; it closes it in 
 sleep. J Are there, in any work of art whatever, purposes 
 more evident than those which this organ fulfils.^ or an 
 apparatus for executing those purposes more intelligible, 
 more appropriate, or more m^echanical ^ If it be overlooked 
 by the observer of nature, it can only be because it is ob- 
 vious and familiar. This is a tendency to be guarded 
 against. We pass by the plainest instances, whilst we are 
 exploring those which are rare and curious; by which con- 
 duct of the uiderstanding, we sometimes neglect the 
 strongest observations, being taken up with others, which, 
 though more recondite and scientific, are, as solid argu- 
 ments, entitled to much less consideration. 
 
 In order to keep the eye moist and clean, (which qualities 
 are necessary to its brightness and its use,) a wash is con- 
 stantly supplied by a secretion for the purpose; and the 
 superfluous brine is conveyed to the nose through a perfora- 
 tion in the bone as large as a goose-quill. [Plate IV. fig. 1 .] 
 When once the fluid has entered the nose, it spreads itself 
 upon the inside of the nostril, and is evaporated by the cur- 
 rent of \varm air, which, in the course of respiration, is con* 
 
 * Heister, sect. 89. t Mem. of the R. Ac. Paris, p. 117. 
 
 t The muscles which accomplish these actions are seen in Tab. XIV. 
 Fig. 1, 2. The eyelids also moderate the force of a too brilliant light, 
 and exclude, by a partial closure, that excess of it wdiich would oifend 
 the eye. The eyelashes have a similar office, that of regulating the 
 quantity of light: and it is believed, that they protect the eye from the 
 ■mail particles of dust that float in the air. — Paxton. 
 
24 
 
 APPLICATION OF THE ARC ITMENT. 
 
 tinually passing over it. Can any pipe or outlet for cany 
 ing off' the waste liquor from a dye-house or a distillery, be 
 more mechanical than this is? It is easily perceived, that 
 the eye must want moisture: but could the want of the eye 
 generate the gland which produces the tear, or bore the hole 
 by v/hich it is discharged, — a hole through a bone? 
 
 It is observable, that this provision is not found in fish; 
 the element in which they live supplying a constant lotion 
 to the eye. « 
 
 It were, however, injustice to dismiss the eye as apiece 
 of mechanism, without noticing that most exquisite of all 
 contrivances, the niclitaiing membrane , which is found in 
 the eyes of birds and of many quadrupeds. [Plate IV. fig. 
 2.] Its use is to sweep the eye, which it does in an in- 
 stant; to spread over it the lachrymal humour; to defend 
 it also from sudden injuries: yet not totally, when drawn 
 upon the pupil, to shut out the light. The commodious 
 ness with which it lies folded up in the inner corner of 
 the eye, ready for use and action, and the quickness with 
 which it executes its purpose, are properties known and 
 obvious to every observer: but what is equally admirable, 
 though not quite so obvious, is the combination of two 
 different kinds of substance, muscular and elastic, and ot 
 two different kinds of action, by which the motion of this 
 membrane is performed. It is not, as in ordinary cases, 
 by the action of two antagonist muscles, one pulling for- 
 ward and the other backward, that a reciprocal change is 
 effected; but it is thus: The membrane itself is an elastic 
 substance, capable of being drawn out by force like a piece 
 of elastic gum, and by its own elasticity returning, when 
 the force is removed, to its former position. Such being 
 its nature, in order to fit it up for its office, it is connected 
 by a tendon or thread with a muscle in the back part of 
 the eye: this tendon or thread, though strong, is so fine 
 as not to obstruct the sight, even when it passes across it; 
 and the muscle itself, being placed in the hack part of the 
 eye, [Plate IV. fig. 3, 4, and 5,] derives from its situation 
 the advantage, not only of being secure, but of being out 
 of the way; which it would hardly have been in any posi- 
 tion that could be assigned to it in the anterior part of the 
 orb, where its function lies. When the muscle behind the 
 eye contracts, tire membrane, by means of the communi- 
 cating thread, is instantly drawn over the forc-])art of it. 
 When the muscular contraction (which is a positive, and, 
 most probably, a voluntary effort,) ceases to be exerted, 
 the elasticity alone of the membrane brings it back again 
 
APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT. 
 
 25 
 
 10 its position. Does not this, if anything can do it, be- 
 speak an artist, master of his work, acquainted with his 
 materials.^ ‘‘ Of a thousand other things,” say the French 
 academicians, ‘‘we perceive not the contrivance, because 
 we understand them only by the effects, of which we Know 
 not the causes: but we here treat of a machine, all the 
 parts whereof are visible; and which need only to be 
 looked upon to discover the reasons of its motion and ac- 
 tion.”! 
 
 In the configuration of the muscle which, though placed 
 behind the eye, draws the nictitating membrane over the 
 eye, there is, what the authors just now quoted, deserved- 
 ly call a marvellous mechanism. I suppose this structure 
 to be found in other animals; but, in the memoirs from 
 which this account is taken, it is anatomically demonstrat- 
 ed only in the cassowary. The muscle is passed through 
 a loop formed by another muscle; and is there inflected, 
 as if it were round a pulley. This is a peculiarity; and 
 observe the advantage of it. A single muscle with a 
 straight tendon, which is the common muscular form, would 
 have been sufficient, if it had had power to draw far 
 enough. But the contraction, necessary to draw the mem- 
 brane over the whole eye, required a longer muscle than 
 could lie straight at the bottom of the eye. Therefore, 
 in order to have a greater length in a less compass, the 
 cord of the main muscle makes an angle. This, so far, 
 answers the end; but, still farther, it makes an angle, 
 not round a fixed pivot, but round a loop formed by another 
 muscle; which second muscle, whenever it contracts, of 
 course twitches the first muscle at the point of inflection 
 and thereby assists the action designed by both. 
 
 One question may possibly have dwelt in the reader's 
 mind during the perusal of these observations, namely. Why 
 should not the Deity have given to the animal the faculty 
 of vision at once'^ Why this circuitous perception; the 
 ministry of so many means; an element provided for the 
 purpose; reflected from opaque substances, refracted 
 through transparent ones; and both according to p^'ecise 
 laws; then, a complex organ, an intricate and artificial ap- 
 paratus, in order, by the operation of this element, and in 
 conformity with the restrictions of these laws, to produce an 
 image upon a membrane communicating with the brain 
 
 *Phil. Tran. 179(5. 
 
 t Memoirs for a Natural History of Animals y the Royal Academy 
 of Sciences at Paris, done into English by ’order of the Royal Society. 
 1701, p. 249. 
 
 C 
 
26 
 
 APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT. 
 
 Wherefore all this? Why make the difficulty in order 
 to surmount it? If to perceive objects by some other 
 mode than that of touch, or objects which lay out of 
 the reach oT that sense, were the thing purposed; could not 
 a simple volition of the Creator have communicated tie ca- 
 pacity ? Why resort to contrivance, where power is omnip- 
 otent? Contrivance, by its very definition and nature, is 
 the refuge of imperfection. To have recourse to expedi- 
 ents, implies difficulty, impediment, restraint, defect of 
 power. This question belongs to the other senses, as well 
 as to sights; to the general functions of animal life, as nu- 
 trition, secretion, respiration; to the economy of vegeta- 
 bles; and indeed to almost all the operations of nature. 
 The question, therefore, is of very wide extent; and 
 amongst other answers which may be given to it, beside rea- 
 sons of which probably we are ignorant, one answer is this: 
 It is only by the display of contrivance, that the existence, 
 the agency, the wisdom of the Deity, could be testified to 
 his rational creatures. This is the scale by which we as- 
 cend to all the knowledge of our Creator which we possess, 
 so far as it depends upon the phenomena, or the works of na- 
 ture. Take away this, and you take away from us every sub- 
 ject ofobservation, and ground of reasoning; I mean as our 
 rational faculties are formed at present. Whatever is done, 
 God could have done, without the intervention of instru- 
 ments or means: but it is in the construction of instru- 
 ments, in the choice and adaptation of means, that a crea- 
 tive intelligence is seen. It is this which constitutes the 
 order and beauty of the universe. God, therefore, has 
 been pleased to prescribe limits to his own power, and to 
 work his ends within those limits. The general laws of 
 matter have perhaps the nature of these limits; its inertia, 
 its reaction; the laws which govern the communication of 
 motion, the refraction and reflection of light, the constitu- 
 tion of fluids non-elastic and elastic, the transmission of 
 sound through the latter; the laws of magnetism, of elec- 
 tricity; and probably others, yet undiscovered. These are 
 general laws; and when a particular purpose is to be ef- 
 fected, it is not by making a new law, nor by the suspen- 
 sion of the old ones, nor by making them wind, and bend, 
 and yield to the occasion ; (for nature with great steadiness 
 adheres to and supports them;) but it is, as we have seen 
 in the eye, by the interposition of an apparatus, correspond- 
 ing with these law'^, and suited to the exigency whicli re- 
 sults from them, that thp purpose is at length attained. As 
 we have said, therefore, God prescribes linfits to his power, 
 
APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT 
 
 21 
 
 that he may let in the exercise, and thereby exhibit demon- 
 strations of his wisdom. For then, i. e. such laws and lim- 
 itations being laid down, it is as though one Being should 
 have fixed certain rules; and, if we may so speak, provid- 
 ed certain materials; and, afterwards, have committed to 
 another Being out of these materials, and in subordination 
 to thesG rules, the task of drawing forth a creation ; a sup- 
 position which evidently leaves room, and induces indeed a 
 necessity for contrivance. Nay, there may be many such 
 agents, and many ranks of these. W e do not advance this 
 as a doctrine either of philosophy or of religion; but we say 
 that the subject may safely be represented under this 
 view, because the Deity, acting himself by general laws, 
 will have the same consequences upon our reasoning, 
 as if he had prescribed these laws to another. It hats been 
 said, that the problem of creation was, attraction and 
 matter being given, to make a world out of them;’’ and, 
 as above explained, this statement perhaps does not convey 
 a false idea. 
 
 We have made choice of the eye as an instance upon 
 which to rest the argument of this chapter. Some single 
 example was to be proposed; and the eye offered itself un- 
 der the advantage of admitting of a strict comparison with 
 optical instruments. The ear, it is probable, is no less 
 artificially and mechanically adapted to its office than the 
 eye. But we know less about it: we do not so well un- 
 derstand the action, the use, or the mutual dependency of 
 its internal parts. Its general form, however, both external 
 and internal, is sufficient to show that it is an instrument 
 adapted to the reception of sound; that is to say, already 
 knowing that sound consists in pulses of the air, we per- 
 ceive, in the structure of the ear, a suitableness to receive im- 
 pressions from this species of action, and to propagate these 
 impressions to the brain. For of what does this structure 
 consist ? [Pl.V.fig.l.] An external ear, (the concha,) calcu- 
 lated, like an ear-trumpet, to catch and collect the pulses of 
 which we have spoken; in large quadrupeds, turning to 
 the sound, and possessing a configuration, as well as mo- 
 tion, evidently fitted for the office: of a tube which leads 
 into the head, lying at the root of this outward ear, the 
 folds and sinuses thereof tending and conducting the air 
 towards it: of a thin membrane, like the pelt of a drum, 
 stretched across this passage upon a bony rim: of a chain 
 of moveable, and infinitely curious bones, forming a com- 
 
28 
 
 APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT. 
 
 munication, and the only communication that can be ob- 
 served, between the membrane last mentioned and the m- 
 terior channels and recesses of the skull: of cavites, sirri- 
 ilar in shape and form to wind instruments of music, being 
 spiral or portions of circles: of the eustachian tube, like 
 the hole in a drum, to let the air pass freely into and out of 
 the barrel of the ear, as the covering membrane vibrates, or 
 as the temperature may be altered: the whole labyrinth 
 hewn out of a rock; that is, wrought into the substance of 
 the hardest bone of the body. This assemblage of con- 
 nected parts constitutes together an apparatus, plainly 
 enough relative to the transmission of sound, or of the im- 
 pulses received from sound, and only to be lamented in not 
 being better understood. 
 
 The communication within, formed by the small bones of 
 the ear, is, to look upon, more like what we are accustomed 
 to call machinery, than anything I am acquainted with in 
 animal bodies. [PI. V. fig. 2.] It seems evidently designed 
 to continue towards the sensorium, the tremulous motions 
 which are excited in the membrane of the tympanum, or 
 what is better known by the name of the ‘‘ drum of the ear.'’ 
 The compages of bones consists of four, which are so dis- 
 posed, and so hinge upon one another, as that if the mem- 
 brane, the drum of the ear, vibrate, all the four are put in 
 motion together; and, by the result of their action, work 
 the base of that which is the last in the series, upon an 
 aperture which it closes, and upon wliich it plays, and 
 which aperture opens into the tortuous canals that lead to 
 the brain. This last bone of the four is called the stapes. 
 The office of the drum of the ear is to spread out an ex- 
 tended surface, capable of receiving the impressions of 
 sound, and of being put by them into a state of vibration. 
 The office of the stapes is to repeat these vibrations. It is 
 a repeating frigate, stationed more within the line. From 
 which account of its action may . be understood, how the 
 sensation of sound will be excited by anything which 
 communicates a vibratory motion to the stapes, though not, 
 as in all ordinary cases, through the intervention of the 
 iiiembrana tympani. This is done by solid bodies applied 
 to the bones of the skull, as by a metal bar held at one 
 end between the teeth, and touching at the other end a 
 tremulous body. It likewise ajipears to be done, in a con- 
 siderable degree, by the air itself, even when this mem- 
 brane, the drum of the ear, is greatly damaged. Either 
 in the natural or preternatural state of the organ, the use 
 of the chain c f bones is to pro 'ugate the impulse in a di 
 
APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMEN'*' 
 
 29 
 
 rec^ion towards the brain, and to propagate it with the ad- 
 vantage of a lever; which advantage consists in increasing 
 the force and stiength of the vibration, and at the same 
 time diminishing the space through which it oscillates; 
 both of which changes may augment or facilitate the still 
 deeper action of the auditory nerves. 
 
 The benefit of the eustachian tube to the organ, may be 
 made out upon known pneumatic principles. Behind the 
 drum of the ear is a second cavity, or barrel, called the 
 tympanum. The eustachian tube is a slender pipe, but 
 suificient for the passage of air, leading from this cavity 
 into the back part of the mouth. Now, it would not have 
 done to have had a vacuum in this cavity; for, in that case, 
 the pressure of the atmosphere from without would have 
 burst the membrane which covered it. Nor would it have 
 done to have filled the cavity with lymph or any other 
 secretion; which would necessarily have obstructed, both 
 the vibration of the membrane and the play of the small 
 bones. Nor, lastly, would it have done to have occupied 
 the space with confined air, because the expansion of that 
 air by heat, or its contraction by cold, would have distend- 
 ed or relaxed the covering membrane, in a degree inconsis- 
 tent with the purpose which it was assigned to execute. 
 The only remaining expedient, and that for which the 
 eustachian tube serves, is to open to this cavity a commu- 
 nication with the external air. In one word; it exactly 
 answers the purpose of the hole in a drum. 
 
 The mernbrana tympani itself, likewise, deserves all the 
 examination which can be made of it. It is not found in 
 the ears of fish; which furnishes an additional proof of 
 what indeed is indicated by everything about it, that it is 
 appropriated to the action of air, or of an elastic medium. 
 It bears an obvious resemblance to the pelt or head of a 
 drum, from which it takes its name. It resembles also a 
 drum-head in this principal property, that its use depends 
 upon its tension. Tension is the state essential to it. Now 
 we know that, in a drum, the pelt is carried over a hoop, 
 and braced, as occasion requires, by the means of strings 
 attached to its circumference In the membrane of the 
 ear, the same purpose is provided for, more simply, but not 
 less mechanically, nor less successfully, by a different ex- 
 pedient, viz. by the end of a bone (the handle of the mal- 
 leus) pressing upon its centre. It is only in very large 
 animals that the texture of this membrane can be discern- 
 ed In the Philosophical Transactions for the year 1800, 
 i^vol i.) Sir Everard Home has given some curious observa 
 
30 
 
 APPL CATION OF THE ARGUMENT. 
 
 tions upon the ear, and the drum of the ear of an elephant 
 [PI. V. fig 4.] He discovered in it what he calls a radiated 
 muscle, that is, straight muscular fibres, passing along the 
 membrane from the circumference to the centre; from the 
 bony rim which surrounds it towards the handle of the 
 malleus to which the central part is attached. This mus- 
 cle he supposes to be designed to bring the membrane into 
 unison with different sounds: but then he also discovered,* 
 that this muscle itself cannot act, unless the membrane be 
 drawn to a, stretch, and kept in a due state of tightness, 
 by what mry be called a foreign force, viz. the action of 
 the muscles of the malleus. Our author, supposing his ex- 
 planation of the use of the parts to be just, is well founded 
 in the reflection which he makes upon it: ‘Hhat this mode 
 of adapting the ear to different sounds, is one of the most 
 beautiful applications of muscles in the body; the median- 
 ism is so simple, and the variety of effects so great.” * 
 
 In another volume of the transactions above referred to, 
 and of the same year, two most curious cases are related, 
 of persons who retained the sense of hearing, not in a 
 perfect, but in a very considerable degree, notwithstanding 
 he almost total loss of the membrane we have been de- 
 scribing. In one of these cases, the use here assigned to 
 
 * As the ear of man and fish has been described, it may not be im- 
 proper in this place to state, that the other classes of animals are no less 
 admirably provided with an ear, adapted to their peculiar habits and 
 economy. 
 
 In amphibious animals the organ of hearing has an intermediate struc- 
 ture; in some species of this class, the ear resembling fish, in others it 
 more resembles the formation of terrestrial animals. 
 
 There is an important addition to this organ in birds: viz. a cochlea ar.d 
 proper tympanum. 
 
 In quadrupeds we find a more complicated organization; to collect the 
 vibrations of sound, they have an external ear, and all those parts, though 
 of a different figure, which belong to the human ear. 
 
 The capacity for enjoyment of music is mental, but all the cufona 
 varieties of sound, which are the source of this enjoyment, are communi- 
 gated by the mechanical provisions of the ear. We are astonished at the 
 varieties of sensation; the ear is capable of perceiving four or five hundred 
 Virialions of tone in sound. 
 
 “ Hence we may conceive a prodigious variety in the same tone, 
 arising from irregularities of it occasioned by constitution, figure, situation 
 or manner of striking the sonorous body; from the constitution of the 
 elastic medium, or its being disturbed by other motions; and from the 
 constitution of the ear itself, upon which the impression is made. A 
 flute, a violin, a hautboy, a French horn, may all sound the same tone, 
 and be easily distinguishable. Nay, if twenty human voices sound the 
 same note, and with equal strength, there will be some diflerence. ** 
 Reid's Enquiry, page 98. — Paxton. 
 
PLANTS AND ANIMALS. 
 
 31 
 
 that inembrane, of modifying the impressions of sound by 
 change of tension, was attempted to be supplied by strain 
 ing the muscles of the outward ear. ‘‘ The external ear,’’ 
 we are told, had acquired a distinct motion upward and 
 backward, which was observable whenever the patient 
 istened to anything which he did not distinctly hear; 
 ivhen he was addressed in a whisper, the ear was seen im- 
 mediately to move; when the tone of voice was louder, 
 it then remained altogether motionless.” 
 
 It appears probable, from both these cases, that a collate- 
 ral, if not principal, use of the membrane, is to cover and 
 protect the barrel of the ear which lies behind it. Both 
 the patients suffered from cold: one, a great increase of 
 deafness from catching cold;” the other, very considera- 
 ble pain from exposure to a stream of cold air.” Bad ef- 
 fects therefore followed from this cavity being left open to 
 the external air; yet, had the Author of nature shut it up by 
 any other cover, than what was capable, by its texture, of 
 receiving vibrations from sound, and, by its connexion 
 with the interior parts, of transmitting those vibrations to 
 the brain, the use of the organ, so far as we can judge, 
 must have been entirely obstructed. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 OF THE SUCCESSION OF PLANTS AND ANIMALS. 
 
 The generation of the animal no more accounts for the 
 contrivance of the eye or ear, than, upon the supposition 
 stated in a preceding chapter, the production of a watch 
 by the motion and mechanism of a former watch, would 
 account for the skill and intention evidenced in the watch 
 so produced; than it would account for the disposition of 
 the wheels, the catching of their teeth, the relation of the 
 several parts of the works to one another, and to their com- 
 mon end; for the suitableness of their forms and places to 
 their offices, for their connexion, their operation, and the 
 useful result of that operation. I do insist most strenu- 
 ously upon the correctness of this comparison; that it 
 holds as to every mode of specific propagation; and that 
 whatever was true of the watch, under the hypothesis 
 above mentioned, is true of plants and animals. 
 
 I. To begin with the fructificatioii of plants. Can it be 
 doubted but that the seed contains a particular organiza- 
 
32 
 
 OF THE SUCCESSION OF 
 
 tioii? Whether a latent plantule with the means of tem- 
 porary nutrition, or whatever else it be, it encloses an or 
 ganization suited to the germination of a new plant. Has 
 the plant which produced the seed anything more to (i 
 with that organization, than the watch would have Iiad to 
 do with the structure of the watch which was produced in 
 the course of its mechanical movement ? I mean. Has it any- 
 thing at all to do with the conimvancel The maker and con- 
 triver of one watch, when he inserted within it a mechanism 
 suited to the production of another watch, was, in truth, 
 the maker and contriver of that other watch. All the prop- 
 erties of the new watch were to be referred to his agency: 
 the design manifested in it, to his intention: the art, to him 
 as the artist: the collocation of each part to his placing: 
 the action, effect, and use, to his counsel, intelligence, and 
 workmanship. In producing it by the intervention of a 
 former watch, he was only working by one set of tools in- 
 stead of another. So it is with the plant and the seed 
 produced by it. Can any^ distinction be assigned between 
 the two cases; between the producing watch, and the pro- 
 ducing plant; both passive, unconscious substances; both, 
 by the organization which was given to them, producing 
 tlieir like, without understanding or design; both, that is, 
 instruments? 
 
 II. From plants we may proceed to oviparous animals; 
 from seeds to eggs. Now, I say, that the bird has the same 
 concern in the formation of the egg which she lays, as the 
 plant has in that of the seed which it drops; and no 
 other, nor greater. The internal constitution of the egg 
 is as much a secret to the hen, as if the hen were inan 
 imate. Her will cannot alter it, or change a single feather 
 of the chick. She can neither foresee nor determine o. 
 which sex her brood shall be, or how many of either; yet 
 the thing produced shall be, from the first, very different 
 in its make, according to the sex which it bears. So far, 
 therefore, from adapting the means, she is not beforehand 
 apprized of the effect. If there be concealed within that 
 smooth shell a provision and a preparation for the produc- 
 tion and nourishment of a new animal, they are not of her 
 providing or preparing: if there be contrivance, it is none 
 of hers. Although, therefore, there be the difference of 
 life and perceptivity between the animal and the plant, it is 
 a difference which enters not into the account. It is a for- 
 eign circumstance. It is a difference of properties not 
 cm])loyed. The animal function and the vegetable func 
 tion are alike destitute of any design which can operate upon 
 
PLANTS AND ANIMALS. 
 
 33 
 
 .he form of the thing produced. The plant has no de- 
 sign in producing the seed, no comprehension of the na- 
 ture or use of what it produces; the bird with respect to its 
 egg, is not above the plant with respect to its seed. Neith- 
 er the one nor the other bears that sort of relation to what 
 proceeds from them, which a joiner does to the chair which 
 he makes. Now a cause, which hears this relation to the 
 effect, is what we want, in order to account for the suita- 
 bleness of means to an end, the fitness and fitting of one 
 thing to another, and this cause the parent plant or ani- 
 mal does not supply. 
 
 It is farther observable concerning the propagation of 
 plants and animals, that the apparatus employed exhibits 
 no resemblance to the thing produced; in this respect 
 holding an analogy with instruments and tools of art. The 
 filaments, antheras, and stigmata of flowers, bear no more 
 resemblance to the young plant, or even to the seed, which 
 is formed by their intervention, than a chisel or a plane 
 does to a table or chair. What then are the filaments, 
 antherae, and stigmata of plants, but instruments strictly 
 so called.^ * 
 
 III. We may advance from animals which bring forth 
 eggs, to animals which bring forth their young alive: and 
 of this latter class, from the lowest to the highest; from 
 irrational to rational life, from brutes to the human species; 
 
 * Nearly akin to the reproduction of plants and animals by generation, 
 is the reproduction of parts of animal bodies which have been destroyed, 
 and the reparation of those which have been injured. To say nothing of 
 the reproduction of limbs in crustaceous animals, the wonderful but well 
 attested fact, of the formation of a new eye in an animal of the lizard kind, 
 in the place of one which had been cut out of the socket, is one which no 
 atheistical theory can approach, in the way of explanation. In the pro- 
 cess by which a new eye is formed, the apparatus, instruments and 
 materials, employed, bear no resemblance to the organ to be farmed. The 
 small capillary vessels of the root of the eye, construct a new eye, out of 
 the blood which circulates in them. To use a mode of expression like 
 that of our author — the vessels which thus construct a new eye, bear no 
 more resemblance to it, than a chisel or a plane, to a table or a chair; and 
 ll:e blood out of which it is made, no more resemblance to it when made, 
 than the metallic ores when taken out of the mine, to a complete and 
 perfectly constructed watch. In this case, we find a contrivance exist- 
 ing in a whole race of animals, for the accomplishment of a purpose 
 which it is not called upon to accomplish in one instance out of a thousand. 
 If the reader will examine the several-atheistical modes of evading the force 
 of the argurrents for the existence of God, referred to in the next 
 chapter, as w 3II as in various other parts of this volume, he will fina that 
 they signally fail in their application to this case. — JEd, 
 
34 
 
 PLANTS AND ANIMALS. 
 
 without perceiving, as we proceed, any alteiatioii A'natever 
 in the terms of the comparison. The rational animal does 
 not produce its offspring with more certainty or success 
 .han the irrational animal; a man than a quadruped, a 
 quadruped than a bird; nor (for we may follow the grada- 
 tion through its whole scale) a bird than a plant; nor a 
 plant than a watch, a piece of dead mechanism, would do, 
 upon the supposition wdiich has already so often been re- 
 peated. Rationality therefore has nothing to do in the 
 business. If an account must be given of the contrivance 
 which we observe; if it be demanded, whence arose either 
 the contrivance by which the young animal is produced, 
 or the contrivance manifested in the young animal itself, it 
 is not from the reason of the parent that any such account 
 can be drawn. He is the cause of his offspring in the same 
 sense as that in which a gardener is the cause of the tulip 
 which grows upon his parterre, and in no other. We ad- 
 mire the flower; we examine the plant; we perceive the 
 conduciveness of many of its parts to their end and office; 
 we observe a provision for its nourishment, growth, pro- 
 tection, and fecundity; but we never think of the gardener 
 in all this. We attribute nothing of this to his agency; 
 yet it may still be true, that without the gardener w#^ 
 should not have had the tulip: just so it is with the suc- 
 cession of animals even of the highest order. For the 
 contrivance discovered in the structure of the thing pro- 
 duced, we want a contriver. The parent is not that contri- 
 ver. His consciousness decides that question. He is in total 
 ignorance why that which is produced took its present form 
 rather than any other. It is for him only to be astonished 
 by the effect. We can no more look therefore to the intel- 
 ligence of the parent animal for what w^e are in search of, 
 a cause of relation, and of subserviency of parts to their use, 
 which relation and subserviency we see in the procreated 
 body, than we can refer the internal conformation of an 
 acorn to the intelligence of the oak from which it dropped, 
 or the structure of the watch to the intelligence of the 
 watch which produced it; there being no diflerence, as far 
 as argument is concerned, between an intelligence wliich 
 i« not exerted, and a intelligence which does not exist. 
 
APPLICATION &r: 
 
 35 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 application of the ARGUMENl CONTINUED. 
 
 Every observation which was made in oiir first diop- 
 ter, concerning the watch, may be repeated with strict pro- 
 priety concerning the eye; concerning animals; ccncern- 
 ing plants; concerning, indeed, all the organized parts of 
 the works of nature. As, 
 
 I. When we are inquiring simply afler the existence of 
 an intelligent Creator, imperfection, inaccuracy, liability 
 to disorder, occasional irregularities, may subsist in a con- 
 siderable degree, without inducing any doubt into the 
 question: just <as a watch may frequently go wrong, seldom 
 perhaps exactly right, may be faulty in some parts, defec- 
 tive in some, without the smallest ground of suspicion from 
 thence arising that it was not a watch ; not made ; or not 
 made for the purpose ascribed to it. When faults are 
 pointed out, and when a question is started concerning the 
 skill of the artist, or the dexterity with which the work is 
 executed, then, indeed, in order to defend these qualities 
 from accusation, we must be able, either to expose some 
 intractableness and imperfection in the materials, or point 
 out some invincible difficulty in the execution, into which 
 imperfection and difficulty the matter of complaint may be 
 resolved; or if we cannot do this, we must adduce such 
 specimens of consummate art and contrivance, proceeding 
 from the same hand, as may convince the inquirer of the 
 existence, in the case before him, of impediments like those 
 which we have mentioned, although, what from the nature 
 of the case is very likely to happen, they be unknown and 
 unperceived by him. This we must do in order to vindi- 
 cate the artist’s skill, or, at least, the perfection of it; as 
 we must also judge of his intention, and of the provision 
 employed in fulfilling that intention, hot from an instance 
 in which they fail, but from the great plurality of instances 
 in which they succeed. But, after all, these are different 
 questions from the question of the artist’s existence; or, 
 wffiich is the same, whether the thing before us be a work of 
 art or not: and the question ought always to be kept sepa- 
 rate in the mind. So likewise it is in the works of nature. 
 Irregularities and imperfections are of little or no ^veight 
 in the consideration, when that consideration relates sim- 
 ply to the existence of a Creator. When the argument re- 
 
36 
 
 APFLICATION OF THE 
 
 spects his attributes, they are of weight; but are then to 
 be taken in conjunction (the attention is not to rest upon 
 them, but they are to be taken in conjunction) with the 
 unexceptionable evidences which we possess, of skill, 
 power, and benevolence, displayed in other instances; 
 which evidences may, in strength, number, and variety, be 
 such, and may so overpower apparent blemishes, as to in- 
 duce us, upon the most reasonable ground, to believe, tliat 
 these last ought to be referred to some cause, though we 
 be ignorant of it, other than defect of knowledge or of be- 
 nevolence in the author. 
 
 II. There may be also parts of plants and animals, as 
 there were supposed to be of the watch, of which, in some 
 instances, the operation, in others, the use, is unknown. 
 These form different causes; for the operation may be un- 
 known, yet the use be certain. Thus it is with the lungs of 
 animals. It does not, I think, appear, that we are acquainted 
 with the action of the air upon the blood, or in what man- 
 ner that action is communicated by the lungs; yet we find 
 that a very short suspension of their office destroys the 
 life of the animal. In this case, therefore, we maybe said 
 to know the use, nay we experience the necessity, of the 
 organ, though we be ignorant of its operation. Nearly the 
 same thing may be observed of what is called the lympha- 
 tic system. We suffer grievous inconveniences from its dis- 
 order, without being informed of the office which it sus- 
 tains in the economy of our bodies. There may possibly 
 also be some few examples of the second class, in which 
 not only the operation is unknown, but in which experi- 
 ments may seem to prove that the part is not necessary; 
 or may leave a doubt, how far it is even useful to the plant 
 or animal in which it is found. This is said to be the case 
 with the spleen; which has been extracted from dogs, with- 
 out any sensible injury to their vital function. Instances 
 o’f *he former kind, namely, in which we cannot explain 
 the operation, may be numerous; for they will be so in 
 proportion to our ignorance.- They will be more or fewer 
 to different persons, and in different stages of science. 
 Every improvement of knowledge diminishes their number. 
 There is hardly, perhaps, a year passes that does not, in 
 the works of nature, bring some operation, or some mode 
 of operation, to light, which was before undiscovered, — pro- 
 bably unsuspected. Instances of the second kind, namely, 
 • where the part appears to be totally useless, I believe to be 
 extremely rare; compared with the number of tliose of 
 V Inch the use is evident, they are beneath any assignable 
 
ARGUMENT CONTINUED 
 
 37 
 
 proportion; and, perhaps, have never be.n submitted to a 
 trial and examination sufliciently accurate, long enough 
 continued, or often enough repeated. No accounts which 
 I have seen are satisfactory. The mutilated animal may 
 live and grow fat, (as was the case of the dog deprived of 
 its spleen,) yet may be defective in some other of its func- 
 tions; which, whether they can all, or in what degree of 
 vigor and perfection, be performed, or how ong preserv- 
 ed, without the extirpated organ, does not seem to be as- 
 certained by experiment. But to this case, even were it 
 fully made out, may be applied the consideration which we 
 suggested concerning the watch, viz. that these superfluous 
 parts do not negative the reasoning which we instituted 
 concerning those parts which are useful, and ot' which we 
 know the use. The indication of contrivance, with re- 
 spect to them, remains as it was before. 
 
 III. One atheistic way of replying to our observations 
 upon the works of nature, and to the proofs of a Deity 
 which we think that we perceive in them, is to tell us, that 
 all which we see must n Bcessarily have had some form, and 
 that it might as well be its present form as any other. Let 
 us now apply this answer to the eye, as we did before to 
 the watch. Something or other must have occupied that 
 place in the animal's head; must have filled up, we will 
 say, that socket: we will say also, that it must have been 
 of that sort of substance which we call animal substance, 
 as flesh, bone, membrane, cartilage, &c. But that it should 
 have been an eye, knowing as we do, what an eye com- 
 prehends, — viz. that it should have consisted, first, of a se- 
 ries of transparent lenses (very different, by the by, even in 
 their substan«e,Ti’om the opaque materials of which the rest 
 of the body is, in general at least, composed; and with- 
 which the whole of its surface, this single portion of it ex- 
 cepted, is covered:) secondly, of a black cloth or canvass 
 (the only membrane of the body which is black) spread 
 lit behind these lenses, so as to r.eceive the image forn:;ed 
 y pencils of light transmitted through them; and placed 
 at the precise geometrical distance at which, and at which 
 alone, a distinct image could be formed, namely, at the 
 concourse of the refracted rays: thirdly, of a large nerve 
 communicating between this membrane and the brain; 
 without which, the action of light upon the membrane, 
 however modified by the organ, would be lost to the pur- 
 poses of sensation: — that this fortunate conformation of 
 parts should have been the lot, not of one 'ndividual out 
 of many thousand individuals, like the great [rize in a lot- 
 
58 
 
 APPLICATION OF THE 
 
 teiy, or like some singularity in nature, but the happy 
 chance of a whole species; nor of one species out of many 
 thousand species, with which we are acquainted, but of 
 by far the greatest number of all that exist; and that under 
 varieties, not casual or capricious, but bearing marks 
 of being suited to their respective exigencies: — that all 
 this should have taken place, merely because something 
 must have occupied those points in every animal’s fore- 
 head, — or, that all this should be thought to be accounted 
 for, by the short answer, that whatever was there, must 
 have had some form or other,” is too absurd to be made 
 more so by any augmentation. We are not contented 
 with this answer; we find no satisfaction in it, by way of 
 accounting for appearances of organization far short of 
 those of the eye, such as we observe in fossil shells, petri- 
 fied bones, or other substances which bear the vestiges of 
 animal or vegetable recrements, but which, either in re- 
 spect of utility, or of the situation in which they are dis- 
 covered, may seem accidental enough. It is no way of 
 accounting even for these things, to say that the stone, for 
 instance, which is shown to us, (supposing the question to 
 be concerning a petrification,) must have contained some 
 internal conformation or other. Nor does it mend the an- 
 swer to add, with respect to the singularity of the confor- 
 mation, that, after the event, it is uo longer to be comput- 
 ed what the chances were against it. This is always to be 
 computed, when the question is, whether a useful or imi- 
 tative conformation be the produce of chance, or not: I de- 
 sire no greater certainty in reasoning, than that by which 
 chance is excluded from the present disposition of the nat- 
 ural world. Universal experience is against it. What 
 does chance ever do for us? In the human body, for in- 
 stance, chance, i. e. the operation of causes without design, 
 may produce a wen, a wart, a mole, a pimple, but never an 
 eye. Amongst inanimate substances, a clod, a pebble, a 
 liquid drop might be; but never was a watch, a telescope, 
 an organized body of any kind, answering a valuable pur- 
 pose by a complicated mechanism, the effect of chance 
 In no assignable instance hath such a thing existed without 
 intention somewhere. 
 
 IV. There is another answer, which has the same ef- 
 fect as the resolving of things into chance; which answer 
 would persuade us to believe, that the eye, the animal to 
 which it belongs, every other animal, every plant, indeed 
 every organized body which we see, are only so many out 
 of nossiblo varieties and combinations of being, which 
 
ARGUMENT CONiiNUED. 
 
 39 
 
 the lapse of infinite ages has brought into existence; that 
 the present world is the relic of that variety; millions of 
 other bodily forms and otlier species having perished, be- 
 ing by the defect of their constitutions incapable of preser- 
 va.mn, or of continuance by generation. Now there is no 
 foundation whatever for this conjecture in anything which 
 we observe in the works of nature; no such experiments 
 are going on at present; no such energy operates, as that 
 which is here supposed, and which should be constantly 
 pushing into existence new varieties of beings: Nor are 
 there any appearances to support an opinion, that every 
 possible combination of vegetable or animal structure has 
 formerly been tried. Multitudes of conformations, both of 
 vegetables and animals, may be conceived capable of exist- 
 ence and succession, which yet do not exist. Perhaps 
 almost as many forms of plants might have been found in 
 the fields, as figures of plants can be delineated upon paper. 
 A countless variety of animals might have existed, which 
 do not exist. Upon the supposition here stated,, we should 
 see unicorns and mermaids, sylphs and centaurs, the fan- 
 cies of painters, and the fables of poets, realized by exam- 
 ples. Or, if it be alleged that these may transgress the 
 limits of possible life and propagation, we might, at least, 
 have nations of human beings without nails upon their fin- 
 gers, with more or fewer fingers and toes than ten; some 
 with one eye, others with one ear, with one nostril, or with- 
 out the sense of smelling at all. All these, and a thousand 
 other imaginable varieties, might live and propagate. We 
 may modity any one species many different ways, all con- 
 sistent with life, and with the actions necessary to preserva- 
 tion, although affording different degrees of conveniency 
 and enjoyment to the animal. And if we carry these mod- 
 ifications through the different species which are known to 
 subsist, their number would be incalculable. No reason 
 can be given why, if these deperdits ever existed, they 
 have now disappeared. Yet, if ail possible existences have 
 been tried, they must have formed part of the catalogue. 
 
 But, moreover, the division of organized substances into 
 animals and vegetables, and the distribution and sub-distri- 
 butien of each into genera and species, which distribution 
 is not an arbitrary act of the mind, but founded in the 
 order which prevails in external nature, appear to me to 
 contiadict the supposition of the present world being the 
 remains of an indefinite variety of existences; of a variety 
 which rejects all plan. The hypothesis teaches, that every 
 
40 
 
 APPLICATION OF THE 
 
 possible 'variety of being hath, at one time or other, found 
 its wav into existence, (by what cause or in what manner is 
 not said,) and that those which were badly formed, perish- 
 ed; but how or why those which survived should be cast, 
 as we see that plants and animals are cast, into regular 
 classes, the hypothesis does not explain; or rather, the hy- 
 pothesis is inconsistent with this phenomenon. 
 
 The hypothesis, indeed, is hardly deserving of the con - 
 sideration which we have given to it. What should we 
 think of a man who, because we had never ourselves seen 
 watches, telescopes, stocking mills, steam engines, &c. 
 made, knew not how they were made, or could prove 
 by testimony when they were made, or by whom,— 
 would have us believe that these machines, instead of de- 
 riving their curious structures from the thought and design 
 of their inventors and contrivers, in truth derive them from 
 no other origin than this, viz. that a mass of metals and oth- 
 er materials having run when melted into all possible fig- 
 ures, and combined themselves in all possible forms and 
 shapes, and proportions, these things which we see, are 
 what were left from the accident, as best worth preserving; 
 and, as such, are become the remaining stock of a maga- 
 zine, which, at one time or other, has, by this means, con- 
 tained every mechanism, useful and useless, convenient 
 and inconvenient, into which such like, materials could bo 
 thrown? I cannot distinguish the hypothesis as applied 
 to the works of nature, from this solution, which no one 
 would accept, as applied to a collection of machines. 
 
 V. To the marks of contrivance discoverable in animal 
 bodies, and to the argument deduced from them, in proof of 
 design, and of a designing Creator, this turn is sometimes 
 attempted to be given, viz. that the parts were not intended 
 for the use, but that the use arose out of the parts. This 
 distinction is intelligible. A cabinet maker rubs his ma- 
 hogany with fish skin; yet it would be too much to assert 
 that the skin of the dogfish was made rough and granulated 
 on purpose for the polishing of wood, and the use of cabinet- 
 makers. Therefore the distinction is intelligible. But I 
 think that there is very little place for it in the works of 
 nature. When roundly and generally affirmed of them, as 
 it hath sometimes been, it amounts to such another stretch 
 of assertion, as it would be to say, that all the implements 
 of the cabinet-maker’s workshop, as well as the fish skin, 
 were substances accidentally configurated, which he had 
 picked up, and converted to his use; that liis adzes, saws, 
 places and gimlets, were not mad 3, as wc suppose, to hew 
 
ARGUMENT CONTINUED. 
 
 41 
 
 CUV, smooth, shape out, or bore wood with; but that, these 
 things being made, no matter with what design, or whether 
 with any, the cabinet-maker perceiveo that they were ap- 
 plicable to his purpose, and turned them to account. 
 
 But, again. So far as this solution is attempted to be ap- 
 plied to those parts of animals, the action of which does 
 not depend upon the will of the animal, it is fraught with 
 still more evident absurdity. Is it possible to believe that 
 the eye was formed without any regard to vision; that it 
 was the animal itself which found out, that, though formed 
 with no such intention, it would serve to see with; and 
 that the use of the eye, as an organ of sight, resulted from 
 this discovery, and the animal’s application ofit.^ The same 
 question may be asked of the ear; the same of all the 
 senses. None of the senses fundamentally depend iipo’^ 
 the election of the animal; consequently, neither upon his 
 sagacity, nor his experience. It is the impression which 
 objects make upon them, that constitutes their use. Under 
 that impression, he is passive. He may bring objects to the 
 sense, or within its reach; he may select these objects: but 
 over the impression itself he has no power, or very little ; 
 and that properly is the sense. 
 
 Secondly, There are many parts of animal bodies which 
 seem to depend upon the will of the animal in a greater 
 degree than the senses do, and yet, with respect to which, 
 this solution is equally unsatisfactory. If we apply the so- 
 lution to the human body, for instance, it forms itself into 
 questions, upon which no reasonable mind can doubt; such 
 as, whether the teeth were made expressly for the mastica- 
 tion of food, the feet for .. walking, the hands for holding; 
 or whether, these things being as they are, being in fact 
 in the animal’s possession, his own ingenuity taught him 
 that they were convertible to these purposes, though no 
 such purposes were contemplated in their formation. 
 
 All that there is of the appearance of reason in this 
 way of considering the subject is, that, in some cases, 
 the organization seems to determine the habits of the ani- 
 mal, and its choice, to a particular mode of life; which; 
 in a certain sense, may be called ‘‘the use arising out of 
 he part.” Now to all the instances, in which there is any 
 place for this suggestion, it may be replied, that the organ- 
 ization determines the animal to habits beneficial and salu- 
 tary to itself; and that this effect would not be seen so 
 regularly to follow, if the several organizations did not 
 bear a concerted and contrived relation to the substance 
 by which the animal was surrounded. They would, others 
 
42 
 
 APPLICATION OF THE 
 
 wise, be capacities without objects; powers without em- 
 ployment. The web foot determines, you say, the duck 
 to swim: but what would that avail, if there were no water 
 to swim in? The strong hooked bill, and sharp talons, 
 of one species of bird, determine it to prey upon animals, 
 the soft straight mil, and weak claws, of another species, 
 determine it to pick up seeds: but neither determination 
 could take effect in providing for the sustenance of the 
 birds, if animal bodies and vegetable seeds did not lie with- 
 in their reach. The peculiar conformation of the bill, and 
 tongue, and claws of the woodpecker, [PI. XXVII. fig. 1, 
 2, 3] determines that bird to search for his food amongst 
 the insects lodged behind the bark, or in the wood, of de- 
 cayed trees: but what would this profit him, if there were 
 no trees, no decayed trees, no insects lodged under their 
 bark, or in their trunk? The proboscis with which the 
 bee is furnished, determines him to seek for honey: but 
 what would that signify, if flowers supplied none? Facul- 
 ties thrown down upon animals at random, and without 
 reference to the objects amidst which they are placed, 
 would not produce to them the services and benefits which 
 we see; and if there be that reference, then there is in- 
 tention. 
 
 Lastly, the solution fails entirely when applied to plants. 
 The parts of plants answer their uses, without any concur- 
 rence from tho^^ll or choice of the plant. 
 
 VI. Others have chosen to refer everything to a princi^ 
 pie of order in nature. A principle of order is the word: 
 but what is meant by a principle of order, as different 
 from an intelligent Creator, has not been explained either 
 by definition or example; and, without such explanation, 
 it should seem to be a mere substitution of words for rea- 
 sons, names for causes. Order itself is only the adaptation 
 of means to an end: a principle of order, therefore, car. 
 only signify the mind and intention which so adapts them. 
 Or, were it capable of being explained in any other sense, 
 is there any experience, any analogy to sustain it? Was 
 a watch ever produced by a principle of order ? and why 
 might not a watch be so produced as well as an eye ? 
 
 Furthermore, a principle of order, acting blindly and 
 without choice, is negatived by the observation, that order 
 is not universal; which it would be, if it issued from a con- 
 stant and necessary principle; nor indiscriminate, which it 
 would be, if it issued from an unintelligent principle. Where 
 ordei is wanted, there we find it; where order is not want- 
 ed, i e. when* if it prevailed, it would be useless, there we 
 
ARGUMENT CONTINUED. 
 
 43 
 
 do not find it. In the structure ofthe eye, (fc r we adhere to 
 our example,) in the figure and position of itw several parts, 
 the most exact order is maintained. In the forms of rocks 
 and mountains, in the lines which bound the coasts of con- 
 ‘nents and islands, in the shape of bays and promontories, 
 no order whatever is perceived, because it would have been 
 superfluous. No useful purpose would have arisen from 
 moulding rocks and mountains into regular solids, bounds 
 ing the channel of the ocean by geometrical curves, oi 
 from the map of the world resembling a table of diagrams 
 in Euclid’s Elements, or Simpson’s Conic Sections. 
 
 VII. Lastly, the confidence which we place in our ob- 
 servations upon the works of nature, in the marks which 
 we discover of contrivance, choice, and design, and in our 
 reasoning upon the proofs afforded us, ought not to be 
 shaken, as it is sometimes attempted to be done, by bring- 
 ing forward to our view our own ignorance, or rather the 
 general imperfection of our knowledge of nature. Nor, 
 in many cases, ought this consideration to affect us, even 
 when it respects some parts of the subject immediately 
 under our notice. True fortitude of understanding consists 
 in not suffering what we know to be disturbed by what we 
 do not know. If we perceive a useful end, and means 
 adapted to that end, we perceive enough for our conclusion, 
 If these things be clear, no matter what is obscure. The 
 argument is finished. For instance; if the utility of vision 
 to the animal which enjoys it, and the adaptation of the eye 
 to this office, be evident and certain, (and I can mention 
 nothing which is more so,) ought it to prejudice the infer- 
 ence which we draw from these premises, that we cannot 
 expla’n the use of the spleen } Nay, more ; if there be parts 
 ofthe eye, viz. the cornea, the crystalline, the retina, in 
 their substance, figure, and position, manifestly suited to 
 the formation of an image by the refraction of rays of light, 
 at least, as manifestly as the glasses and tubes of a dioptric 
 telescope are suited to that purpose; it concerns not the 
 proof which these afford of design, and of a designer, tha 
 there may perhaps be other parts, certain muscles, for in- 
 stance, or nerves in the same eye, of the agency or effect 
 of which we can give no account; any more than we 
 should be inclined to doubt, or ought to doubt, about ^he 
 construction of a telescope, viz. for what purpose it was 
 constructed, or whether it were constructed at all, because 
 there belonged to it certain screws and pins, the use or 
 action cf which we did not comprehend. I take it to be a 
 general way f f infusing doubts and scruples into the mind 
 
44 
 
 THE ARGUMENT CUMULATIVE. 
 
 to recur tc its own ignorance, its own imbecility: to tell 
 us that upon these subjects we know little; that little im* 
 perfectly; or rather, that we know nothing properly about 
 the matter. These suggestions so fall in with our con- 
 sciousnesses, as sometimes to produce a general distrust of 
 aur faculties and our conclusions. But this is an unfound- 
 ed jealousy. The uncertainty of one thing, does not ne- 
 cessarily affect the certainty of another thing. Our ig- 
 norance of many points need not suspend our assurance of 
 a few. Before we yield, in any particular instance, to the 
 skepdeism which this sort of insinuation would induce, we 
 ought accurately to ascertain, whether our ignorance or 
 doubt concern those precise points upon which our conclu- 
 sion lests. Other points are nothing. Our ignorance of 
 other points may be of no consequence to these, though 
 they be points, in various respects, of great importance. 
 A just reasoner removes from his consideration, npt only 
 what he knows, but what he does not know, touching mat- 
 ters not strictly connected with his argument, i. e. not 
 forming the very steps of his deduction; beyond these, 
 his knowledge and his ignorance are alike relative. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE ARGUME'NT CUMULATIVE. 
 
 Were there no example in the world of contrivance eX' 
 cept that of the eye^ it would be alone sufficient to support 
 the conclusion which we draw from it, as to the necessity 
 of an intelligent Creator. It could never be got rid of ; 
 because it could not be accounted for by any other suppo- 
 sition, which did not contradict all the principles we pos- 
 sess of knowledge: the principles, according to which things 
 do, as often as they can be brought to the test of experi- 
 ence, turn out to be true or false. Its coats and humours 
 constructed as the lenses of a telescope are constructed, 
 for the refraction of rays of light to a point, which forms 
 Uie proper office of the organ: the provision in its muscles 
 for turning its pupil to the object, similar to that which is 
 given to the telescope by screws, and upon which power 
 of direction in the eye, the exercise of its office as an 
 optical instrument depends; the farther provision for its 
 defence, fo^ its constant lubricity and moisture, which we 
 see ir its socket ard its lids, in its gland for the secretion 
 
FUNCTIONS OF ANIMALS, SlC. 
 
 45 
 
 of the matter of tears, its outlet or communication with the 
 nose for carry ng off the liquid aftor the eye is washed with 
 it; these provisions compose altogether an apparatus, a 
 system of parts, a preparation of means, so manifest in their 
 design, so exquisite in their contrivance, so successful in 
 their issue, so precious, and so infinitely beneficial in their 
 use, as, in my opinion, to bear down all doubt that can be 
 raised upon the subject. And what I wish, un ler the title 
 of the present chapter, to observe is, that if other parts 
 of nature were inaccessible to our inquiries, or even if 
 other parts of nature presented nothing to our examination 
 out disorder and confusion, the validity of this example 
 would remain the same. If there were but one watch in 
 the world, it would not be less certain that it had a maker. 
 If we had never in our lives seen any but one single kind 
 of hydraulic machine, yet, if of that one kind we understood 
 the mechanism and use, we should be as perfectly assured 
 that it proceeded from the hand, and thought, and skill of 
 a workman, as if we visited a museum of the arts, and saw 
 collected there twenty different kinds of machines foi 
 drawing water, or a thousand different kinds for othei 
 purposes. Of this point, each machine is a proof, inde- 
 pendently of all the rest. So it is with the evidences of si 
 divine agency. The proof is not a conclusion which liea 
 at the end of a chain of reasoning, of which chain each 
 instance of contrivance is only a link, and of which, if one 
 link fail, the whole falls; but it is an argument separately 
 supplied by every separate example. An error in stating 
 an example affects only that example. The arg ament is 
 cumulative, in the fullest sense of that term. The eye 
 proves it without the ear; the ear without the eye. The 
 proof in each example is complete; for when the design of 
 the part, and the conduciveness of its structure to that de- 
 sign is shown, the mind may set itself at rest; no future 
 consideration can detract anything from the force of he 
 example. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 OF THE MECHANICAL AND IMMECHANICAL PARTS AND I UNC- 
 TIONS OF ANIMALS AND VEGETABLES. 
 
 It is not that every part of an animal or vegetable has 
 not proceeded from a contriving mind; or that every part 
 is not constructed w’th a view to its proper end and pur- 
 
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 whilft it operates according to these laws; but it 
 is because these laws themselves are not in all cases equal- 
 ly understood; or, what amounts to nearly the same thing, 
 are not equally exemplified in more simple processes, and 
 more simple machines; that we lay down the distinction, 
 here proposed, between the mechanical parts and ether 
 parts of animals and vegetables. 
 
 For instance; the principle of muscular motion, viz, 
 upon what cause the swelling of the belly of the muscle, 
 and consequent contraction of its tendons, either by an 
 act of the will, or by involuntary irritation, depends, is 
 wholly unknown to us. The substance employed, whether 
 it be fluid, gaseous, elastic, electrical, or none of these, or 
 nothing resembling these, is also unknown to us: of course, 
 the laws belonging to that substance, and which regulate 
 its action, are unknown to us. We see nothing similar 
 to this contraction in any machine which we can make, 
 or any process which we can execute. So far (it is con- 
 fessed) we are in ignorance, but no farther. This power 
 and principle, from whatever cause it proceeds, being as- 
 sumed, the collocation of the fibres to receive the princi- 
 ple, the disposition of the muscles for the use and applica- 
 tion of the power, is mechanical; and is as intelligible as 
 the adjustment of the wires and strings by which a puppet 
 is moved. We see, therefore, as far as respects the sub- 
 ject before us, what is not mechanical in the animal frame, 
 and what is. The nervous influence (for we are often 
 obliged to give names to things which we know little 
 about) — I say the nervous influence, by which the belly, 
 or middle, of the muscle is swelled, is not mechar ical. 
 The utility of the effect we perceive; the means, or the 
 preparation of means, by which it is produced, we do not 
 But obscurity as to the origin of muscular motion brings 
 no doubtfulness into our observations upon the sequel of 
 the process: Which observations relate, 1st, to the con- 
 stitution of the muscle; in consequence of which consti- 
 tution, the swelling of the belly or middle part is neces- 
 sarily and mechanically follow^ed by a retraction of the 
 tendons: 2dly, to the number and variety of the muscles, and 
 the corresponding number and variety of useful pow ers — 
 which they supply to the animal ; which is astonishingly 
 great: 3dly, to the judicious, (if we may be permitted to 
 use that erm, ir speaking of the author or of the works 
 
AND FVNCTIDNS OF ANIMALS, &C. 
 
 41 
 
 of nature,) to the wise and well-contrived disposition of 
 each muscle for its specific purpose; for moving the joint 
 this way, and that way, and the other way; for pulling 
 and drawing the part to which it is attached, in a determi- 
 nate and particular direction; which is a mechanical oper- 
 ation, exemplified in a multitude of instances. To mention 
 only one: The tendon of the trochlear muscle of the eye, 
 to the end that it may draw in the line required, is passed 
 through a cartilaginous ring, at which it is reverted, exact y 
 in the same manner as a rope in a ship is carried over a 
 block or round a stay, in order to make it pull in the direction 
 which is wanted. [PI. V. fig. 1.] All this, as we have 
 said, is mechanical; and is accessible to inspection, as ca- 
 pable of being ascertained, as the mechanism of the au- 
 tomaton in the Strand. Suppose the automaton to be put in 
 motion by a magnet, (which is probable,) it will supply us 
 with a comparison very apt for our present purpose. Of 
 the magnetic effluvium, we know perhaps as little as we do 
 of the nervous fluid. But, magnetic attraction being as- 
 sumed, (it signifies nothing from what cause it proceeds,) 
 we can trace, or there can be pointed out to us, with per- 
 fect clearness and certainty, the mechanism, viz. the steel 
 bars, the wheels, the joints, the wires, by which the motion 
 so much admired is communicated to the fingers of the im- 
 age: and to make any obscurity, or difficulty, or contro- 
 versy in the doctrine of magnetism, an objection to our 
 knowledge or our certainty concerning the contrivance, oi 
 the marks of contrivance, displayed in the automaton, 
 would be exactly the same thing, as it is to make our ig- 
 norance (which we acknowledge) of the cause of nervous 
 agency, or even of the substance and structure of the 
 nerves themselves, a ground of question or suspicion as to 
 the reasoning which we institute concerning the mechani- 
 cal part of our frame. That an animal is a machine, is a 
 proposition neither correctly true nor wholly false. The 
 distinction which we have been discussing will serve to 
 show how far the comparison, which this expression im- 
 plies, holds; and wherein it fails. And whether the dis- 
 tinction be thought of importance or not, it is certainly of 
 importance to remember, that there is neither truth noi 
 justice in endeavouring to bring a cloud over our under- 
 standings, or a distrust into our reasonings upon this sub- 
 ject, by suggesting that w^e know nothing of voluntary 
 motion, of irritability, of the principle of life, of sensation, 
 of animal heat, upon all which the animal functions de- 
 pend; for, our ignorance of these parts of the animal frame 
 
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 te conduct us to 
 the same conclusion. 
 
 There is what may be called the chemti.al part of our 
 frame; of which, by reason of the imperfection of our 
 chemistry, we can attain to no distinct knowledge; I 
 mean, not to a knowledge, either in degree or kind, similar 
 to that which we possess of the mechanical part of our 
 frame. It does not, therefore, afford the same species of 
 argument as that which mechanism affords; and yet it may 
 afford an argument in a high degree satisfactory. The gas- 
 tric juice, or the liquor which digests the food in the stom- 
 achs of animals, is of this class. Of all menstrua, it is the 
 most active, the most universal. In the human stomach, for 
 instance, consider what a variety of strange substances, and 
 how widely different from one another, it, in a few hours, re- 
 duces to a uniform pulp, milk, or mucilage. It seizes upon 
 everything, it dissolves the texture of almost everything 
 that comes in its way. The flesh of perhaps all animals; 
 the seeds and fruits of the greatest number of plants ; the 
 roots, and stalks, and leaves of many, hard and tough as 
 they are, yield to its powerful pervasion. The change 
 wrought by it is different from any chemical solution which 
 we can produce, or with which we are acquainted, in this 
 respect as well as many others, that, in our chemistry, par- 
 ticular menstrua act only upon particular substances. Com 
 sider, moreover, that this fluid, stronger in its operation 
 than a caustic alkali or mineral acid, than red precipitate, 
 or aqua-fortis itself, is nevertheless as mild, and bland, and 
 inoffensive to the touch or taste, as saliva or gum-water, 
 which it much resembles. Consider, I say, these several 
 properties of the digestive organ, and of the juice with 
 which it is supplied, or rather with which it is made to sup- 
 
AND FUNCTIONS OF ANIMALS, &C 
 
 ply itself, and you will confess it to be entitled tc a name, 
 which it has sometimes received, that of “tie chemical 
 wonder of animal nature.” 
 
 Still we are ignorant of the composition of this fluid, and 
 of the mode of its action; by which is meant, that we are 
 not capable, as we are in the mechanical part of our frame, 
 of collating it with the operations of art. And this I call 
 the imperfection of our chemistry; for should the time ev- 
 er arrive, which is not perhaps to be despaired of. when we 
 can compound ingredients^ so as to form a solvent which 
 wdl act in the manner in which the gastric juice acts, we 
 may be able to ascertain the chemical principles upon 
 which its efticacy depends, as well as from what part, and 
 by what concoction, in the human body, these principles 
 are generated and derived. 
 
 In the meantime, ought that, which is in truth the de- 
 fect of our chemistry, to hinder us from acquiescing in the 
 inference, which a production of nature, by its place, its 
 properties, its action, its surprising eflicacy, its invaluable 
 use, authorises us to draw in respect of a creative design? 
 
 Another most subtile and curious function of animal bod- 
 ies is secretion. This function is semi-chemical and semi- 
 mechanical; exceedingly important and diversified in its 
 effects, but obscure in its process and in its apparatus. 
 The importance of the secretory o4*gans is but too well at- 
 tested by the diseases, which an excessive, a deficient, or a 
 vitiated secretion is almost sure of producing. A single 
 secretion being wrong, is enough to make life miserable, 
 or sometimes to destroy it. Nor is the variety less than 
 the importance. From one and the same blood ( I speak 
 of the human body) about twenty different fluids are sepa- 
 rated; in their sensible properties, in taste, smell, color, 
 and consistency, the most unlike one another that is possi- 
 ble; thick, thin, salt, bitter, sweet: and, if from our own 
 we pass to other species of animals, we find amongst their 
 secretions not only the most various, but the most opposite 
 properties; the most nutritious aliment, the deadliest poi- 
 son; the sweetest perfumes, the most fetid odors. Of 
 these the greater part, as the gastric juice, the saliva, the 
 bile, the slippery mucilage which lubricates the joints, the 
 tears which moisten the eye, the wax which defends the 
 ear, are, after they are secreted, made use of in the animal 
 economy; are evidently subservient, and are actually con- 
 tributing to the utilites of the animal itself. Other fluids 
 seem to be separated only to be rejected. That this also 
 is necessary (though why it was originally necessary, we 
 
 E 
 
50 MECHANrCAL AND IMMECHANICAL PARTS 
 
 cannot tell) is shown by the consequence of the sepaiation 
 being long suspended; which consequence is disease and 
 death. Akin to secretion, if riot the same thing, is assim- 
 ilation, by which one and the same blood is converted into 
 bone, muscular flesh, nerves, membranes, tendons; things 
 as different as the wood and iron, canvass and cordage, of 
 which a ship with its furniture is composed. We have no 
 operation of art wherewith exactly to compare all this, for no 
 Mlier reason perhaps than that all operations of art are ex- 
 ceeded by it. No chemical election, no chemical analysis 
 or resolution of a substance into its constituent parts, no me- 
 chanical sifting or divison, that we are acquainted with, in 
 perfection or variety, come up to animal secretion. Never- 
 theless, the apparatus and process are obscure; not to say 
 absolutely concealed from our inquiries. In a few, and only 
 a few instances, we can discern a little of the constitution 
 of a gland. In the kidneys of large animals, we can trace 
 the emulgent artery dividing itself into an infinite number 
 of branches; their extremities everywhere communicating 
 v/ith little round bodies, in the substance of which bodies 
 the secret of the machinery seems to reside, for there the 
 change is made. We can discern pipes laid from these 
 round bodies towards the pelvis, which is a basin within 
 the solid of the kidney. (PI. VI. fig. 2.) We can discern 
 these pipes joining and collecting together into larger pipes; 
 and when so collected, ending in innumerable papillae, 
 through which the secreted fluid is continually oozing into 
 its receptacle. This is all we know of the mechanism of 
 a gland, even in the case in which it seems most capable 
 of being investigated. Yet to pronounce that w^e know 
 nothing of animal secretion, or nothing satisfactorily, and 
 wdth that concise remark to dismiss the article from our 
 argument, would be to dispose of the subject very hastily 
 and very irrationally. For the purpose w^hich we want, that 
 of evincing intention, we know a great deal. And what we 
 know is this. We see the blood carried by a pipe, conduit, 
 or duct, io the gland. We see an organized apparatus, be 
 its construction or action what it may, which we call that 
 gland. We see the blood, or part of the blood, after it 
 has passed through and undergone the action of the gland, 
 coming from it by an emulgent vein or artery, i. e. by an- 
 other pipe or conduit. And we see also at the same time 
 a new and specific fluid issuing from the same gland by its 
 excretory duct, i. e. by a third pipe or conduit; which new 
 fluid is in some cases discharged out of the body, in more 
 cases retained within it, and there executing some impoi- 
 
AND FUNCTIONS OF ANIMALS. 
 
 51 
 
 ^ant and intelligent office. Now supposing, or admitting, 
 that we know nothing of the proper internal constitution of 
 a gland, or of the mode of its acting upon the blood; then 
 our situation is precisely like that of an unmechanical look- 
 er-on, who stands by a stocking-loom, a corn-mill, a card- 
 mg-machine, or a threshing-machine, at work, the fabric 
 md mechanism of which, as well as all that passes within, 
 fS hidden from his sight by the outside case; or, if seen, 
 would be too complicated for his uninformed, uninstructed 
 understanding to comprehend. And what is that situation? 
 This spectator, ignorant as he is, sees at one end a mate- 
 rial enter the machine, as unground grain the mill, raw cot- 
 ton the carding-machine, sheaves of unthreshed corn the 
 threshing-machine; and, when he casts his eye to the other 
 end of the apparatus, he sees the material issuing from it 
 in anew state; and, what is more, in a state manifestly 
 adapted to future use&; the grain in meal fit for the making 
 of bread, the wool in rovings ready for spinning into 
 threads, the sheaf in corn dressed for the mill. Is it ne- 
 cessary that this man, in order to be convinced that design, 
 that intention, that contrivance has been employed about 
 the machine, should be allowed to pull it to pieces; should 
 be enabled to examine the parts separately; explore their 
 action upon one another, or their operation, whether simul- 
 taneous or successive, upon the material which is presented 
 to them? He may long to do this, to gratify his curiosity; 
 he may desire to do it to improve his theoretic know- 
 ledge ; or he may have a more substantial reason for re- 
 questing it, if he happen, instead of a common visiter, to 
 be a mill wright by profession, or a person sometimes call- 
 ed in to repair such-like machines when out of order; but, 
 for the purpose of ascertaining the existence of counsel 
 and design in the formation of the machine, he wants no 
 such intromission or privity. What he sees is sufficient. 
 The effect upon the material, the change produced in it, 
 the utility of that change for future applications, abundantly 
 testify, be the concealed part of the machine or of its con- 
 struction what it may, the hand and agency of a contriver. 
 
 If any confirmation were wanting to the evidence which 
 the animal secretions afford of design, it may be derived, 
 as has been already hinted, from their variety, and from 
 their appropriation to their place and use. They all come 
 from the same blood: they are all drawn off by glands: yet 
 the produce is very different, and the difference exactly 
 adapted to the work which is to be' done, or the end to be 
 answei ed. No account can be given of this, without re- 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLlNOiS 
 
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^reat laboratory, as it is by 
 its situation the recipient, of the materials of future nutri- 
 tion? These are all fair questions; and no answer can be 
 given to them, but what calls in intelligence and intention. 
 
 My object in the present chapter has been to teach three 
 things: first, that it is a mistake to suppose that, in reason- 
 ing from the appearances of nature, the imperfection of 
 our knowledge proportionably affects the certainty of our 
 conclusion; for in many cases it does not affect it at all: 
 secondly, that the different parts of the animal frame may 
 be classed and distributed, according to the degree of ex- 
 actness with which we can compare them with works of 
 art: thirdly, that the mechanical parts of our frame, or 
 those in which this comparison is most complete, although 
 constituting, probably, the coarsest portions of nature’s 
 workmanship, are the most proper to be alle'ged as proofs 
 and specimens of design. 
 
 CHAPTER VIIJ. 
 
 OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT IN THE HUMAN FRAME 
 
 We proceed, therefore, to propose certain examples ta- 
 ken out of this class: making choice of such as, amongst 
 those which have come to our knowledge, appear to be the 
 most striking, and the best understood; but obliged, per- 
 haps, cO postpone both these recommendations to a third; 
 that of the example being capable of explanation without 
 places, or figures, or technical language. 
 
 OF THE bones. 
 
 1 challenge any man to produce, in the joints and 
 pivots of the most con^plicated or the most flexible ma 
 •fliine that was ever contrived, a construction more artifi 
 
IN THE HUMAN FRAME. 
 
 53 
 
 cial, or more evidently artificial, than that which is seen 
 in the vertebrce of the human neck. [PI. VII. fig. 1.] Two 
 things were to be done. The head was to have the power 
 of bending forward and backward, as in the act of nodding, 
 stooping, looking upward or downward; and, at the same 
 time, of turning itself round upon the body to a certain 
 extent, the quadrant we will say, or rather, perhaps, a hun- 
 dred and twenty degrees of a circle. For these two pur- 
 poses, two distinct contrivances are employed; [PI. VII. 
 fig. 2, 3, 4.] First, the head rests immediately upon the 
 uppermost of the vertebrm, and is united to it by a hinge- 
 joint; upon which joint the head plays freely forward and 
 backward, as far either way as is necessary, or as the liga- 
 ments allow; which was the first thing required. — But 
 then the rotatory motion is unprovided for. Therefore, 
 secondly, to make the head capable of this, a farther me- 
 chanism is introduced ; not between the head and the up- 
 permost bone of the neck, where the hinge is, but between 
 that bone, and the bone next underneath it. It is a me- 
 chanism resembling a tenon and mortice. This second, 
 or uppermost bone but one, has what anatomists call a pro- 
 cess, viz. a projection, somewhat similar, in size and shape, 
 to a tooth; which tooth, entering a corresponding hole or 
 socket in the bone above it, forms a pivot or axle, upon 
 which that upper bone, together with the head which it 
 supports, turns freely in a circle; and as far in the circle 
 as the attached muscles permit the head to turn. Thus 
 are both motions perfect, without interfering with each 
 other. When we nod the head, we use the hinge-joint, 
 which lies between the head and the first bone of the neck 
 When we turn the head round, w^e use the tenon and mor- 
 tice, which runs between the first bone of the neck and the 
 second. We see the same contrivance, and the same prin- 
 ciple, employed in the frame or mounting of a telescope. 
 It is occasionally requisite, that the object-end ^ the in 
 Btrument be moved up and down, as well as horizontally; 
 or equatorially. For the vertical motion, there is a hinge, 
 upon which the telescope plays; for the horizontal or 
 equatorial motion, an axis upon which the telescope and 
 the hinge turn round together. And this is exactly the 
 mechanism which is applied to the motion of the head: 
 nor will any one here doubt of the existence of counsel and 
 design, except it be by that debility of mind, which can 
 trust to its own reasonings in nothing. 
 
 ^Ve may add, that it was. on another account also, ex- 
 pedient, that the motion of the head backward and for- 
 
54 
 
 OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT 
 
 ward should be performed upon the upper surface of the 
 first vertebrae : for, if the first vertebrae itself had bent for- 
 ward, it would have brought the spinal marrow, at the very 
 beginning of its course, upon the point of the tooth. 
 
 II. Another mechanical contrivance, not unlike the last 
 in its object, but different and original in its means, is seen 
 in what anatomists call the fore-arm; that is, in the arm 
 from the elbow to the wrist. [PI. VIII. fig. 1, 2.] Here, 
 for the perfect use of the limb, two motions are wanted; a 
 motion at the elbow backward and forward, which is called 
 a reciprocal motion; and a rotatory motion, by which the 
 palm of the hand, as occasion requires, may be turned up- 
 ward. How is this managed.^ The fore-arm, it is well 
 known, consists of two bones lying alongside each other, 
 but touching only towards the ends. One, and only one of 
 these bones, is joined to the cubit, or upper part of the arm, 
 at the elbow; the other alone, to the hand at the wrist. 
 The first by means, at the elbow, of a hinge-joint, (which 
 allows only of motion in the same plane,) swings backward 
 and forward, carrying along with it the other bone, and 
 the whole fore-arm. In the meantime, as often as there is 
 occasion to turn the palm upward, that other bone, to 
 which the hand is attached, rolls upon the first, by the 
 help of a groove or hollow near each end of one bone, 
 to which is fitted a corresponding prominence in the other. 
 If both bones had been joined to the cubit, or upper arm, 
 at the elbow, or both to the hand at the wrist, the 
 thing could not have been done. The first was to be at 
 liberty at one end, and the second at the other: by which 
 means the two actions may be performed together. The 
 great bone, which carries the fore-arm, may be swinging 
 upon its hinge at the elbow, at the very time that the les- 
 ser bone, which carries the hand, may be turning round it 
 in the grooves. The management also of these grooves, 
 or rather of the tubercles and grooves, is very observable 
 The two bones are called the radius and the ulna. Above, 
 i. e. towards the elbow, a tubercle of the radius plays into 
 a socket of the ulna; whilst below, i. e. towards the wrist, 
 the radius finds the socket, and the ulna the tubercle. A 
 single bone in the fore-arm, with a ball and socket joint at 
 the elbow, which admits of motion in all directions, might, 
 in some degree, have answered the purpose of both moving 
 the arm and turning the hand. But how much better it is 
 accomplished by the present mechanism, any person may 
 convince himself, who puts the ease and quickness, with 
 whiol. he can shake his liand at the wrist circularly, (mov- 
 
IN THE HUMAN FRAME. 
 
 55 
 
 ing likewise, if he pleases, his arm at the elbo;v at the 
 same time,) in competition with the comparatively slow and 
 laborious motion with which his arm can be made to turn 
 round at the shoulder, by the aid of a ball and socket joint. 
 
 Ill The spine, or back bone, is a chain of joints of very 
 wondtrful construction. [PI. IX. fig. 1, 2.] Various, dif- 
 ficult, and almost inconsistent offices were to be executed 
 by the same instrument. It was to be firm, yet flexible, 
 (now I know no chain made by art, which is both these; 
 lor by firmness I mean, not only strength, but stability:) 
 film, to support the erect position of the body ; flexible, to 
 allow of the bending of the trunk in all degrees of curva- 
 ture. It was farther also (which is another, and quite a 
 distinct purpose from the rest) to become a pipe or conduit 
 for the safe conveyance from the brain, of the most important 
 fluid* of the animal frame, that, namely, upon which all 
 voluntary motion depends, the spinal marrow ; a substance 
 not only of the first necessity to action, if not to life, but 
 of a nature so delicate and tender, so susceptible, and so 
 impatient of injury, as that any unusual pressure upon it, 
 or any considerable obstruction of its course, is followed 
 by paralysis or death. Now the spine was not only to 
 furnish the main trunk for the passage of the medullary 
 substance from the brain, but to give out, in the course of 
 its progress, small pipes therefrom, which, being afterwards 
 indefinitely subdivided, might, under the name of nerves, 
 distribute this exquisite supply to every part of the body. 
 The same spine was also to serve another use not less want- 
 ed than the preceding, viz. to afford a fulcrum, stay, or 
 basis, (or, more properly speaking, a series of these) for 
 the insertion of the muscles which are spread over the 
 trunk of the body; in which trunk there are not, as in the 
 limbs, cylindrical bones, to which they can be fastened: 
 and, likewise, which is a similar use, to furnish a suppoil 
 for the ends of the ribs to rest upon 
 
 Bespeak of a workman a piece of mechanism which 
 shall comprise all these purposes, and let him set about to 
 contrive it; let him try his skill upon it; let him feel the 
 
 * It seems proper to remark here, that the form of expression made 
 use of in this case implies what is not strictly true. The spinal marrow, or 
 more properly the spinal nerve, is not a fluid but a solid cord extending 
 from the brain down through the canal of the spine, from which branches 
 are distribute ! to all parts of the body. Dr. 1‘aley in this instsaice prob- 
 ably had in view the animal spirhs, a subtile fluid, which was formerly 
 oelieved to be seated in tho >rain, ind carried through the nerves to thu 
 different par's. — Ed, 
 
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 chain: is least in the back, where strength 
 more than flexure, is wanted; greater in the loins, which 
 it was necessary should be more supple than the back, 
 and greatest of all in the neck, for the free motion of the 
 head. Then, secondly, in order to afford a passage for 
 the descent of the medullary substance, each of these 
 bones is bored through the middle in such a manner, as 
 that, when put together, the hole in one bone falls into a 
 line, and corresponds with the holes in the two bones con- 
 tiguous to it. By which means the perforated pieces, 
 when joined, form an entire, close, uninterrupted channel ; 
 at least, whilst the spine is upright, and at rest. But, as 
 d settled posture is inconsistent with its use, a great diffi- 
 culty still remained, which was to prevent the vertebrm 
 shifting upon one another, so as to break the line of the 
 canal as often as the body moves or twists; or the joints 
 gaping externally, whenever the body is bent forward, and 
 the spine thereupon made to take the form of a bow. These 
 dangers, which are mechanical, are mechanically provided 
 against. The vertebrre, by means of their processes and 
 projections, and of the articulations which some of these 
 form with one another at their extremities, are so locked in 
 and confined, as to maintain, in what are called the bodies or 
 broad surfaces of the bones, the relative position nearly un- 
 altered; and to throw the change and the pressure, produced 
 by flexion, almost entirely upon the intervening cartilages, 
 the springiness and yielding nature of whose substance ad- 
 mits of all the motion which is necessary to be performed 
 upon them, without any chasm being produced by a separa- 
 .ion of the parts. I say, of all the motion which is necessa- 
 ry ; for although we bend our backs to every degree almost 
 of inclinaiion, the motion of each vertebrm is very small: 
 such is the advantage we receive from the chain being 
 mposed ol'so many links, the spine of so many bones 
 
 9 
 
IN THE HUMAN FRAME. 
 
 57 
 
 FTad it consisted of three or four bones only, in bendiLg 
 the body the spinal marrow must have been bruised at 
 every angle. The reader need not be told, that these inter- 
 vening cartilages are gristles; and he may see them in 
 perfection in a loin of veal. Their form also favors the 
 same intention. They are thicker before than behind; so 
 that, when we stoop forward, the compressible substance of 
 the cartilage, yielding in its thicker and anterior part to the 
 force which squeezes it, brings the surfaces of the adjoining 
 vertebrae nearer to the being parallel with one another than 
 they were before, instead of increasing the inclination of 
 their planes, which must have occasioned a fissure or open- 
 ing between them. Thirdly, for the medullary canal giv- 
 ing out in its course, and in a convenient order, a supply 
 of nerves to different parts of the body, notches are made 
 in the upper and lower edge of every vertebra, two on 
 each edge, equi-distant on each side from the middle line 
 of the back. When the vertebras are put together, these 
 notches, exactly fitting, form small holes, through which 
 the nerves, at each articulation, issue out in pairs, in order 
 to se*nd their branches to every part of the body, and with 
 an equal bounty to both sides of the body. The fourth 
 purpose assigned to the same instrument is the insertion 
 of the bases of the muscles, and the support of the ends 
 of the ribs; and for this fourth purpose, especially the for 
 mer part of it, a figure, specifically suited to the design, 
 and unnecessary for the other purposes, is given to the 
 constituent bones. Whilst they are plain, and round, and 
 smooth, towards the front, where any roughness or projec 
 tion might have wounded the adjacent viscera, they run 
 out behind, and on each side, into lopg processes, to which 
 processes the muscles necessary to the motions of the trunk 
 are fixed; and fixed with such art, that, whilst the verte- 
 brae supply a basis for the muscles, the muscles help to 
 keep these bones in their position, or by their tendons to 
 tie them together. 
 
 That most important, however, and general property, viz 
 the strength of the compages, and the security againt lux- 
 ation, was to be still more specially consulted: for where 
 so many joints were concerned, and where, in every one, 
 derangement would have been fatal, it became a subject oi 
 studious precaution. For this purpose, the vertebrae are 
 articulated, that is, the moveable joints between them are 
 formed by means of those projections of their substance, 
 which we have mentioned under the name of processes; 
 and these so lock in with, and overwrap one another, a 
 
58 
 
 OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT 
 
 to secure the body of the vertebrje, not only from accident- 
 ally slipping, but even from being pushed out of its place 
 by any violence short of that which would break the bone. 
 I have often remarked and admired this structure in the 
 chine of a hare. In this, as in many instances, a plain ob- 
 server of the animal economy may spare himself the disgust 
 of being present at human dissections, and yet learn enough 
 for his information and satisfaction, by even examining the 
 bones of ti e animals which come upon his table. Let him 
 take, for example, into his hands, apiece of the clean-pick- 
 ed bone of a hare’s back; consisting, we will suppose, of 
 three vertebree. He will find the middle bone of the three 
 so implicated by means of its projections or processes, with 
 the bone on each side of it, that no pressure which he can 
 use, will force it out of its place between them. It will 
 give way neither forward, nor backward, nor on either side. 
 In whichever direction he pushes, he perceives, in the 
 form, or junction, or overlapping of the bones, an impedi- 
 ment opposed to his attempt ; a check and guard against 
 dislocation. In one part of the spine, he will find a still 
 farther fortifying expedient, in the mode according to 
 which the ribs are annexed to the spine. Each rib rests 
 upon two vertebrae. That is the thing to be remarked, 
 and any one may remark it in carving a neck of mutton 
 The manner of it is this: the end of the rib is divided by 
 a middle ridge into two surfaces; which surfaces are join- 
 ed to the bodies of two contiguous vertebrae, the ridge ap- 
 plying itself to the intervening cartilage. Now this is the 
 very contrivance v/hich is employed in the famous iron 
 bridge at my door at Bishop-Wearmouth ; and for the same 
 purpose of stability; viz. the cheeks of the bars, which pass 
 between the arches, ride across the joints, by which the 
 pieces composing each arch are united. Each cross-bar 
 rests upon two of these pieces cat their place of junction; 
 and by tliat position resists, at least in one direction, any 
 tendency in either piece to slip out of its place. Thus 
 perfectly, by one means or the other, is the danger of slip- 
 ping laterally, or of being drawn aside out of the line of the 
 back, provided against: and to withstand the bones being 
 pulled asunder longitudinally, or in the direction of that 
 . line, a strong membrane runs from one end of the chain tv: 
 the other, sulficient to resist any force wliich is ever likel} 
 to act in the direction of the back, or parallel to it, ana 
 consequently to secure the wliolc combination in their 
 olaces. The general result is, that not only the motions of 
 ’’he human body necessary for tlic ordinary otlices of life 
 
IN THE HUMAN FRAME. 
 
 59 
 
 are performed with safety, but that it is an accident hard- 
 ly ever heard of, that even the gesticulations of a harlequ in 
 distort his spine. 
 
 Upon the whole, and as a guide to those who may be in- 
 clined to carry the consideration of this subject farther, 
 there are three views under which the spine ought to be 
 regarded, and in all which it cannot fail to excite our ad- 
 miration. These views relate to its articulations, its liga- 
 ments, and its perforation, and to the corresponding advan- 
 tages which the body derives from it, for action, for strength, 
 and for that which is essential to every part, a secure com- 
 munication with the brain."^ 
 
 ✓ 
 
 * It will be useful to append to the remarks of Dr. Paley upon the 
 mechanism of the spine and of other parts of the body, some observations 
 by a very eminent anatomist and surgeon now living, who has lately 
 considered the subject of Animal Mechanism in its connexion with Natu- 
 ral Theology, and has presented some striking and original views. 
 These observations have been published as one of the treatises of the 
 Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge, which forms the ninth 
 number of the series. These extracts will be the more histructive asgiv 
 ing views of a professional observer in confirmation of those of our au- 
 thor ; and they will also serve as additional illustrations of the same great 
 truths which he has endeavoured to enforce. — Ed, 
 
 “The spinal column, as it is called, serves three purposes : it is the 
 great bond of union between all the parts of the skeleton; it forms a tube 
 for the lodgement of the spinal marrow, a part of the nervous system as 
 important to life as the brain itself ; and lastly, it is a column to sustain 
 the head. 
 
 We now see the importance of the spine, and we shall next explain 
 how the various offices are provided for. 
 
 If the protection of the spinal marrow had been the only object of 
 this structure, it is natural to infer that it would have been a strong and 
 unyielding tube of bone; but, as it must yield to the inflexion of the body, 
 it. cannot be constituted in so strict an analogy with the skull. It must, 
 therefore, bend; but it must have no abrupt or considerable bending at 
 one part; for the spinal marrow within would in this way suffer. 
 
 By this consideration we perceive why there are twenty-four bones in 
 the spine, each bending a little; each articulated or making a joint with 
 ts fellow; all yielding in a slight degree, and, consequently, permitting 
 m the whole spine that flexibility necessary to the motions of the body. 
 It is next to be observed that, whilst the spine by this provision moves in 
 every direction, it gains a property which it belongs more to our present 
 purpose to understand. The bones of the spine are called vertebrae; at 
 each interstice between these bones, there is a peculiar gristly substance, 
 which is squeezed out from between the bones, and, therefore, permits 
 them to approach and play a little in the motions of the body. This 
 gristly substance is enclosed in an elastic binding, or membrane of great 
 strength, which passes from the edge or border of one vertebra, to the bor- 
 der of the one next it. When a weight is upon the body, the soft giistK 
 is pressed out, and the membrane yields: the moment the weight is remo^ 
 
60 
 
 ON MECHANICAL ARRAN DEMENT 
 
 The structure of the spine is not in general different in 
 different animals. In the serpent tribe, however, it is con- 
 ed, the membranes recoil by their elasticity, the gristle is pressed into its 
 place, and the bones resume their position. 
 
 We can readily understand how great the influence of these twenty- 
 four joinings must be in giving elasticity to the whole column ; and how 
 much this must tend to the protection of the brain. Were it not for tliis 
 interposition of elastic material, every motion of the body would produce 
 a jar to the delicate texture of the brain, and we should suffer almost as 
 much in alighting on our feet, as in falling on our head. It is, as we have 
 already remarked, necessary to interpose thin plates of lead or slate be- 
 tween the different pieces of a column to prevent the edges (technically 
 called arrises) of the cylinders from coming in contact, as they would, in 
 that case, chip or split off. 
 
 But there is another very curious provision for the protection of the 
 brain; we mean the curved form of the spine. If a steel spring, perfectly 
 straight, be pressed between the hands from its extremities, it will resist, 
 notwithstanding its elasticity, and when it does give way, it will be with 
 a jerk. 
 
 Such would be the effect on the spine if it stood upright, one bone 
 perpendicular to another; for then the weight would bear equally; the 
 spine would yiel^neither to one side nor to the other; and, consequently, 
 there would be a resistance from the pressure on all sides being balanced. 
 We, therefore, see the great advantage resulting from the human spine 
 being in the form of an italic f. It is prepared to yield in the direction 
 of its curves; the pressure is of necessity more upon one side of the col- 
 umn than on the other; and its elasticity is immediately in operation 
 without a jerk. It yields, recoils, and so forms the most perfect spring; 
 admirably calculated to carry the head without jar, or injury of any kind. 
 
 The most unhappy illustration of all this is the condition of old age. 
 The tables of the skull are then consolidated, and the spine is rigid: if an 
 old man should fall with his head upon the carpet, the blow, which would 
 be of no consequence to the elastic frame of a child, may to him prove 
 fatal; and the rigidity of the spine makes every step which he takes, vi- 
 brate to the interior of the head, and jar on the brain. 
 
 We have hinted at a comparison between the attachment of the spine 
 to the pelvis and the insertion of the mast of a ship into the hull. 7'he 
 mast goes directly through the decks without touching them, and the heel 
 of the mast goes into the step, which is formed of large solid pieces of 
 oak timber laid across the keelson. The keelson is an inner keel resting 
 upon the floor-timbers of the ship and directly over the proper keel. 
 These are contrivances for enlarging the base on which the mast resk- 
 as a column; for as, in proportion to the height and weight of a column, 
 its base must be enlarged, or it would sink into the earth; so, if the mast 
 were to bear upon a point, it would break through the bottom of the 
 ship. 
 
 The mast is supported upright by the shrouds and stays. The slirouds 
 secure it against the lateral or rolling motion, and the stays and backstays 
 against the pitching of the ship. These form what is termed the standing 
 rigging. 
 
 The mast d(»es not bear upon the deck or on the beams of the ship; in- 
 deed there is iC space cover v.‘4 with canvass between the deck and the 
 mas* 
 
IN THE HUMA.I FRAME. 
 
 61 
 
 siderably varied; but with a strict reference to the conveni- 
 ency of the animal. [PI. IX. fig. 3, 4, 5] For, whereas in 
 
 We often hear of a new ship going to sea to stretch her rigging; that 
 IS, to permit the shrouds and stays to be stretched by the motion of the 
 ship, after which they are again braced tight; for if she were overtaken 
 by a storm before this operation, and when the stays and shrouds were 
 relaxed, the mast would lean against the upper deck, by which it would 
 be sprung or carried away. Indeed, the greater proportion of masts that 
 are lost are lost in this manner. There are no boats which keep the sea 
 in such storms as those which navigate the gulf of Finland. Their masts 
 are not attached at all to the hull of the ship, but simply rest upon the 
 step. 
 
 Although the spine has not a strict resemblance to the mast, the con • 
 trivances of the ship-builder, however different from the provisions of na- 
 ture, show what object is to be attained; and when we are thus made 
 aware of what is necessary to the security of a column on a moveable 
 base, we are prepared to appreciate the superior provisions of nature for 
 giving security to^he human spine. 
 
 The human spine rests on what is called the pelvis^ or basin; — a circle 
 of bones, of which the haunches are the extreme lateral parts; and the sa- 
 crum (which is the keystone of the arch) may be felt at the lower part 
 of the back. To this central bone of the arch of the pelvis the spine is 
 connected; and^ taking the similitude of the mast, the sacrum is as the 
 step on which the base of the pillar, like the heel of the mast, is socket- 
 ed or morticed. The spine is tied to the lateral parts of the pelvis by 
 powerful ligaments, which may be compared to the shrouds. They se- 
 cure the lower part of the spine against the shock of lateral motion or 
 rolling; but, instead of the stays to limit the play of the spine forwards 
 and backwards in pitching, or to adjust the rake of the mast, there is a 
 very beautiful contrivance in the'lower part of the column. 
 
 The spine forms here a semicircle which has this effect; that whether 
 by the exertion of the lower extremities, the spine is to be carried forward 
 upon the pelvis, or whether the body stops suddenly in running, the jar 
 which would necessarily take place at the lower part of the spine, if it 
 stood upright like a mast, is distributed over several of the bones of the 
 spine; and, therefore, the chance of injury at any particular part is di- 
 minished. 
 
 For example, the sacrum, or centre bone of the pelvis, being carried 
 forward, as when one is about to run, the force is communicated to the 
 lowest bone of the spine. But, then, the surfaces of these bones stand 
 with a very slight degree of obliquity to the line of motion; the shock 
 communicated from the lower to the second bone of the vertebrae is still in 
 a direction very nearly perpendicular to its surface of contact. The same 
 takes place in the communication of force from the second to the third, 
 and from the third to the fourth; so that before the shock of the horizontal 
 motion acts upon the perpendicular spine, it is distributed over four bones 
 of that column, instead of the whole force being concentrated upon the 
 joining of any two. 
 
 If the column stood upright, it would be jarred at the lowest point of 
 contact with its base. But by forming a semicircle, the motion would 
 produce a jar on the very lowest part of the column, and which is distrib- 
 uted over a considerable portion of the column; and in point rf fact, this 
 part of the spine never gives way. Indeed, we should be inclined to of- 
 
 F 
 
62 
 
 OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT 
 
 quadrupeds the number of vertebrae is from thirty o forty 
 in the serpent it is nearly one hundred and fifty where- 
 as in men and quadrupeds the surfaces of the bones are 
 flat, and these flat surfaces laid one against the other, and 
 bound tight by sinews; in the serpent the bones play one 
 within another like a ball and socket,* so that they have 
 a free motion upon one another in every direction ; that is 
 to say, in men and quadrupeds, firmness is more consulted; 
 In seipents, pliancy. Yet even pliancy is not obtained at 
 the expense of safety. The backbone of a serpent, for 
 coherence and flexibility, is one of the most curious pieces 
 of animal mechanism with which we are acquainted. The 
 chain of a watch, (I mean the chain which passes between 
 the spring-barrel and the fusee,) which aims at the same 
 properties, is but a bungling piece of workmanship in com- 
 parison with that of which we speak. ^ 
 
 IV. The reciprocal enlargement and contraction of the 
 chest to allow for the play of the lungs, depends upon a 
 simple yet beautiful mechanical contrivance, referrible to 
 the structure of the bones which enclose it. [PI. X. fig. 1 ] 
 The ribs are articulated to the backbone, or rather to its side 
 
 fer this model to the consideration of nautical men, as fruitful in hints 
 for improving naval architecture. 
 
 Every one who has seen a ship pitching in a heavy sea, must have 
 asked himself why the masts are not upright, or rather, w^hy the fore mast 
 stands upright, whilst the main and mizzen masts stand oblique to the deck 
 or, as the phrase is, rake aft or towards the stern of the ship. 
 
 The main and mizzen masts incline backwards, because the strain is 
 greatest in the forward pitch of the vessel ; for the mast having received 
 an impulse forwards, it is suddenly checked as the head of the ship rises; 
 but the mast being set with an inclination backwards, the motion falls 
 more in a perpendicular line from the head to the heel. This advantage 
 is lost in the upright position of the foremast, but it is sacrificed to a supe- 
 rior advantage gained in working the ship; the sails upon this mast act 
 more powerfully in swaying the vessel round, and the perpendicular posi- 
 tion causes the ship to tack or stay better; but the perpendicular position, 
 as we have seen, causes the strain in pitching to come at right angles to 
 the mast, and is, therefore, irore apt to spring. 
 
 These considerations give an interest to the fact, that the human spine, 
 from its utmost convexity near its base, inclines backwards .” — BelVs 
 Treatise on Animal Mechanics, 
 
 * Der. Phys. Theol. p. 396. 
 
 + In fish, which have more elastic, but less flexible bodies, the structure 
 of the spine differs. The end of each vertebra is a cup containing u viscid 
 fluid, which keeps the bones from approaching nearer to each other than 
 the mean state of the elasticity of the lateral ligaments ; the fluid is in- 
 compressible, therefore forms a ball round which the bony cups mov*» ; 
 the ball having no cohesion, the centre of motion is always adapted t Jie 
 change which the joint undergoes without producing friction. — Pac jn. 
 
IN THE HUMAN FRAME. 
 
 63 
 
 projections obliquely:* that is, in their natural position, they 
 bend or slope from the place of articulation downwards 
 But the basis upon which they rest at this end being fixed 
 the conseauence of the obliquity, or the inclination down- 
 wards, is, that when they come to move, whatever pulls 
 the ribs upwards, necessarily, at the sam.e time, draws 
 them out; and that, whilst the ribs are brought to a right 
 angle with the spine behind, the sternum, or part of the 
 chest to which they are attached in front, is thrust forward. 
 The simple action, the" efore, of the elevating muscles does 
 the business; whereas, if the ribs had been articulated with 
 the bodies of the vertebrse at right angles, the cavity of the 
 thorax could never haye been farther enlarged by a change 
 of their position. If each rib had been a rigid bone, ar- 
 ticulated at both ends to fixed bases, the whole chest had 
 been immoveable. Keill has observed, that the breastbone 
 in an easy inspiration, is thrust out one-tenth of an inch* 
 and he calculates that this, added to what is gained to the 
 space within the chest by the flattening or descent of the 
 diaphragm, leaves room for forty-two cubic inches of air to 
 enter at every drawing-in of the breath. When there is a 
 necessity for a deeper and more laborious inspiration, the 
 enlargement of the capacity of the chest may be so increas- 
 ed by effort, as that the lungs may be distended with seventy 
 or a hundred such cubic inches. | The thorax, says Schel- 
 hammer, forms a kind of bellows, such as never have been^ 
 nor probably will made by any artiflcer.J 
 
 * For the mode of articulation of the ribs with the vertebrae, see Plate 
 IX. Fig. 1 and 2. 
 
 t Anat. p. 229. 
 
 t The thorax, or chest, is composed of bones and cartilages, so dis- 
 posed as to sustain and protect the most vital parts, the heart and lungs, 
 and to turn and twist with perfect facility in every motion of the body; 
 and to be in incessant motion in the act of respiration, without a moment’s 
 interval during a whole life. In anatomical description, the thorax is 
 formed of the v^ertebral column, or spine, on the back part, the ribs on 
 either side, and the breastbone, or sternum, on the fore part. But the 
 thing most to be admired is the manner in which these bones are united, 
 and especially the manner in which the ribs are joined to the breastbone, 
 by the interposition of cartilages, or gristle, of a substance softer than 
 bone, and more elastic and yielding. By this quality they are fitted for 
 protecting the chest against the effects of violence, and even for sustaining 
 life after the muscular power of respiration has become too feeble to con- 
 tinue without this support. 
 
 If the ribs were complete circles, formed of bone, and extending from 
 the spine to the breastbone, life would be endangered by any accidental 
 f-acture; and even the rubs and jolts to which the human frame is con 
 t> lually exposed, *muld be too much for their delicate and brittle texture 
 
64 
 
 OF MECHANICAL ARRAN(?EMENT 
 
 V The patella, or kneepan is a curious little bone; iu 
 its form and office, unlike any other bone of the body. [PI. 
 X. fig. 2, 3.] It is circular: the size of a crown piece; 
 pretty thick; a little convex on both sides, and covered with 
 a smooth cartilage. It lies upon the front of the knee: and 
 the powerful tendons, by which the leg is brought forward, 
 pass into it, (or rather it makes a part of their continu- 
 ation,) from their origin in the thigh to their insertion in 
 
 Ouf these evils .ire avoided by the interposition of the elastic cartilage. 
 On their fore part the ribs are eked out, and joined to the breastbone by 
 neans of cartilages, of a form corresponding to that of the ribs, being, as 
 it were, a completion of the arch of the rib, by a substance more adapted 
 to yield in every shock or motion of the body. The elasticity of this 
 portion subdues those shocks which would occasion the breaking of the 
 ribs. We lean forward, or to one side, and the ribs accommodate 
 themselves, not by a change of form in the bones, but by the bending or 
 elasticity of the cartilages. A severe blow upon the ribs does not break 
 them, because their extremities recoil and yield to the violence. It is only 
 in youth, however, when the human frame is in perfection, that this pli- 
 ancy and elasticity have full effect. When old age approaches, the car- 
 tilages of the ribs become bony. They attach themselves firmly to the 
 breastbone, and the extremities of the ribs are fixed, as if the whole arch 
 were formed of bone unyielding and inelastic. Then every violent blow 
 upon the side is attended with fracture of the rib, an accident seldom oc- 
 curring in childhood, or in youth. 
 
 But there is a purpose still more important to be accomplished by 
 means of the elastic structure of the ribs, as partly formed of cartilage. 
 This is in the action of breathing, or respiration; especially in the more 
 lighly-raised respiration which is necessary in great exertions of bodily 
 strength, and in violent exercise. There are two acts of breathing — ex~ 
 viration, or the sending forth of the breath ; and inspiration, or the 
 drawing in of the breath. When the chest is at rest, it is neither in a 
 state of expiration nor in that of inspiration ; it is in an intermediate con- 
 dition between these two acts. And the muscular effort by which either 
 inspiration or expiration is produced, is an act in opposition to the elastic 
 property of the ribs. The property of the ribs is to preserve the breast in 
 the intermediate state between expiration and inspiration. The muscles 
 of respiration are excited alternately, to dilate or to contract the cavity 
 of the chest, and, in doing so, to raise or to depress the ribs. Hence it 
 is, that both in inspiration and in expiration the elasticity of the ribs is 
 called into play; and, were it within our province, it would be easy to 
 show, that the dead power of the cartilages of the ribs preserve life by 
 respiration, after the vital muscular power would, without such assistance, 
 be too weak to continue life. 
 
 It will at once be understood, from what has now been explained, how, 
 in age, violent exercise or exertion, is under restraint, in so far as it de- 
 pends on respiration. The elasticity of the cartilages is gone, the circle 
 of the ribs is now unyielding, and will not allow that high breathing, that 
 sudden and great dilating and contracting of the cavity of the chest, which 
 is required for circulating tlie blood through the lungs, and relieving the 
 heart amidst the more tumultuous flowing of the blood which exorcise 
 and exertioi produce. — Bell's Treatise on Animal Mechanics. 
 
IN THE HUMAN FRAME. 
 
 65 
 
 tht Hbia. It protects both the tendon and the joint from 
 any injury which either might suffer by the rubbing of one 
 against the other, or by the pressure of unequal surfaces. 
 It also gives to the tendons a very considerable mechan- 
 ical advantage, by altering the line of their direction, and 
 by advancing it farther out from the centre of motion; and 
 this upon the principles of the resolution of force, upon 
 which principles all machinery is founded. These are its 
 uses. But what is most observable in it is, that it appears 
 to be supplemental, as it were, to the frame; added, as it 
 should almost seem, afterward; not quite necessary, but 
 very convenient. It is separate from the other bones; that 
 is, it is not connected with any other bones by the com- 
 mon mode of union. It is soft, or hardly formed, in infan- 
 cy; and produced by an ossification, of the inception or 
 progress of which no account can be given from the struct- 
 ure or exercise of the part. 
 
 VI. The shoulder-blade is, in some material respects, a 
 very singular bone: appearing to be made so expressly 
 for its own purpose, and so independently of every other 
 reason. [PI. X. fig. 4.] In such quadrupeds as have no 
 collar-bones, which are by far the greater number, the 
 shoulder-blade has no bony communication with the trunk, 
 either by a joint, or process, or in any other way. It does 
 not grow to, or out of, any other bone of the trunk. It 
 does not apply to any other bone of the trunk ; (I know not 
 whether this be true of any second bone in the body, ex- 
 cept perhaps the os hyoVdes.) [PI. X. fig. 5.] In strict- 
 ness, it forms no part of the skeleton. It is bedded in the 
 flesh; attached only to the muscles. It is no other than a 
 foundation bone for the arm, laid in separate, as it were, 
 and distinct, from the general ossifica.tion. The lower 
 limbs connect themselves at the hip with bones which form 
 a part of the skeleton; but this connexion, in the upper 
 limbs, being wanted, a basis, whereupon the arm might 
 be articulated, was to be supplied by a detached ossifica- 
 tion for the purpose. 
 
 I. The above are a few examples of bones made re- 
 markable by their configuration: but to almost all the 
 bones belong joints; and in these, still more clearly than 
 in the form or shape of the bones themselves, are seen 
 both contrivance and contriving wisdom. Every joint is a 
 curiosity, and is also strictly mechanical. There is the 
 hinge-joint, and the mortice and tenon joint; each as 
 manifestly suen, and as accurately defined, as any which 
 can be produced out of a cabinet-maker’s shop; and one 
 
 F* 
 
66 
 
 OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT 
 
 O’* the other prevails, as either is adapted to the motion 
 which is wanted: e. g. a mortice and tenon, or ball and 
 socket joint, is no^ .;^quired at the knee, the leg standing 
 in need only of t motion backward and forward in the 
 same plane, for which a hinge-joint is sufficient; a mortice 
 and tenon, o ; ball and socket joint, is wanted at the hip, 
 that not only the progressive step may be provided for, but 
 the interval between the limbs may be enlarged or contract- 
 ed at pleasure. Now, observe, what would have been the 
 inconveniency, i. e. both the superfluity and the defect of 
 articulation, if the case had been inverted: if the ball and 
 socket joint had been at the knee, and the hinge-joint at 
 the hip. The thighs must have been kept constantly to- 
 gether, and the legs have been loose and straddling. There 
 would have been no use, that we know of, in being able to 
 turn the calves of the legs before; and there would have 
 been great confinement by restraining the motion of the 
 thighs to one plane. The disadvantage would not have 
 been less, if the joints at the hip and the knee had been 
 both of the same sort; both balls and sockets, or both hin- 
 ges: yet why, independently of utility, and of a Creator 
 who consulted that utility, should the same bone (the 
 thigh-bone) be rounded at one end, and channelled at the 
 other ? 
 
 The hinge-joint is not formed by a bolt passing through 
 the two parts of the hinge, and thus keeping them in their 
 places; but by a different expedient. A strong, tough, 
 parchment-like membrane, rising from the receiving bones, 
 and inserted all round the received bones a little below 
 their heads, encloses the joint on every side. This mem- 
 brane ties, confines, and holds the ends of the bones to- 
 gether; keeping the corresponding parts of the joint, i. e. 
 the relative convexities and concavities, in close application 
 o each other.^ 
 
 For the ball and soclcet joint ^ beside the membrane al- 
 ready described, there is in one important joint, as an 
 additional security, a short, strong, yet flexible ligament, 
 inserted by one end into the head of the ball, by the other 
 
 * This membrane is the capsnla?', or hin'sal ligament, common to 
 every movable joint. It certainly connects the hones togetlier, hut does 
 not possess much strength; its chief use is to produce and preserve the 
 synovia in the part where it is required. "J'he security and strength of 
 the hinge-joint depends on certain ligaments c;dled lateral ligaments, and 
 the endons of those muscles which pass over it. In the particular in 
 stance of the knee, from its being the largest joint in the body, there is, 
 a? we shall presently find, an additiona contrivance to prevent dislocalioru 
 
 Paxton, 
 
IN THE HUIIAN PRAME 
 
 67 
 
 into 1)3 bottom of the cup; which ligament keeps the 
 two parts of the joint so firmly in their place, that none of 
 the motions which the limb naturally performs, none of the 
 jerks and twists to which it is ordinarily liable, nothing 
 less indeed than the utmost and the most unnatural vio- 
 lence, can pull them asunder [PL XI. fig. 1.] It is 
 hardly imaginable, how great a force is necessary, even 
 to stretch, still more to break, this ligament; yet so flexible 
 s it, as to oppose no impediment to the suppleness of the 
 joint * By its situation also, it is inaccessible to injury 
 from sharp edges. As it cannot be ruptured, (such is its 
 strength,) so it caTinot be cut, except by an accident which 
 would sever the limb. If I had been permitted to frame a 
 proof of contrivance, such as might satisfy the most dis- 
 trustful inquirer, I know not Avhether I could have chosen 
 an example of mechanism more unequivocal, or more free 
 from objection, than this ligament. Nothing can be more 
 mechanical; nothing, however subservient to the safety, 
 less capable of being generated by the action of the joint. 
 I would particularly solicit the reader’s attention to this 
 provision, as it is found in the head of the thigh-bone ; to 
 its strength, its structure, and its use. It is an instance 
 upon which I lay my hand. One single fact, weighed by 
 a mind in earnest, leaves oftentimes the deepest impres- 
 sion. For the purpose of addressing different understand- 
 ings and different apprehensions — for the purpose of senti- 
 ment, for the purpose of exciting admiration of the Crea- 
 tor’s works, we diversify our views, we multiply examples; 
 but for the purpose of strict argument, one clear instance 
 is sufficient; and not only sufficient, but capable, perhaps, 
 of generating a firmer assurance than what can arise from 
 a divided attention. 
 
 The ginglymuSj or hinge-joint, does not, it is manifest, 
 admit of a ligament of the same kind with that of the ball 
 and socket joint, but it is always fortified by the species ol 
 dgament of which it does admit. The strong, firm, invest- 
 ing membrane, above described, accompanies it in every 
 part; and in particular joints, this membrane, which is 
 properly a ligament, is considerably stronger on the sides 
 than either before or behind, in order that the convexities 
 may play true in their concavities, and not be subject to 
 slip sideways, which is the chief danger; for the muscular 
 
 * This ligament is also common to all quadrupeds, even in the more 
 large and unwieldy, as the Hippopotamus and Rhinoceros — it is wanting 
 in the elephant only, whose limbs, ill qualified for active movements, do 
 not seem to require this security to the joint. — Paxton, 
 
68 
 
 OF MECHANICAL ARRAN Gi<.MENT 
 
 tendons generally restrain the parts from going farther 
 than they ought to go in the plane ol their motion. In the 
 knee^ which is a joint of this form, of great importance, 
 there are superadded to the corrmon provisions for the 
 stability of the joint, two strong ligaments which cross 
 each other; and cross each other in such a manner, as to 
 secure the joint from being displaced in any assignable di- 
 rection. [PI. XI. fig. ^.] ‘‘I think, says Cheselden, 
 
 ‘‘that the knee cannot be completely dislocated without 
 breaking the cross ligaments.”* We can hardly help com- 
 paring this with the binding up of a fracture, where the fil- 
 let is almost always strapped across, for the sake of giving 
 firmness and strength to the bandage. 
 
 Another no less important joint, and that also of the gin- 
 glymus sort, is the ankle; yet, though important, (in order, 
 perhaps, to preserve the symmetry and lightness of the 
 limb,) small, and, on that account, more liable to injury. 
 [PI. XI. fig 4.] Now this joint is strengthened, i. c. is 
 defended from dislocation, by two remarkable processes or 
 prolongations of the bones of the leg: which processes form 
 the protuberances that we call the inner and outer ankle. 
 It is part of each bone going down lower than the other 
 part, and thereby overlapping the joint: so that, if the 
 joint be in danger of slipping outward, it is curbed by the 
 inner projection, i. e. that of the tibia; if inward, by the 
 outer projection, i. e. that of the fibula. Between both, it 
 is locked in its position. I know no account that can be 
 given of this structure, except its utility. Why should the 
 tibia terminate, at its lower extremity, with a double end, 
 and the fibula the same, but to barricade the joint on both 
 sides by a continuation of part of the thickest of the bone 
 over it ? | 
 
 * Ches. Anat. ed. 7th, p. 45. 
 
 t The most obvious proof of contrivance is the junction of the fcoi to 
 the bones of the leg at the ankle-joint. The two bones of the leg, called 
 the tibia and the fibula, receive the great articulating hone of the foot 
 (the astragalus) between them. And the extremities of these bones of 
 the leg project so as to form the outer and inner ankle. Now, when we 
 step forward, and whilst the foot is raised, it rolls easily upon the ends 
 of these bones, so that the toe may be directed according to the inequali- 
 ties of the ground we are to tread upon; but when the foot is planted, 
 and the body is carried forward perpendicularly over the foot, the joint 
 of the leg and foot becomes fixed, and we have a steady base to rest upon. 
 We next observe, that, in walking, the heel first touches the ground. If 
 the bones of the leg were perpendicular over the part which first touches 
 the ground, we should come down with a sudden jolt, instead of which 
 M 5 desi:end in a semicircle, the centre of which is the point of the heel. 
 
 And when the toes have come to the ground we are far from losing iho 
 
IN THE HUMAN FRAME. 
 
 69 
 
 The joint at the shoulder compared with the joint at the 
 though both ball and socket joints, discovers a difTer- 
 ence in their form and proportions, well suited to the dif- 
 ferent offices which the limbs have to execute. The cup 
 or socket at the shoulder is much shallower and flatter 
 than it is at the hip, and is also in part formed of cartilage 
 set round the rim of the cup. The socket, into which the 
 head of the thigh-bone is inserted, is deeper, and made 
 of more solid materials."* This agrees with the duties as- 
 
 advantages of the structure of the foot, since we stand upon an elastic 
 Arch, the hinder extremity of which is tjje heel, and the anterior the balls 
 cf the toes. A finely formed foot should be high in the instep. The 
 walk of opera dancers is neither natural nor beautiful ; but the surprising 
 exercises which they perform give to the joints of the foot a freedom of 
 motion almost like that of the hand. We have seen the dancers, in their 
 morning exercises, stand for twenty minutes on the extremities of their 
 toes, after which the effort is to bend the inner ankle down to the floor, 
 in preparation for the Bolero step. By such unnatural postures and ex- 
 ercises the foot is made unfit for walking, as may be observed in any of 
 the retired dancers and o\d. figurantes. By standing so much upon the 
 toes, the human foot is converted to something more resembling that of a 
 quadruped, where the heel never reaches the ground, and where the paw 
 is nothing more than the phalanges of the toes. 
 
 This arch of the foot, from the heel to the toe, has the astragalus, re- 
 sembling the keystone of an arch; but, instead of being fixed, as in ma- 
 sonry, it plays freely between two bones, and from these two bones, a 
 strong elastic ligament is extended, on which the bone rests, sinking oi 
 rising as the weight of the body bears upon it, or is taken off, and this it 
 is enabled to do by the action of the ligament which runs under it. 
 
 This is the same elastic ligament which runs extensively along the back 
 of the horse’s hind leg and foot, and gives the fine spring to it, but whicir 
 .s sometimes ruptured by the exertion of the animal in a leap, producin^i 
 irrecoverable lameness. 
 
 Having understood that the arch of the foot is perfect from the heel tr 
 the toe, we have next to observe, that there is an arch from side to side 
 for when a transverse section is made of the bones of the foot, the ex 
 posed surface presents a perfect arch of wedges, regularly formed like thf 
 stones of an arch in masonry. If we look down upon the bones of the 
 foot, we shall see that they form a complete circle horizontally, leaving 
 a space in their centre. These bones thus form three different arches-- 
 forward; across; and horizontally: they are wedged together, and bound 
 by ligaments, and this is what we alluded to when we said that the foun 
 dalions of the Edd\ stone were not laid on a better principle; but our ad 
 Tiiration is more excited in observing, that the bones of the foot are not 
 only wedged together, like the courses of stone for resistance, but tliat 
 s»)hJity is combined with elasticity and lightness. 
 
 Notwithstanding the mobility of the foot in some positions, yet when 
 the weight of the body bears directly over it, it becomes immovable, and 
 the bones of the leg must be fractured before the foot yields. 
 
 BeWs Treatise on .inimal Mechanics, 
 
 The socket for the head of the thigh-bone is indet d deeper than that 
 at the shoulder, bu ‘.he “ n^aterials ” which form the concavities are ihe 
 
70 
 
 OF MECHANICAL ARRAR OEMENT 
 
 signed to each part. The arm is an instrument of motion, 
 principally, if aot solely. Accordingly the shallowness of 
 the socket at the shoulder, and yieldingness of the car- 
 tilaginous substance with which its edge is set round, and 
 which in fact composes a considerable part of its concavi- 
 ty, are excellently adapted for the allowance of a free mo- 
 tion and a wide range; both which the arm wants. 
 Wiiereas, the lower limb, forming a part of the column of 
 the body; having to support the body, as well as to be the 
 means of its locomotion; firmness v^as to be consulted, as 
 well as action. With a capacity for motion, in all direc- 
 tions indeed, as at the shoulder, but not in any direction 
 to the same extent as in the arm, was to be united stabili- 
 ty, or resistance to dislocation. Hence the deeper excava- 
 .ion of the socket; and the pi;esence of a less proportion 
 of cartilage upon the edge. 
 
 The suppleness and pliability of the joints we every 
 moment experience; and the firmness of animal articu- 
 lation, the property we have hitherto been considering, 
 may be judged of from this single observation, that, at 
 any given moment of time, there are millions of animal 
 joints in complete repair and use, for one that is disloca- 
 ted; and this, notwithstanding the contortions and wrench- 
 es to which the limbs of animals are continually subject. 
 
 II. The jointSy or rather the ends of the bones which 
 form them, display also, in their configuration, another use. 
 The nerves, blood-vessels, and tendons, which are neces- 
 sary to the life, or for the motion of the limbs, must, it is 
 evident, in their way from the trunk of the body to the 
 place of their destination, travel over the movable joints; 
 and it is no less evident, that, in this part of their course, 
 they will have, from sudden motions, and from abrupt 
 changes of curvature, to encounter the danger of compres- 
 sion, attrition, or laceration. To guard fibres so tender 
 against consequences so injurious, their path is in those 
 parts protected with peculiar care; and that by a provision 
 in the figure of the bones themselves. The nerves which 
 supply the fore-arm, especially the inferior cubital nerves, 
 are at the elbow conducted, by a kind of covered way, be- 
 tween the condyles, or rather under the inner cxtuberances 
 of the bone, which composes the upper part of. the arm.* 
 
 8amo; both are solid bone covered by cartilage, and both have a rim of 
 a strong fdno-cartilaginous texture, not only for tlic purpose of rendering 
 the socket deeper, l)ut for preventing fractures of the rim in robust exer- 
 cises, to which, were it bony, it would bo very liable. — Paxton, 
 rhes. An n 255, ed. 7th 
 
IN THE HUMAN FRAME. 
 
 71 
 
 At the Imce, the extremity of the thigh-bone is dwided by a 
 sinus or cleft into two heads or protuberances: and these 
 lioads on the back part stand out beyond the cylinder of 
 the bone. Through the hollow, which lies between the 
 hind parts of these two heads, that is to say, under the 
 ham, between the hamstrings, and within the concave re- 
 cess of the bone formed by the extuberances on each side; 
 in a word, along a defile, between rocks, pass the greal 
 vessels and nerves wiiich go to the leg.* Who led these 
 v essels by a road so defended and so seeured.^ In the joint 
 at the shoulder, in the edge of the cup which receives the 
 head of the bone, is a notch which is joined or covered at 
 the top with a ligament. Through this hole, thus guarded, 
 the blood-vessels steal to their destination in the arm, in- 
 stead of mounting over the edge of the concavity. 'f 
 
 III. In all joints, the ends of the bones, which work 
 against each other, are tipped with gristle. In the ball 
 and socket joint, the cup is lined, and the ball capped with 
 it. The smooth surface, the elastic and unfriable nature 
 of cartilage, render it of all substances the most proper for 
 the place and purpose. I should, therefore, have pointed 
 this out amongst the foremost of the provisions which have 
 been made in the joints for the facilitating of their action, 
 had it not been alleged’ that cartilage in truth is only 
 nascent or imperfect bone; and that the bone in these 
 places is kept soft and imperfect, in consequence of a more 
 complete and rigid ossification being prevented from taking 
 place by the continual motion and rubbing of the surfaces; 
 which being so, what we represent as a designed advan- 
 tage, is an unavoidable effect. I am far from being con- 
 vinced that this is a true account of the fact; or that, if it 
 were so, it answers the argument. To me, the surmount- 
 ing of the ends of the bones with gristle, looks more like a 
 plating with a different metal, than like the same metal kept 
 in a different state by the action to which it is exposed 
 At all events, we have a great particular benefit, though 
 arising from a general constitution: but this last not being 
 quite what my argument requires, lest I should seem by 
 applying the instance to overrate its value, I have thought 
 it fair to state the question which attends it. 
 
 IV. In some joints, very particularly in the knees, there 
 are loose cartilages or gristles between the bones, and with- 
 in the joint, so that the ends of the bones, instead of work- 
 ing upon one another, work upon the intermediate cartila- 
 ges. [PI. XI. fig. 3.] Cheselden has observed J that the 
 
 * Ches. An. p. 35. t Ib. 30. $ Ib. p. 13. 
 
72 
 
 OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT 
 
 contrivance of a loose ring is practised by mechanics, where 
 the friction of the joints of any of their machines is great, 
 as between the parts of crooked-hinges of large gates, or 
 under the head of the male screw of large vices. The 
 cartilages of which we speak, have very nmch of the form 
 of these rings. The comparison moreover shows the rea- 
 son why we find them in the knees rather than in other 
 joints. It is an expedient, we have seen, which a mechan- 
 ic resorts to, only when some strong and heavy work is to 
 be done. So here the thigh bone has to achieve its motion 
 at the knee, with the whole weight of the body pressing 
 upon it, and often, as in rising from our seat, with the whole 
 weight of the body to lift. It should seem also, from Ches- 
 eldeifs account, that the slipping and sliding of the loose 
 cartilages, though it be probably a small and obscure 
 change, humored the motion of the end of the thigh-bone, 
 under the particular configuration which was necessary to 
 be given to it for the commodious action of the tendons; 
 (and which configuration requires what he calls a variable 
 socket, that is, a concavity, the lines of which assume a 
 different curvature in different inclinations of the bones.) 
 
 V. We have now done with the configuration: but 
 there is also in the joints, and that common to them all, 
 another exquisite provision, manifestly adapted to their use, 
 and concerning which there can, I think, be no dispute, 
 namely, the regular supply of a mucilage^ more emollient 
 and slippery than oil itself, which is constantly softening 
 and lubricating the parts that rub upon each other, and 
 thereby diminishing the effect of attrition in the highest 
 possible degree.=^ For the continual secretion of this im- 
 portant liniment, and for the feeding of the cavities of the 
 joint with it, glands are fixed near each joint; the excre- 
 tory ducts of which glands dripping w ith their balsamic 
 contents, hang loose like fringes within the cavity of the 
 joints. A late improvement in what are called friction 
 wheels, which consists of a mechanism so ordered, as to be 
 regularly dropping oil into a box, which encloses the axis, 
 the nave, and certain balls upon which the nave revolves, 
 may be said, in some sort, to represent the contrivance in 
 the animal joint; with this superiority, however, on the 
 
 * This mucilage is termed synovia ; vulgarly called joint oil, but it 
 has no property of oil. It is very viscid, and at the same time smooth 
 and slippery to the touch; and therefore better adapted than any oil to 
 lubricate the interior of the joints and prevent ill efiects from friction. 
 
 Paxton 
 
IN THE HUMAN FRAME. 
 
 73 
 
 part of the joint, viz. that here, the oil is not only dropped, 
 but made,^ 
 
 In considering the joints, there is nothing, pernaps, which 
 ought to move our gratitude more than the reflection, hoio 
 well they wear. A limb shall swing upon its hinge, oi 
 play in its socket, many hundred times in an hour, for six- 
 ty years together, without diminution of its agility: which 
 is a long time for anything to last; for anything so much 
 worked and exercised as the joints are. This durability I 
 should attribute, in part, to the provision which is made for 
 the preventing of wear and tear, first by the polish of the 
 cartilaginous surfaces, secondly, by the healing lubrication 
 of the mucilage; and, in part, to that astonishing property 
 of animal constitutions, assimilation; by which, in every 
 portion of the body, let it consist of what it will, substance 
 is restored, and waste repaired. 
 
 * A joint then consists of the union of two bones, of such a form as to 
 permit the necessary motion; but they are not in contact; each articulat- 
 ing surface is covered with cartilage, to prevent the jar which would re- 
 sult from the contact of the bones. This cartilage is elastic, and the 
 celebrated Dr. Hunter discovered that the elasticity was in consequence 
 of a number of filaments closely compacted, and extending from the sur- 
 face of the bone, so that each filament is perpendicular to the pressure 
 made upon it. The surface of the articulating cartilage is perfectly 
 smooth, and is lubricated by a fluid called synovia, sygnifying a muci- 
 lage, a viscous or thick liquor. This is vulgarly called joint oil, but it 
 has no property of oil, although it is better calculated than any oil to lu- 
 bricate the interior of the joint. 
 
 When inflammation comes upon ajoint, this fluid is not supplied, and 
 the joint is stiff, and the surfaces creak upon one another like a hinge 
 without oil. A delicate membrane extends from bone to bone, confining 
 this lubricating fluid, and forming the boundary of what is termed the 
 cavity of the joint, although, in fact, there is no unoccupied space. Ex- 
 ternal to this capsule of the joint, there are strong ligaments going from 
 point to point of the bones, and so ordered as to bind them together 
 without preventing their proper motions. From this description of a 
 single joint, we can easily conceive what a spring or elasticity is given to 
 the foot, where thirty-six bones are joined together. — BelPs Treatise on 
 Animal Mechanics. 
 
 t If the ingenious author’s mind had been professionally called to con- 
 template this subject, he would have found another explanation. There 
 is no resemblance between the provisions against the wear and tear of 
 machinery and those for the preservation of a living part. As the struc 
 ture of the parts is originally perfected by the action of the vessels, the 
 function or operation of the part is made the stimulus to those vessels. 
 The cuticle on the hands wears away like a glove; but the pressure stim- 
 ulates the living surfiice to force successive layers of skin under that v^hich 
 is wearing, or, as the anatomists call it, desquamating; by which they 
 mean, that the cuticle does not change at once, but comes oft’ in sqxiamce^ 
 or scales. The teeth are subject to pressure in chewing or masticating, 
 and they would, by this action, have been driven deeper in the jaw, and 
 
 G 
 
74 
 
 OF THE MUSCLES. 
 
 Movable joints, I think, compose the curiosity cfbcucs 
 but their union, even where no motion is intendea or want-^ 
 ed, carries marks of mechanism and of mechanical wis- 
 dom. The teeth, especially the front teeth, are one 
 bone fixed in another, like a peg driven into a board. The 
 sutures of the skull are like the edges of two saws clap- 
 ped together, in such a manner as that the teeth of one 
 enter the intervals of the other.* We have sometimes one 
 hone lapping over another, and planed down at the edges; 
 sometimes also the thin lamella of one bone received into 
 a narrow furrow of another. In all which varieties, wo 
 seem to discover the same design, viz. firmness of juncture, 
 without clumsiness in the seam. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 OF THE MUSCLES. 
 
 Muscles, with their tendons, are the instruments by 
 which animal motion is performed. It will be our business 
 
 rendered useless, had there not been a provision against this mechanical 
 effect. This provision is a disposition to grow, or rather to shoot out of 
 their sockets; and this disposition to project, balances the pressure which 
 they sustain* and when one tooth is lost, its opposite rises, and is in dan- 
 ger of being lost also, for want of that very opposition. — Bell's Treatise 
 on Animal Mechanics. 
 
 ^ Most of the bones of the skull are composed of two plates or tablets, 
 with an intermediate spongy, vascular substance; the outer tablet is^&- 
 rons, having the edges curiously indented and united by a dove-tailed 
 sii'ure; the inner from its brittleness is called vitreous, and therefore 
 merely joined together in a straight line ; this mode of union is not acci- 
 dental — not the result of chance, but design. The author of the treatise 
 on “ Animal Mechanics” gives the following admirable illustration of the 
 structure: — 
 
 “ Suppose' a carpenter employed upon his^own material — he would 
 join a box with regular indentations by dove-tailing, because he knows 
 that the material on which he works, from its softness and toughness, 
 admits of sucb adjustment of its edges. The processes of bone shoot in- 
 to the opposite cavities with, an exact resemblance to the fox-tail wedge 
 of the carpenter. 
 
 “ But if a workman in glass or marble were to join these materials, he 
 would smooth the edges and unite them by cement; for if he could suc- 
 ceed in indenting the line of union, he knows that his material would 
 chip off on the slightest vibration. 
 
 “ Now apply this principle to the skull; the outer table, which resem- 
 bles wood, is indented and dove-tailed; the inner glassy ta.de has iln 
 edges simply laid in contact.” — Faxton. 
 
OF THE MUSCLES. 
 
 75 
 
 to p' int out instances in which, and properties with respect 
 to which, the disposition of these muscles is as strictly 
 mechanical, as that of the wires and strings of a puppet.^ 
 
 I. We may observe, what I believe is universal, an ex- 
 act relation between the joint and the muscles which move 
 it. Whatever motion the joint, by its mechanical construc- 
 tion, is capable of performing, that motion, the annexed 
 muscles, by their position, are capable of producing. F or 
 example; if there be, as at the knee and elbow, a hinge- 
 joint, capable of motion only in the same plane, the lead- 
 ers, as they are called, i, e, the muscular tendons, are 
 placed in directions parallel to the bone, so as, by the con- 
 traction or relaxation of the muscles to which they belong, 
 to produce that motion and no other. If these joints were 
 capable of a freer motion, there are no muscles to produce 
 it. Whereas at the shoulder and the hip, where the ball 
 and socket joint allows by its construction of a rotatory or 
 sweeping motion, tendons are placed in such a position, 
 and pull in such a direction, as to produce the motion of 
 which the joint admits. For instance, the sartorius or 
 tailor’s muscle, rising from the spine, running diagonally 
 across the thigh, and taking hold of the inside of the main 
 * bone of the leg, a little below the knee, enables us, by its 
 contraction, to throw one leg and thigh over the other; 
 giving effect, at the same time, to the ball and socket joint 
 at the hip, and the hinge-joint at the knee. [PI. XII. fig. 1.] 
 
 There is, as we have seen, a specific mechanism in the 
 bones, for the rotatory motions of the head and hands; there 
 is, also, in the oblique direction of the muscles belonging to 
 them, a specific provision for the putting of this mechanism 
 of the bones into action. [PI. XII. fig. 2.] And mark the 
 consent of uses. The oblique muscles would have 
 been inefficient without that particular articulation; that 
 particular articulation w'ould have been lost, without the 
 oblique muscles. It may be proper, however, to observe 
 with respect to the head, although I think it does not vary 
 the case, that its oblique motions and inclinations are ffien 
 motions in a diagonal, produced by the joint action of mus- 
 
 * Muscles are the fleshy parts of the body which surround the bones, 
 having a fibrous texture; a muscle being composed of a number of mws- 
 cular faciculi, which are composed of fibres still smaller; these result 
 from fibres of a less volume, until by successive division we arrive at 
 very small fibres no longer divisible. These muscular fibres are longer 
 or shorter according to the muscles to which they belong; and every fi- 
 bre is fixed by its two extremities to tendon or aponeurosis, which are 
 the “wires and strings which conduct the muscular power when they 
 contract. — Paxton, 
 
76 
 
 OF THE MUSCLES. 
 
 cles lying in straight direction. But whether the pud be sin- 
 gle or combined, the articulation is always such, as .o be 
 capable of obeying the action of the muscles. The oblique 
 muscles attached to the head, ere likewise so disposed, as 
 to be capable of the steadying the globe, as well as of mov- 
 ing it. The head of a new-born infant is often obliged to 
 be filleted up. After death, the head drops and rolls in 
 every direction. So that it is by the equilibre of the mus- 
 cles, by the aid of a considerable and equipollent muscular 
 force in constant exertion, that the head maintains its erect 
 posture. The muscles here supply what would otherwise 
 be a great defect in the articulation; for the^ joint in the 
 neck, although admirably adapted to the motion of the head, 
 is insufficient for its support. It is not only by the means of 
 a most curious structure of the bones that a man turns his 
 head, but by virtue of an adjusted muscular power, that he 
 even holds it up. 
 
 As another example of what we are illustrating, viz. con- 
 formity of use between the bones and the muscles, it has 
 been observed of the different vertebrae, that their proces- 
 ses are exactly proportioned to the quantity of motion which 
 the other bones allow of, and which the respective muscles 
 are capable of producing. 
 
 II. A muscle acts only by contraction. Its force is ex- 
 erted in no other way. When the exertion ceases, it relax- 
 es itself, that is, it returns by relaxation to its former state; 
 but without energy. This is the nature of the muscular 
 fibre: and being so, it is evident that the reciprocal ener- 
 getic motion of the limbs, by which we mean motion ivith 
 force in opposite directions, can only be produced by the 
 instrumentality of opposite or antagonist muscles; of flexors 
 and extensors answering to each other. For instance, the 
 biceps and brachiseus internns muscles, placed in the front 
 part of the upper arm, by their contraction bend the elbow; 
 and with such degree of force, as the case requires, or the 
 strength admits of. [PI. XIII. fig. 1.] The relaxation of 
 these muscles, after the effort, would merely let the fore- 
 arm drop down. For the back sfroke, therefore, and that 
 the arm may not only bend at the elbow, but also extend and 
 straighten itself, with force, other muscles, the longus and 
 brevis bracliiacus exlernus, and tlie anconmus, placed on 
 the hinder part of .he arms, by their contractile twitch fetch 
 back the fore-arm into a straight line with the cubit, with 
 no les: force than that with which it was bent out of it 
 The same thing obtains in all tlie limbs, and in every riov 
 able part of the body. A finger is not bent and straigl ten- 
 
OF THE MUSCLES. 
 
 77 
 
 ed, without the contraction of two muscles taking place. It 
 IS evident, therefore, that the animal functions require that 
 particular disposition of the muscles which we describe b}> 
 the name of antagonist muscles. And they are according- 
 ly so disposed. Every muscle is provided with an adversa- 
 ry. They act, like two sawyers in a pit by an opposite pull ; 
 and nothing surely can more strongly indicate design and 
 attention to an end, than their being thus stationed; than 
 this collocation. The nature of the muscular fibre being 
 what it is, the purposes of the animal could be answered by 
 no other. And not only the capacity for motion, but the 
 aspect and symmetry of the body, is preserved by the mus- 
 cles being marshalled according to this order, e. g. the 
 mouth is holden in the middle of the face, and its angles 
 kept in a state of exact correspondency, by several mi scles 
 drawing against, and balancing each other. [See PI. XI . fig. 
 3.] In a hemiplegia, when the muscles on one side are vveak- 
 ened, the muscles on the other side draw the mouth awry. 
 
 III. Another property of the muscles, which could only 
 be the result of care, is, their being almost universally so 
 disposed, as not to obstruct or interfere with one another’s 
 action. I know but one instance in which this impediment 
 is perceived. We cannot easily swallow whilst we gape. 
 This, I understand, is owing to the muscles employed in 
 the act of deglutition, being so implicated with the muscles 
 of the lower jaw, that, whilst these last are contracted, the 
 former cannot act with freedom. The obstruction is, in 
 this instance, attended with little inconveniency ; but it 
 shows what the effect is where it does exist; and what 
 loss of faculty there would be if it were more frequent. 
 Now, when we reflect upon the number of muscles, not fewer 
 than four hundred and forty-six in the human body, known 
 and named,* how contiguous they lie to each other, in lay- 
 ers, as it were, over one another, crossing one another, 
 sometimes embedded m one another; sometimes perforat- 
 ing one another; an arrangement, which leaves to each its 
 liberty, and its full play, must necessarily require meditation 
 and counsel 
 
 IV, The following is oftentimes the case with the mus- 
 cles. Their action is wanted, where thei * situation would 
 be inconvenient. In which case, the body of the muscle is 
 placed in some commodious position at a distance, and 
 made to communicate with the point of action, by slender 
 
 ^ Keill’s Anat. p. 295, edit. 3. There are, however, five hundred 
 and ^ ventv -seven mu.^ les described by more modern anatomists. 
 
 Paxton* 
 
 G 
 
78 
 
 OF THE MUSCLES. 
 
 strings or wires. If the muscles which mo /e the fingers 
 had been placed in the palm or back of the hand, the^ 
 would have swelled that part to an awkward and clumsy 
 thickness. The beauty, the proportions of the part, wou.d 
 have been destroyed. They are, therefore, disposed in the 
 arm, and even up to the elbow ; and act by long tendons, 
 strapped down at the wrist, and passing under the ligaments 
 to the fingers, and to the joints of the fingers, which they 
 are severally to move. [PI. XIII. fig. 1, 2.] In like man- 
 ner, the muscles which move the toes, and many of the 
 joints of the foot, how gracefully are they disposed in the 
 calf of the leg, ins^.ead of forming an unwieldy tumefaction 
 ill the foot itself The observation may be repeated of the 
 muscle which draws the nictitating membrane over the eye. 
 Its office is in the front of the eye; but its body is lodged 
 in the back part of the globe, where it lies safe, [PI. IV. fig. 
 2, 3,] and where it encumbers nothing.* 
 
 V. The great mechanical variety in the figure of the 
 muscles may be thus stated. It appears to be a fixed law, 
 that the contraction of a muscle shall be towards its centre. 
 Therefore, the subject for mechanism on each occasion is, 
 so to modify the figure, and adjust the position of the mus- 
 cle, as to produce the motion required, agreeably with this 
 law. This can only be done by giving to different muscles 
 a diversity of configuration, suited to their several offices, 
 and to their situation with respect to the work which they 
 have to perform. On which account we find them under 
 a multiplicity of forms and attitudes; sometimes Avith 
 double, sometimes with treble tendons, sometimes with 
 none; sometimes one tendon to several muscles, at other 
 times one muscle to several tendons. The shape of the 
 organ is susceptible of an incalculable variety, Avhilst the 
 original property of the muscle, the laAV and line of its con- 
 traction, remains the same, and is simple. Herein the 
 muscular system may be said to bear a perfect resemblance 
 to our works of art. An artist does not alter the native 
 
 * The convenience and beauty of the tendons seem only an ulterior 
 object, their necessity and utility principally claim our attention. The 
 fonie which a muscle possesses is as the number of the muscular fibres; 
 but a limited numl ^r of fibres only can |)e fixed to any certain point of 
 bo le destined to be .noved, therefore the contrivance is, to attach them 
 to a cord, called a sii.ew or tendon, which can be conveniently conducted 
 and fixed to the bone. If we are desirous of moving a heavy weight, 
 we tie a strong cord to it, that a greater number of men may apply their 
 strength. Thus a similar efiect is produced — the muscular fibres are the 
 moving powers, the tendons are the cords attached 'o the point to bo 
 moved. — Paxton. 
 
OF THE MUSCLES. 
 
 7S 
 
 quality dF his materials, or their laws of action. He takes 
 these as he finds them. His skill and ingenuity are em- 
 ployed in turning them, such as they are, to his account, 
 by giving to the parts of his machine a form and relation, 
 in which these unalterable properties may operate to the 
 production of the effects intended. 
 
 VI. The ejaculations can never too often be repeated; — 
 How many things must go right for us to be an hour at 
 ease! how many more, to be vigorous and active! Yet 
 vigor and activity are, in avast plurality of instances, pre- 
 served in human bodies, notwithstanding that they depend 
 upon so great a number of instruments of motion, and not 
 withstanding that the defect or disorder sometimes of a very 
 small instrument, of a single pair, for instance, out of the 
 four hundred and forty-six muschis which are employed, 
 may be attended with grievous inconveniency. There is 
 piety and good sense in the following observation taken 
 out of the Religions Philosopher: ‘‘With much compas- 
 sion,” says this writer, “as well as astonishment at the 
 goodness of our loving Creator, have I considered the sad 
 state of a certain gentleman, who, as to the rest, was in 
 pretty good health, but only wanted the use of these hvo 
 lilile muscles that serve to lift up the eyelids, [PI. XIV. fig. 
 1, 2,] and so had almost lost the use of his sight, being 
 forced, as long as this defect lasted, to shove up his eyelids 
 every moment with his own hands!” In general we may 
 remark, how little those who enjoy the perfect use of their 
 organs, know the comprehensiveness of the blessing, the va- 
 riety of their obligation. They perceive a result, but they 
 think little of the multitude of concurrences and rectitudes 
 which go to form it. 
 
 Besides these observations, which belong to the muscu- 
 lar organ as such, w^e may notice some advantages of struc- 
 ture, which are more conspicuous in muscles of a certain 
 class or description than in others. Thus: 
 
 I. The variety, quickness, and precision, of which mus- 
 cular motion is capable, are seen, I think, in no part 
 so remarkable as in the tongue. It is worth any man’s 
 wdiile to watch the agility of his tongue; the wonderful 
 promptitude with which it executes changes of position, and 
 the perfect exactness. Each syllable of articulated sound 
 requires for its utterance a specific action of the tongue, 
 and of the parts adjacent to it. The disposition and con- 
 figuration of the mouth, appertaining to every letter and 
 word, is not only peculiar, but, if nicely and accurately 
 altended to, pe reptible to the sight, insomuch, that curious 
 
80 
 
 OF THE MUSCLES. 
 
 persons have availed themselves of this circumstance to 
 teach the deaf to speak, and to understand what is said by 
 others. In the same person, and after his habit of speak- 
 ing is formed, one, and only one, position of the parts, will 
 produce a given articulate sound correctly. How instan- 
 taneously are these positions assumed and dismissed! 
 how numerous are the permutations, how various, yet how 
 infallible! Arbitrary and antic variety is not the thing we 
 admire; but variety obeying a rule, conducing to an effect, 
 and commensurate with exigencies infinitely diversified. I 
 believe also that the anatomy of the tongue corresponds 
 with these observations upon its activity. The muscles of 
 the tongue are so numerous and so implicated with one 
 another, that they cannot be traced by the nicest dissec- 
 tion; nevertheless (which is a great perfection of the organ,) 
 neither the number, nor the complexity, nor what might 
 seem to be the entanglement of its fibres, in anywise im- 
 pede its motion, or render the determination or success of 
 its efforts uncertain. 
 
 I here entreat the reader’s permission to step a little out 
 of my way, to consider the 'parts of the month, in some of 
 their other properties. It has been said, and that by an 
 eminent physiologist, that, whenever nature attempts to 
 work two or more purposes by one instrument, she does 
 both or all imperfectly. Is this true of the tongue, regard- 
 ed as an instrument of speech, and of taste; or regarded 
 as an instrument of speech, of taste and of deglutition.^ 
 So much otherwise, that many persons, that is to say, nine 
 hundred and ninety-nine persons out of a thousand, by the 
 instrumentality of this one organ, talk, and taste, and sw^al- 
 low, very well. In fact, the constant warmth and moisture 
 of the tongue, the thinness of the skin, the papillie upon 
 its surface, qualify this organ for its office of tasting, as 
 much as its inextricable multiplicity of fibres do for the 
 ripid movements which are necessary to speech. Animals 
 which feed upon grass, have their tongues covered with a 
 perforated skin, so as to admit the dissolved food to the pa- 
 pillsB underneath, which, in the meantime, remain defend- 
 ed from the rough action of the unbruised spiculae.* 
 
 Papillce are small bodies situated on the surface and sides of the 
 tongue; they are furnished by the extreme filaments of the gustatory 
 nerve, through which medium we ac(juire the sense of tasting. In hei 
 oivorous animals the papilhe are siiarp pointed and directed backwards 
 cO assiit in laying hold of the grass. In the cat kind there is a horny or 
 H ickly set covering the tongue, rendering it rough, and enabling it to 
 
OF THE MUSCLES. 
 
 81 
 
 There art brought together within the ca\ity of the 
 mouth more distinct uses, and parts executing more dis- 
 tinct offices, than I think can be found lying so tear to 
 one another, or within the same compass, in any other por- 
 tion of the body: viz. teeth of different shape,* first for 
 cutting; secondly for grinding: muscles, most artificially 
 disposed foi carrying on the compound motion of the low- 
 ^r jaw, half lateral and half vertical, by which the mill is 
 worked: fountains of saliva, springing up in different parts 
 of the cavity for the moistening of the food, whilst the 
 mastication is going on: glands,']' to feed the fountains; a 
 muscular constriction of a very peculiar kind in the back 
 part of the cavity, for the guiding of the prepared aliment 
 into its passage towards the stomach, and in many cases 
 for carrying it along that passage; for, although we may 
 imagine this to be done simply by the weight of the food 
 itself, it in truth is not so, even in the upright posture of the 
 human neck; and most evidently is not the case with 
 quadrupeds, with a horse for instance, in which, when 
 pasturing, the food is thrust upward by muscular strength, 
 instead of descending of its own accord. 
 
 In the meantime, and within the same cavity, is going 
 on another business, altogether different from what is here 
 described, that of respiration and speech. In addition 
 therefore, to all that has been mentioned, we have a pas- 
 sage opened, from this cavity to the lungs, for the admis- 
 sion of air, exclusively of every other substance; we have 
 muscles, some in the larynx, and without number in the 
 tongue, for the purpose of modulating that air in its passage, 
 with a variety, a compass, and precision, of which no other 
 musical instrument is capable. And, lastly, which in my 
 opinion crowns the whole as a piece of machinery, we have 
 a specific contrivance for dividing the pneumatic part fi'oin 
 
 !ake firmer hold of the prey. Birds also have a similar contrivance. In 
 fish the tongue is covered by a number of teeth, serving the same purpose. 
 
 Paxton. 
 
 * In each jaw there qxq four incisor es, or cutting teeth, two canine 
 rfvhich may be ranked with the former, only more pointed; four small 
 molar, and six large molar or grinding teeth. And as the teeth of ani- 
 mals indicate the food on which they are destined to subsist, so from 
 analogy we may infei that man is called to use either animal or vegetable 
 aliments, or both, i. e. keeps a mean between graminivorous and carniv- 
 orous animals, in the structure and complication of his digestive appara- 
 tus, without deserving on that account to be called omnivorous: for it is 
 known, that, a great number of the substances upon which animals feed 
 are 3f no use in the support of man. — Paxton. 
 
 1 The principal of these are the parotids, see Plate XX. 
 
82 
 
 OF THE MUSCLES. 
 
 the mechanical, and for preventing one set of actions in 
 terfering with the other.' Where various functions are 
 united, the difficulty is to guard against the inconve- 
 niences of a too greit complexity. In no apparatus put 
 together by art, and for the purposes of art, do I know such 
 multifa: ious uses so aptly combined, as in the natural or- 
 ganiza.ion of the human mouth; or, where the structure, 
 compared with the uses, is so simple. The mouth, with all 
 these intentions to serve, is a single cavity; is one machine, 
 with its parts neither crowded nor confused, and each un- 
 embarrassed by the rest: each at least at liberty in a de- 
 gree sufficient for the end to be attained. If we cannot 
 eat and sing at the same moment, we can eat one moment, 
 and sing the next: the respiration proceeding freely all the 
 while. 
 
 There is one case, however, of this double office, and 
 that of the earliest necessity, which the mouth alone could 
 not perform; and that is, carrying on together the two acs 
 tions of sucking and breathing. Another route, therefore, 
 is opened for the air, namely, through the nose, which lets 
 the breath pass backward and forward, whilst the lips, in the 
 act of sucking, are necessarily shut close upon the body 
 from which the nutriment is drawn. This is a circum- 
 stance which always appeared to me worthy of notice. 
 The nose would have been necessary, although it had not 
 been the organ of smelling. The making it the seat of a 
 sense, was superadding a new use to a part already wanted; 
 was taking a wise advantage of an antecedent and a con- 
 stitutional necessity. 
 
 But to return to that which is the proper subject of the 
 present section — the celerity and precision of muscular mo- 
 tion. These qualities may be particularly observed in the 
 execution of many pieces of instrumental music, in which 
 the changes produced by the hand of the musician are ex- 
 ceedingly rapid; are exactly measured, even when most 
 minute; and display, on the part of the muscles, an obedi- 
 ence of action, alike wonderful for its quickness and its 
 correctness. 
 
 Or let a person only observe his own hand wffiilst he is 
 writing; the number of muscleS w'hich are brought to 
 hear upon the pen: how the joint and adjusted oj^cration 
 of several tendons is concerned in every stroke, yet that 
 five hundred such strokes are drawn in a minute. Not a 
 letter can be turned without more than one, or tw o, or three 
 \etdinous i Urac'.ions, definite, both as to the choice of 
 
OF THE MUSCLES. 
 
 83 
 
 the tendon, and as to the spc ce through which the re- 
 traction moves; yet how currently d)es the work proceed 
 and when we look at it, how faithful have the musclei 
 been to their duty, how true to the order which endeavoui 
 or habit hath inculcated! For let it be remembered, thai 
 whilst a man's hand-writing is the same, an exactitude of 
 order is preserved, whether he write well or ill Thes< 
 two instances, of music and writing, show not only th^ 
 quickness and precision of muscular action, but the do 
 cility, 
 
 II. Regarding the particular configuration of muscles, 
 sphincter or circular muscles appear to me admirable pieces 
 of mechanism. [PI. XIV. fig. 3.] It is the muscular pow- 
 er most happily applied; the same quality of the musculai 
 substance, but under a new modification. The circular 
 disposition of the fibres is strictly mechanical ; but, though 
 the most mechanical, is not the only thing in sphincters 
 which deserves our notice. The regulated degree of con- 
 tractile force with which they are endowed, sufficient for 
 retention, yet vincible when requisite; together with their 
 ordinary state of actual contraction, by means of which 
 their dependence upon the will is not constant, but occasion- 
 al, gives to them a constitution, of which the conveniency 
 IS inestimable. This their semi-voluntary character, is ex- 
 actly such as suits with the wants and functions of the ani- 
 mal. 
 
 III. We may also', upon the subject of muscles, observe, 
 that many of our most important actions are achieved by 
 the combined help of different muscles. Frequently, a 
 diagonal motion is produced by the retraction of tendons 
 pulling in the direction of the sides of the parallelogram. 
 This is the case, as hath been already noticed, with some 
 of the oblique nutations of the head. Sometimes the num- 
 ber of co-operating muscles is very great. Dr. Nieuentyt, 
 in the Leipsic Transactions, reckons up a hundred muscles 
 that are employed every time we breathe; yet we take in, 
 or let out, our breath, without reflecting what a work is 
 thereby performed; what an apparatus is laid in, of instru- 
 ments for the service, and how many such contribute their 
 assistance to the effect! Breathing with ease, is a blessing 
 of every moment; yet, of all others, it is that which we 
 possess with the least consciousness. A man in an asthma 
 is the only man who knows how to estimate ‘t. 
 
 IV. Sir Everard Home has observed,* that the most 
 important and the most delicate actions are performed in the 
 
 Phil. Trans, part 1 . 1800. p. 8 
 
84 
 
 OF THE MUSCLES 
 
 body by the smallest muscles; and he mentifiis, as hi» 
 examples, the muscles which have been disco’iered in the 
 iris of the eye, and the drum of the ear. The tenuity of 
 these muscles is astonishing. They are microscopic hairs; 
 must be magnified to be visible ; yet they are real, effective 
 muscles; and not only such, but the grandest and most pre- 
 cious of our faculties, sight and hearing, depend upon their 
 health and action. 
 
 V. The muscles act in the limbs with what is called a 
 mechanical disadvantage. The muscle at the shoulder, 
 [PI. XIII. fig. 1. f.] by which the arm is raised, is fixed 
 nearly in the same manner as the load is fixed upon* a 
 steelyard, within a few decimals, we will say, of an inch, 
 from the centre upon which the steelyard turns. In this 
 situation, we find that a very heavy draught is no more 
 than sufficient to countervail the force of a small lead 
 plummet, placed upon the long arm of the steelyard, at the 
 distance of perhaps fifteen or twenty inches from the cen- 
 tre, and on the other side of it. And this is the disadvantage 
 which is meant. And an absolute disadvantage, no doubt, 
 would be, if the object were to spare the force of muscu- 
 tir contraction. But observe how conducive is this consti - 
 tution to animal conveniency. Mechanism has always in 
 view one or other of these two purposes; either to move a 
 great weight slowly, and through a small space ; or to move 
 a light weight rapidly, through a considerable sweep. For 
 the former of these purposes, a different species of lever, 
 and a different collocation of the muscles, might be better 
 tlian the present; but for the second, the present structure 
 is the true one. Now so it happens, that the second, and 
 not the first, is that which the occasions of animal life prin- 
 cipally call for. In what concerns the human body, it is 
 of much more consequence to any man to be able to carry 
 his hand to his head with due expedition, than it would be 
 to have the power of raising from the ground a heavier load 
 (of two or three more hundred weight, we will suppose,) 
 than he can lift at present. This last is a faculty, which on 
 some extraordinary occasions he may desire to possess, 
 but the Other is what he wants, and uses every hour and 
 minute. In like manner, a husbandman, or a gardener, 
 will do more execution, by being able to carry his scythe, 
 his rake, or his flail, with a sufficient despatch through a 
 sufficient space, than if, with greater strength, his motions 
 w^ere proportionably more confined and slow. It is the 
 
 same with a mechanic in the use of his tools. It is the 
 
 same also with other animals in the use of their limbs. In 
 
OF THE MUSCLES. 
 
 85 
 
 general, the vivacity of their motions would be ill excnanged 
 for greater force under a clumsier structure. 
 
 We have offered our observations upon the structure of 
 muscles in general; we have also noticed certain species 
 of muscles; but there are also single muscles, which bear 
 marks of mechanical contrivance, appropriate as well as 
 particular. Out of many instances of this kind, we select 
 the following: — 
 
 I. Of muscular actions, even of those which are \^ell 
 understood, some of the most curious are incapable of pop- 
 ular explanation; at least, without the aid of plates and 
 figures.* This is in a great measure the case, with a very 
 familiar, but, at the same time, a very complicated motion — 
 that of the lower jaw; and with the muscular structure by 
 which it is produced. One of the muscles concerned may, 
 however, be described in such a manner, as to be, I think, 
 sufficiently comprehended for our present purpose. The 
 problem is to pull the lower jaw down. The obvious method 
 should seem to be, to place a straight muscle, viz. to fix a 
 string from the chin to the breast, the contraction of which 
 would open the mouth, and produce the motion required at 
 once. But it is evident that the form and liberty of the 
 neck forbid a muscle being laid in such a position; and 
 that, consistently with the preservation of this form, the 
 motion, which we want, must be effectuated by some muscu- 
 lar mechanism disposed farther back in the jaw. The me- 
 chanism adopted is as follows: [PI. XV. fig. 1,2.] A 
 certain muscle called the digastric, rises on the side of the 
 face, considerably above the insertion of the lower jaw, 
 and comes down, being converted in its progress into a 
 round tendon. Now, it is evident, that the tendon, whilst 
 it pursues a direction descending towards the jaw, must, 
 by its contraction, pull the jaw up, instead of down. What 
 then was to be done? This, we find is done: The de- 
 scending tendon, when it is got low enough, is passed 
 through a loop, or ring, or pulley, in the os hyoides, and 
 then made to ascend: and, having thus changed its line of 
 direction, is inserted into the inner part of the chin: by 
 which device, viz. the turn at the loop, the action of the 
 muscle (which in all muscles is contraction) that before 
 would have pulled the jaw up, now as necessarily draws it 
 down. The mouth,’' says Heister, “ is opened by means 
 of this trochlea in a most wonderful and elegant manner.” 
 
 II. What contrivance can be more mechanical than 
 
 * The want of the aid of plates and figures, which the author here ex 
 presses, is now supplied in this Boston edition. 
 
 H 
 
OF THE MUSCLES. 
 
 S6 
 
 the following, viz. a slit in one tendon to let ancther ten 
 don pass through it? This structure is found in the ten- 
 dons which move the toes and fingers. The long tendon 
 as it is called, in the foot, which bends the first joint of the 
 toe, passes through the short tendon which bends the sec- 
 ond joint; which course allows to the sinew more liberty, 
 and a more commodious action than it would otherwise 
 have been capable of exerting.* [PI. XVI. fig. 1, 2.] There 
 is nothing, I believe, in a silk or cotton mill, in the belts, 
 or straps, or ropes, by which motion is communicated from 
 one part of the machine to another, that is more artificial, 
 or more evidently so, than this 'perforation. 
 
 III. The next circumstance which I shall mention, un- 
 der this head of muscular arrangement, is so decisive a 
 mark of intention, that it always appeared to me, to super- 
 sede, in some measure, the necessity of seeking for any 
 other observation upon the subject; and that circumstance 
 is, the tendons, which pass from the leg to the foot, being 
 bound down by a ligament at the ankle. [PI. XVI. fig. 3.] 
 The foot is placed at a considerable angle with the leg 
 It is manifest, therefore, that flexible strings, passing along 
 the interior of the angle, if left to themselves, would, when 
 stretched, start from it. The obvious preventive is to tic 
 them down. Vnd this is done in fact. Across the instep, 
 or rather just above it, the anatomist finds a strong liga- 
 ment under which the tendons pass to the foot. The ef 
 feet of the ligament as a bandage, can be made evident to 
 the senses; for if it be cut, the tendons start up. The 
 simplicity, yet the clearness of this contrivance, its exact 
 resemblance to established resources of art, place it amongst 
 the most indubitable manifestations of design with which 
 we are acquainted. 
 
 There is also a farther use to be made of the present 
 example, and that is, as it precisely contradicts the opin- 
 ion, that the parts of animals may have been all formed 
 by what is called appetency, i. e. endeavour, perpetuated, 
 and imperceptibly working its effect, through an incalcu- 
 lable series of generations. We have here no endeavour, 
 but the reverse of it; a constant renitency and reluctance. 
 The endeavour is all the other way. The pressure of the 
 ligament constrains the tendons; the tendons react upon 
 the pressure of the ligament. It is impossible that the lig- 
 ament should ever have been gener ited by the exercise of 
 the tenden, or in the course of that exercise, forasmuch aa 
 
 ♦ Ches. Anat. p. 94, 119. 
 
OF THE MUSCLES. 
 
 87 
 
 the foi ce of the tendon perpendicularly resists the fibre 
 which confines it, and is constantly endeavouring, not to 
 form, but to rupture and displace, the threads of which the 
 ligament is composed. 
 
 Keill has reckoned up, in the human body, four hundred 
 and forty-six muscles, [See note, p. 77,] dissectible and de- 
 scribable ; and hath assigned a use to every one of the num- 
 ber. This cannot be all imagination. 
 
 Bishop Wilkins hath observed from Galen, that there are, 
 at least, ten several qualifications to be attended to in each 
 particular muscle ; viz. its proper figure ; its just magni- 
 tude; its fulcrum; its point of action, supposing the figure 
 to be fixed; its collocation, with respect to its two ends, the 
 upper and the lower; the place; the position of the whole 
 muscle; the introduction into it of nerves, arteries, and 
 veins. How are things, including so many adjustments, to 
 be made, or, when made, how are they to be put together, 
 without intelligence? 
 
 I have sometimes wondered, why we are not struck 
 with mechanism in animal bodies, as readily and as strong- 
 ly as we are struck with it, at first sight, in a watch or a 
 mill. One reason of the diflerence may be, that animal 
 bodies are, in a great measure, made up of soft, flabby 
 substances, such as muscles and membranes; w^hereas we 
 have been accustomed to trace mechanism in sharp lines, 
 in the configuration of hard materials, in the moulding, 
 chiseling, and filing into shapes, such articles as metals or 
 wood. There is something, therefore, of habit in the case; 
 but it is sufficiently evident, that there can be no proper 
 reason for any distinction of the sort. Mechanism may 
 be displaye“d in one kind of substance, as well as in the 
 other. 
 
 Although the few instances we have selected, even as 
 they stand in our description, are nothing short perhaps 
 of logical proofs of design, yet it must not be forgotten, 
 that, in every part of anatomy, description is a poor sub- 
 stitute for inspection. It is well said by an able anato- 
 mist, and said in reference to the very part of the sub- 
 ject which w^e have been treating of: — Imperfecta hoec 
 musculorum descriptio, non minus arida est legentibus, 
 quom inspectantibus fuerit jucunda eorundem prseparatio. 
 Elcgantiss ma enim mechanices artificia, creberrime in 
 illis obvia verbis nonnisi obscure exprimuntur: carniiim 
 
 * Sterno in Bias. Anat. Animal, p. 2. c 4. 
 
88 
 
 OF THE MUSCLES. 
 
 aulem ductu, tendinum colore, insertionum proportione 
 e/: trochlearium distributione, oculis exposita, omnen su- 
 perant admiral ionem.” 
 
 The following remarks upon the structure of the tendons, from the An- 
 imal Mechanics already quoted, will form an instructive addition to the fore- 
 going chapter, to the subject of which they bear a near relation. — Ed, 
 
 Of the Cordage of the Tendons. 
 
 Where lature has provided a perfect system of columns ana 
 levers, and pullies, we may anticipate that the cords by which the 
 force of the muscles is concentrated on the movable bones, .must 
 6e constructed with as curious a provision for their offices. In 
 this surmise we shall not be disappointed. 
 
 To understand what is necessary to the strength of a iV)pe or a 
 cable, we must leai*n what has been the object of the improve- 
 ments and patents in this manufacture. The first process in rope- 
 making, is hatchelling the hemp : that is, combing out the short 
 fibres, and placing the long ones parallel to one another. The 
 second is, spinning the hemp into yarns. And here the principle 
 must be attended to, which goes through the whole process in 
 forming a cable; which is that the fibres of the hemp shall 
 bear an equal strain : and the difficulty may be easily conceived, 
 since the twisting must demnge the parallel position of the fibres. 
 Each fibre, as it is twisted, ties the other fibres together, so as to 
 form a continued line, aiid it bears, at the same time, a certain por- 
 tion of the strain, and so each fibre alternately. The third step of 
 the process is making the yarns. Warping the yarns, is stretching 
 them to a certain length ; and for the same reason, that so much 
 attention has been paid to the arrangement of the fibres for the 
 yarns, the same care is taken in the management of the yarns for 
 the strands. The fourth step of the process is to form the strands 
 into ropes. The difficulty of the art has been to make them bear 
 alike, especially in gi*eat cables, and this has been the object of pa- 
 tent machinery. The hardenmg,^ by twisting, is also an essential 
 part of the process of rope-making: for without this, it would be 
 little better than extended ])arallel fibres of hemp. In this twist- 
 ing, first of the yarns, and then of the strands, those which are on 
 the outer surface must be more stretched than those near the cen- 
 tre ; consequently, when there is a strain uj)on the rope, the outer 
 fibres will break first, and the others in succession. It is to avoid 
 this, that each yarn and each strand, as it is twisted or hardened, 
 shall be itself revolving, so that when drawn into the cable, the 
 whole component parts may, as nearly as possible, resist the strain 
 in an equal degree; but the process is not ])erfect, and this we 
 must conclude from observing how different the construction of a 
 tendon is from that of a rope. A tendon consists of a strong cord; 
 ni)j)areiiily fibrous ; but which, by the art of the anatomist, may 
 be separate! nto lesser cords, and these, by maceration, can be 
 
OF THE MUSCLES. 
 
 89 
 
 ahovvn to consist of cellular membrane, the common tissue that 
 gives firmness to all the textures of the animal body. The peeu- 
 harity here results merely from its remarkable condensation. Jhit 
 the cords of which the larger tendons consists, dU not lie j^arallel 
 to each other, nor are they simply twisted like the strands of a 
 rope; they are, on the contrary, plaited or interwoven together. 
 
 If the strong tendon of the heel, or Achilles tendon, be taken as 
 an example, on first inspection, it appears to consist of parallel 
 fibres, but by maceration, these fibi*es are found to be a web of 
 twisted cellular texture. If you take your handkerchief, and, 
 slightly twisting it, draw it out like a rope, it will seem to consist 
 of parallel cords ; such is, in fact, so far the structure of a tendon. 
 But, as we have stated, there is something more admirable than 
 this, for the tendon consists of subdivisions, which are like the strands 
 of a rope; but instead of being twisted simply as by the process 
 of hardening, they are plaited or interwoven in a way that could 
 not be imitated in cordage by the turning of a wheel. Here then 
 IS the difference — by the twisting of a rope, tlie strands cannot 
 resist the strain equally, whilst we see that tins is provided for in 
 the tendon by the regular interweaving of the yarn, if we may so 
 express it, so that every fibre deviates from the parallel line in the 
 same degree, and, consequently, receives the same strain when the 
 tendon is pulled. If we seek for examples illustrative of this 
 structure of the tendons, we must turn to the subject of ship-rig 
 ging, and see there how the seaman contrives, by undoing the 
 strands and yarns of a rope, and twisting them anew, to make his 
 splicing stronger than the original cordage. A sailor opens the 
 ends of two ropes, and places the strand of one opposite and be- 
 tween the strand of another, and so interlaces them. And this ex- 
 plains why a hawser- rope, a sort of small cable, is spun of three 
 strands ; for as they are necessary for many operations in the rigging 
 of a ship, they must be formed in a way that admits of being cut 
 and spliced, for the separation of three strands, at least, is necessa- 
 ry for knotting, splicing, whipping, mailing, &c., which are a few 
 of the many curious contrivances for joining the ends of ropes, 
 and for strengthening them by filling up the interstices to preserve 
 them from being cut or frayed. As these methods of S})licing and 
 plaiting in the subdivisions of the rope make an intertexture strong- 
 er than the original ro})e, it is an additional demonstration, if any 
 were wanted, to show the perfection of the cordage of an animal 
 machine, since the tendons are so intei*woven ; and until the yarns 
 of one strand be separated and interwoven with the yarns of 
 another strand, and this done with regular exchange, the most ap- 
 proved patent ropes must be inferior to the corresponding part of 
 the animal machinery. 
 
 A piece of cord of a new patent has been shown to us, v/hich is 
 said to be many times stronger than any other cord of the same 
 diameter. It is so far upon the principle here stated, that the 
 strands are }>laited instead of being twisted ; but the tendon has 
 still its superiority, for tbe lesser yarns of each strand in it are in- 
 terwoven with those of other strands. It however, gratifies us to 
 •see, that the principle we draw from the animal body is here con- 
 
90 
 
 OF THE VESSELS. 
 
 firmed. It may be asked, do not the tendons of tne human body 
 sometiiaes break? They do; but in circumstances which only 
 add to the interest of the subject. By the exercise of the tendons 
 (and their exercifee is the act of being pulled upon by the mus 
 cles, or having a strain made on them,) they become firmer and 
 stronger ; but in the failure of muscular activity, they become less 
 capable of resisting the tug made upon them, and if, after a long 
 confinement, a man has some powerful excitement to muscular 
 exertion, then the tendon breaks. An old gentleman, whose habits 
 have been long staid and sedentaiy, and who is very guarded in his 
 walk, is upon an annual festival tempted to join the young people 
 in a dance ; then he breaks his tendo Achilles. Or a sick person, 
 long confined to bed, is, on rising, subject to a rupture or hernia, 
 because the tendinous expansions guarding against protrusion of 
 the internal parts, have become weak from disuse. 
 
 Such circumstances remind us that we are speaking of a living 
 body, and that, in estimating the properties of the machinery, we 
 ought not to forget the influence of life, and that the natural ex- 
 ercise of the parts, whether they be active or passive, is the 
 stimulus to the circulation through them, and to their growth and 
 perfection. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES. 
 
 The circulation of the blood, through the bodies of men 
 and quadrupeds, and the apparatus by which it is carried 
 on, compose a system, and testify a contrivance, perhaps 
 the best understood of any part of the animal frame. The 
 lymphatic vessels, or the nervous system, may be more sub- 
 tile and intricate; nay, it is possible that in their structure 
 they may be even more artificial than the sanguiferous; 
 but we do not know so much about them. 
 
 The utility of the circulation of the blood I assume as 
 an acknowledged point. One grand purpose is plainly 
 answered by it; the distributing to every part, every ex- 
 tremity, every nook and corner of the body, the nourish- 
 ment which is received into it by one aperture. What en- 
 ters at the mouth finds its way to the fingers’ ends. A more 
 difficult mechanical problem could hardly, I think, be pro- 
 posed, than to discover a method of constantly repairing 
 the waste, and of supplying an accession of substance to 
 every oart of a complicated machine, at the same time. 
 
 This sys-^f^n presents itself under two views: first, the 
 
OF ANIMAL BODIES. 
 
 91 
 
 disposition of t ie blood-vessels, i. e. the laying of the pipes; 
 and secondly, the construction of the engine at the centre, 
 viz. the heart, for driving the'lilood through them. 
 
 I. The dioposition of the blood-vessels, as far as regards 
 the supply of the body, is like that of the water pipes in a 
 city, viz. large and main trunks branching off by smaller 
 pipes (and these again by still narrower tubes) in every 
 direction, and towards every part in which the fluid, which 
 they convey, can be wanted. So far the water pipes, 
 which serve a town, may represent the vessels which carry 
 the blood from the heart. But there is another thing 
 necessary to the blood, which is not wanted for the water; 
 and that is, the carrying of it back again to its source. 
 For this office, a reversed system of vessels is prepared, 
 which, uniting at their extremities with the extremities of 
 the first system, collects the divided and subdivided stream- 
 lets, first by capillary ramifications into larger branches; 
 secondly, by these branches into trunks; and thus returns 
 the blood (almost exactly inverting the order in which it 
 went out) to the fountain whence its motion proceeded. All 
 which is Evident mechanism. 
 
 The body, therefore, contains two systems of blood-ves- 
 sels, arteries and veins. Between the constitution of the 
 systems there are also two differences, suited to the func- 
 tions which the systems have to execute. The blood, in 
 going out, passing always from wider into narrower tubes; 
 and, in coming back, from narrower into wider; it is evi- 
 dent, that the impulse and pressure upon the sides of the 
 blood-vessel, will be much greater in one case than the 
 other. Accordingly, the arteries which carry out the blood, 
 are formed with much tougher and stronger coats, than the 
 veins which bring it back. That is one difference: the 
 other is still more artificial, or, if I may so speak, indicates, 
 still more clearly, the care and anxiety of the artificer. 
 Forasmuch as in the arteries, by reason of the great force 
 with which the blood is urged along them, a wound or rup- 
 ture would be more dangerous than in the veins; these 
 vessels are defended from injury, not only by their texture, 
 but by their situation; and by every advantage of situation 
 which can be given to them. They are buried in sinuses, 
 or they creep along grooves, made for them in the bones ; 
 for instance, the under edge of the ribs is sloped and fur- 
 rowed solely for the passage of these vessels. Sometimes 
 they proceed in channels, protected by stout parapets on 
 each side; which last description is remarkable in the 
 bones of the fingers, these being hollowed out, on the 
 
92 
 
 OF THE VESSELS 
 
 under side, like a scoop, and with such a concavity that the 
 finger may be cut across to the bone, without hurting the 
 artery which runs along it. At other times, the arteries 
 pass in canals wrought in the substance, and in the very 
 middle of the substance of the bone; this takes place in 
 the lower jaw; and is found where there would, otherwise, 
 be danger of compression by sudden curvature. All this 
 care is wonderful, yet not more than what the importance 
 of the case required. To those who venture their lives 
 in a ship, it has been often said, that there is only an inch 
 board betweer. hem and death; but in the body itself, es- 
 pecially in the arterial system, there is, in many parts, only 
 a membrane, a skin, a thread. For which reason, this sys- 
 tem lies deep under the integuments; whereas the veins, in 
 which the mischief that ensues from injuring the coats is 
 much less, lie in general above the arteries; come nearei 
 to the surface; are more exposed. 
 
 It may be farther observed concerning the two systems 
 taken together, that though the arterial, with its trunks 
 and branches and small twigs, may be imagined to issue or 
 proceed, in other words, to grow from the heart, like a plant 
 from its root, or the fibres of a leaf from its foot-stalk, (which, 
 however, were it so, would be only to resolve one mechanism 
 into another,) yet the venal, the returning system, can never 
 be formed in this manner. The arteries might go on shoot- 
 ing out from their extremities, i. e. lengthening and sub- 
 dividing indefinitely; but an inverted system, continually 
 uniting its streams, instead of dividing, and thus carrying 
 back what the other system carried out, could not be refer- 
 red to the same process. 
 
 II. The next thing to be considered is the engine which 
 works this machinery, viz. the heart. [PI. XVII. fig. 1.] 
 For our purpose it is unnecessary to ascertain the principle 
 upon which the heart acts. Whether it be irritation excited 
 by the contact of the blood, by the influx of the nervous 
 fluid, or whatever else be the cause of its motion, it is some- 
 thing which is capable of producing, in a living muscular 
 fibre, reciprocal contraction and relaxation. This is the 
 power we have to work with; and the inquiry is, how this 
 power IS applied in the instance before us. There is pro- 
 vided, in the central part of the body, a hollow muscle, in- 
 vested with spiral fibres, running in both directions, the 
 layers intersecting one another; in some animals, however, 
 appearing to be semicircular rather than spiral. By the 
 contraction of these fibres, the sides ofthe muscular cavities 
 are necessarily squeezed together, so as to force out from 
 
OF ANIMAL BODIES. 
 
 93 
 
 them any fluid wnich they may at that time contain: by 
 the relaxation of the same fibres, the cavities are in their 
 turn dilated, and, of course, prepared to admit every fluid 
 \vhich may be poured into them. Into these cavities are 
 inserted the great trunks, both of the arteries which carry 
 out the blood, and of the veins which bring it back. This 
 is a general account of the apparatus: and the simplest idea 
 of its action is, that, by each contraction, a portion of blood 
 is forced by a syringe into the arteries; and, at each 
 dilatation, an equal portion is received from the veins. This 
 produces, at each pulse, a motion, and change in the mass 
 of blood, to the amount of what the cavity contains, which, 
 in a full-grown human heart, I understand, is about an 
 ounce, or two table-spoons full. How quickly these changes 
 succeed one another, and by this succession how sufficient 
 they are to support a stream or circulation throughout the 
 system, may be understood by the following computation, 
 abridged from Keilfs Anatomy, p. 117. ed. 3: ‘‘ Each ven- 
 tricle will at least contain one ounce of blood. The heart 
 contracts four thousand times in one hour; from which it 
 follows, that there pass through the heart, every hour, 
 four thousand ounces, or three hundred and fifty pounds of 
 blood. Now the whole mass of blood is said to be about 
 twenty-five pounds; so that a quantity of blood, equal to the 
 whole mass of blood, passes through the heart fourteen times 
 m one hour; which is about once every four minutes.’’ 
 Consider what an aflair this is, when we come to very large 
 animals. The aorta of a whale is larger in the bore than 
 the main pipe of the water-works at London bridge; and 
 the water roaring in its passage through that pipe is in- 
 ferior in impetus and velocity, to the blood gushing from 
 the whale’s heart. Hear I t. Hunter’s account of the dis- 
 section of a whale: — ‘^The aorta measured a foot diame- 
 ter. Ten or fifteen gallons of blood are thrown out of the 
 heart at a stroke with an immense velocity, through a tube 
 of a foot diameter. The whole idea fills the mind with won- 
 der.”^ 
 
 The account which we have here stated, of the injec- 
 tion of blood into the arteries by the contraction, and of 
 the corresponding reception of it from the veins by the di- 
 latation of the cavities of the heart, and of the circulation 
 being thereby maintained through the blood-vessels of the 
 body, is true, but imperfect. The heart performs this of- 
 fice, but it is in conjunction with another of equal curiosi- 
 
 * Dr Hunter’s account of the dissection of a whale. Phil. Trans. 
 
94 
 
 OF THE VESSELS 
 
 ty and importance. It was necessary that the blood should 
 be successively brought into contact, or contiguity, or prox- 
 imity, with the air, I do not know that the chemical rea- 
 son, upon which this necessity is founded, has been yet 
 sufficiently explored. It seems to be made to appear, that 
 the atmosphere which we breathe is a mixture of two kinds 
 of air; one pure and vital, the other, for the purposes of 
 life, effete, foul, and noxious: that when we have drawn 
 in our breath, the blood in the lungs imbibes from the air, 
 thus brought into contiguity with it, a portion of its pure in- 
 gredient, and, at the same time, gives out the effete or 
 corrupt air which it contained, and which is carried away, 
 along with the halitus, every time we respire. * At least, 
 by comparing the air which is breathed from the lungs 
 with the air which enters the lungs, it is found to have 
 lost some of its pure part, and to have brought away with 
 it an addition of its impure part. Whether these experiments 
 satisfy the question, as to the need which the blood stands 
 in of being visited by continual accesses of air, is not for 
 us to inquire into, nor material to our argument: it is suf- 
 ficient to know, that in the constitution of most animals, 
 such a necessity exists, and that the air, by some means or 
 other, must be introduced into a near communication with 
 the blood. The lungs of animals are constructed for this 
 purpose. They consist of blood-vessels and air-vessels, ly- 
 ing close to each other; and wherever there is a branch 
 of the trachea or windpipe, there is a branch accompanying 
 it of the vein and artery, and the air-vessel is always in the 
 middle between the blood-vessels.* The internal surface 
 of these vessels, upon which the application of the air to 
 the blood depends, would, if collected and expanded, be, 
 in a man, equal to a superficies of fifteen feet square. Now’, 
 in order to give the blood in its course the benefit of this 
 organization, (and this is the part of the subject with which 
 we are chiefly concerned,) the following operation takes 
 place. As soon as the blood is received by the heart 
 from the veins of the body, and before that is sent : it 
 again into its arteries, it is carried by the force of tne 
 contraction of the heart, and by means of a separate and 
 supplementary artery, to the lungs, and made to enter 
 the vessels of the lungs; from which, alter it has under- 
 gone the action, w'liatever it be, of that viscus, it is 
 brought back by a large vein oni’.e more to tlie heart, in 
 orde^', when thus concocted and prepared lo be thence 
 
 * Keill’s Anat. j 121. 
 
or ANIM IL BODjeS. 
 
 95 
 
 distributed anew into he system. This ass gns to the 
 heart a double office. The pulmonary circulation is a 
 system within a system and one action of the heart is the 
 origin of both. 
 
 For this complicated ffinction, four cavities become ne- 
 cessary; and four are accordingly provided: two, call- 
 ed ventricles, which send ont the blood, viz. one into the 
 lungs, in the first instance; the other into the mass, after 
 't has returned from the lungs:, two others also, called 
 auricles, which receive the blood from the veins; viz. one, 
 as it comes immediately from the body; the other, as the 
 same blood comes a second time after its circulation 
 through the lungs. So that there are two receiving cavi- 
 ties, and two forcing cavities. The structure of the heart 
 has reference to the lungs; for without the lungs, one ©f 
 each would have been sufficient. The translation of the 
 blood in the heart itself is after this manner. The receiv- 
 ing cavities respectively communicate with the forcing 
 cavities, and, by their contraction, unload the received 
 blood into them. The forcing cavities, when it is their 
 turn to contract, compel the same blood into the mouths of 
 the arteries. 
 
 The account here given will not convey to a reader, ig 
 norant of anatomy, anything like an accurate notion of the 
 form, action, or use of the parts, (nor can any short and 
 popular account do this;) but it is abundantly sufficient to 
 testify contrivance; and although imperfect, being true as 
 far as it goes, may be relied upon for the only purpose for 
 which we offer it, the purpose of this conclusion. 
 
 “ The wisdom of the Creator,’’ saith Hamburgher, is 
 in nothing seen more gloriously than in the heart.” And 
 how well doth it execute its office! An anatomist, who 
 understood the structure of the heart, might say before- 
 hand that it would play; but he would expect, I think, 
 from the complexity of its mechanism, and the delicacy 
 of many of its parts, that it should always be liable to de- 
 rangement, or that it would soon work itself out. Yet 
 shall this worderful machine go, night and day, for eighty 
 years together, at the rate of a hundred thousand strokes 
 every twenty-four hours, having, at every stroiie, a great 
 resistance to overcome; and shall continue this action for 
 this length of time, without disorder and without weari- 
 ness. 
 
 But farther: from the account which has been given of 
 the mechanism of the heart, it is evident that it must re- 
 quire the interposition of valves; that the success indeed 
 
96 
 
 OF THE VESSELS 
 
 of its action must depend upon these; for when any one of 
 its cavities contracts, the necessary tendency of the force 
 will be to drive the enclosed blood, not only into the mouth 
 of the artery where it ought to go, but also back again in- 
 to the mouth of the vein from which it flowed. In like 
 manner, when by the relaxation of the fibres the same cav- 
 ity is dilated, the blood would not only run into it from the 
 vein, which was the course intended, but back from the ar- 
 tery, through which it ought to be moving forward. Tlie 
 way of preventing a reflux of the fluid, in both these cases, 
 is to fix valves, which, like flood-gates, may open a way to 
 the stream in one direction, and shut up the passage against 
 it in another. [PI. XVII. fig. 2, 3, 4.] The heart, constitut- 
 ed as it is, can no more work without valves than a pump 
 can. When the piston descends in a pump, if it were not 
 for the stoppage by the valve beneath, the motion would 
 only thrust down the water which it had before drawn up. 
 A similar consequence would frustrate the action of the 
 heart. Valves, therefore, properly disposed, i. e. properly 
 with respect to the course of the blood which it is neces- 
 sary to promote, are essential to the contrivance. Jlnd 
 valves so disposed, are accordmgly provided, A valve is 
 placed in the communication between each auricle and its 
 ventricle, lest when the ventricle contracts, part of the blood 
 should get back again into the auricle, instead of the whole 
 entering, as it ought to do, the mouth of the artery. A valve 
 is also fixed at the mouth of each of the great arteries which 
 take the blood from the heart; leaving the passage free, so 
 long as the blood holds its proper course forward; closing 
 it, whenever the blood, in consequence of the relaxation of 
 the ventricle, would attempt to flow back. There is some 
 variety in the construction of these valves, though all the 
 valves of the body act nearly upon the same principle, and 
 are destined to the same use. In general they consist of 
 a thin membrane, lying close to the side of the vessel, and 
 consequently allowing an open passage whilst the stream 
 rrans one way, but thrust out from the side by the fluid get- 
 ting behind it, and opposing the passage of the blood, when 
 it would flow the other way.* Where more than one mem- 
 brane is employed, the different membranes only compose 
 
 * The veins and absorbent vessels present in their cavities folds of a 
 parabolic form, called valves, like the semilunar valve; the one edge 
 adheres to the sides of the vein, the other is loose; the first is farthest 
 from the heart, the other nearer. The number of valves is greatest where 
 the blood flows contrary to the force of its own weight. See Fig. 7. 
 
 Paxton 
 
OF ANIMAL BODIES. 
 
 97 
 
 one va ve Their joint action fulfils the office of a valve: 
 for instance ; over the entrance of the right auricle of the 
 heart into the right ventricle, three of these skins or mem- 
 branes' are fixed, of a triangular figure, the bases of the 
 triangles fastened to the flesh; the sides and summits 
 loose; but, though loose, connected by threads of a deter- 
 minate length, with certain small fleshy prominences ad- 
 joining. 'J'he effect of this construction is, that, when the 
 ventricle contracts, the blood endeavouring to escape in all 
 directions, and amongst other directions pressing upwards, 
 gets between these membranes and the sides of the heart; 
 and thereby forces them up into such a position, as that, 
 together, they constitute, when raised, a hollow cone, (the 
 strings, before spoken of, hindering them from proceeding 
 or separating farther;) which cone, entirely occupying the 
 passage, prevents the return of the blood into the auricle. 
 A shorter account of the matter may be this: So long as the 
 blood proceeds in its proper course, the membranes which 
 compose the valve are pressed close to the side of the ves- 
 sel, and occasion no impediment to the circulation: when 
 the blood would regurgitate, they are raised from the side 
 of the vessel, and, meeting in the middle of its cavity, shut 
 up the channel. Can any one doubt of contrivance here; 
 or is it possible to shut our eyes against the proof of it.^ 
 This valve, also, is not more curious in its structure, 
 than it is important in its office. Upon the play of the 
 valve, even upon the proportioned length of the strings or 
 fibres which check the ascent of the membranes, depends, 
 as it should seem, nothing less than the life itself of the 
 animal. We may here likewise repeat, what we before ob- 
 served concerning some of the ligaments of the body, that 
 they could not be formed by any action of the parts them- 
 selves. There are cases in which, although good uses ap- 
 pear to arise from the shape or configuration of a part, yet 
 that shape or configuration itself may seem to be produced 
 by the action of the part, or by the action or pressure of 
 adjoining parts. Thus the bend, and the internal smooth 
 concavity of the ribs, may be attributed to the equal pres- 
 sure of the soft bowels; the particular shape of some bones 
 and joints, to the traction of the annexed muscles, or to 
 the position of contiguous muscles. But valves could not 
 be so formed. Action and pressure are all against them. 
 The blood, in its proper course, has no tendency to pro- 
 duce such things; and, in its improper or reflected current, 
 has a tendency to prevent their production. Whilst we 
 see, therefore, the se and necessity of this machinery, we 
 
 1 
 
98 
 
 OF THE VESSELS 
 
 can look to no other account of its origin or formation thaJ5 
 the intending mind of a Creator. Nor can we without ao- 
 miration reflect, that such thin membranes, such weak ami 
 tender instruments, as these valves are, should be able t<> 
 hold out for seventy or eighty years. 
 
 Here also we cannot consider but with gratitude, how 
 happy it is that our vital motions are involiintarij , ‘We 
 should have enough to do, if we had to keep our hearts 
 beating, and our stomachs at work. Did these things de 
 pend, we will not say upon our effort, but upon our bidding, 
 our care, or our attention, they would leave us leisure for 
 nothing else. We must have been continually upon the 
 watch, and continually in fear; nor would this constitution 
 have allowed of sleep. 
 
 It might perhaps be expected, that an organ so precious, 
 of such central and primary importance as the heart is, 
 should be defended by a case. The fact is, that a mem- 
 branous purse or bag, made of strong, tough materials, ig 
 provided for it ; holding the heart within its cavity ; sitting 
 loosely and easily about it; guarding its substance, without 
 confining its motion; and containing likewise a spoonful 
 or two of water, just sufficient to keep the surface of the 
 heart in a state of suppleness and moisture. How should 
 such a loose covering be generated by the action of the 
 heart? Does not the enclosing of it in a sack, answering 
 no other purpose but that enclosure, show the care that has 
 been taken of its preservation? 
 
 One use of the circulation of the blood probably (amongst 
 other uses) is, to distribute nourishment to the different 
 parts of the body. How minute and multiplied the ramifi- 
 cations of the blood-vessels, for that purpose, are; and 
 how thickly spread, over at least the superfices of the body, 
 is proved by the single observation, that we cannot prick 
 the point of a pin into the flesh, without drawing blood, 
 i. e. without finding a blood-vessel. Nor, internally, is their 
 diffusion less universal. Blood-vessels run along the sur- 
 face of membranes, pervade the substance of muscles, per- 
 etrate the bones. Even into every tooth, we trace, through 
 a small hole in the root, an artery to feed the bone, as well 
 as a vein to bring back the spare blood from it; both which, 
 with the addition of an accompanying nerve, form a thread 
 only a little thicker than a horse-hair. 
 
 Wherefore, when the nourishment taken in at the mouth 
 has once reached, and mixed itself with the blood, every 
 part of the body is in the way of being supplied with it 
 And this introduces another grand topic, namely, the man- 
 
OF ANIMAL BODIES. 
 
 99 
 
 I er in which the aliment gets into the Hood; which is a 
 subject distinct from the preceding, and brings us to the 
 consideration of another entire system of vessels. 
 
 II. F or this necessary part of the animal economy, an 
 apparatus is provided, in a great measure capable of being 
 what anatomists call demonstrated, that is, shown in the 
 dead* body; — and a line or course of conveyance, which wc3 
 can pursue by our examinations. 
 
 First, The food descends by a wide passage into the in- 
 testines, undergoing two great preparations on its way; 
 one, in the mouth by mastication and moisture — (can it be 
 doubted with what design the teeth were placed in the 
 road to the stomach, or that there was choice in fixing them 
 in this situation?) The other, by digestion in the stomach 
 itself. Of this last surprising dissolution I say nothing; 
 because it is chemistry, and I am endeavouring to display 
 mechanism. The figure and position of the stomach (I 
 speak all along with a reference to the human organ) are 
 calculated for detaining the food long enough for the action 
 of its digestive juice. [PI. XVIII. fig. 1.] It has the shape 
 of the pouch of a bagpipe; lies across the body; and the 
 pylorus, or passage by which the food leaves it, is somewhat 
 higher in the body than the cardia, or orifice by which it 
 enters; so that it is by the contraction of the muscular 
 coat of the stomach, that the contents, after having under- 
 gone the application of the gastric menstruum, are gradually 
 pressed out. In dogs and cats, this action of the coats of 
 the stomach has been displayed to the eye. It is a slow 
 and gentle undulation, propagated from one orifice of the 
 stomach to the other. For the same reason that I omitted, 
 for the present, offering any observation upon the digestive 
 fluid, I shall say nothing concerning the bile or the pan- 
 creatic juice, farther than to observe upon the mechanism, 
 viz. that from the glands in which these secretions are 
 elaborated, pipes are laid into the first of the intestines, 
 through which pipes the product of each gland flows into 
 that bowel, [PI. XVIII. fig. 2,] and is there mixed with 
 the aliment, as soon almost as it passes the stomach; ad- 
 ding also as a remark, how grievously this same bile of- 
 fends the stomach itself, yet cherishes the vessel that lies 
 next to it. 
 
 Secondly, We have now the aliment in the intestines 
 converted into pulp; and, though lately consisting of ten 
 different viands, reduced to nearly a uniform substance, 
 and to a state fitted for yielding its essence, which is called 
 chyle, but which is milk, or more nearly re.sembiing milk 
 
100 
 
 OF THE VESSELS 
 
 than any other liquor with which it can be compared. Fcf 
 the straining off this fluid from the digested aliment in the 
 course of its long progress through the body, myriads of 
 capillary tubes, i. e. pipes as small as hairs, open their ori- 
 fices into the cavity of every part of the intestines. [PI. 
 XIX.] These tubes, which are so fine and slender as not 
 to be visible unless when distended with chyle, soon unite 
 into larger branches. The pipes, formed by this union, 
 terminate in glands, from which other pipes of a still larger 
 diameter arising, carry the chyle from all parts, into a 
 common reservoir or receptacle. This receptacle is a 
 bag large enough to hold about a table-spoon full; and from 
 this vessel a duct or main pipe proceeds, climbing up the 
 back part of the chest, and afterwards creeping along the 
 gullet till it reach the neck. Here it meets the river: here 
 it d scharges itself into a large vein, which soon conveys 
 the chyle, now flowing along with the old blood, to the 
 heart. This whole route can be exhibited to the eye; 
 nothing is left to be supplied by imagination or conjec- 
 ture. Now, beside the subserviency of this whole structure, 
 to a manifest and necessary purpose, we may remark two 
 or three separate particulars in it, which show, not only the 
 contrivance, but the perfection of it. We may remark, 
 first, the length of the intestines, which, in the human sub- 
 ject, is six times that of the body. Simply for a passage, 
 these voluminous bowels, this prolixity of gut, seems in no- 
 wise necessary; but, in order to allow time and space for 
 the successive extraction of the chyle from the digested 
 aliment, namely that the chyle which escapes the lacteals 
 of one part of the guts, may be taken up by those of some 
 other part, the length of the canal is of evident use and 
 conduciveness. Secondly, we must also remark their per- 
 istaltic motion ; which is made up of contractions, follow- 
 ing one another like waves upon the surface of a fluid, and 
 not unlike w'hat we observe in the body of an earth-worm 
 crawling along the ground; and which is effected by the 
 joint action of longitudinal and of spiral, or rather perhaps 
 of a great number of separate semicircular fibres. This 
 curious action pushes forw^ard the grosser part of the ali- 
 ment, a the same tim3 that the more subtile parts, which 
 we call chyle, are, by a series of gentle compressions, 
 squeezed into the narrow orifices of the lacteal vessels. 
 Thirdly, it w’as necessary that these tubes, wdiich w’e denom- 
 inate lacteals, or their mouths at least, should he as nar- 
 row as possible, in order to deny admission into the blood 
 to any particle which is of size enough to make a lodge- 
 
OF ANIMAL BODIES. 
 
 101 
 
 merit afterwards in the small arteries, and thereby to ob- 
 struct the circulation: and it was also necessary that this 
 extreme tenuity should be compensated by multitude; for, 
 a large quantity of chyle (in ordinary constitutions, not 
 less, it has been computed, than two or three quarts in a 
 day) is, by some means or other, to be passed through 
 them. Accordingly, we find the number of the lacteals 
 exceeding all powers of computation ; and their pipes so 
 fine and slender, as not to be visible, unless filled, to the nak- 
 ed eye; and their orifices, which open into the intestines, 
 so small, as not to be discernible even by the best micro- 
 scope. Fourthly, the main pipe, which carries the chyle 
 from the reservoir to the blood, viz. the thoracic duct, be- 
 ing fixed in an almost upright position, and wanting that 
 advantage of propulsion which the arteries possess, is fur- 
 nished with a succession of valves to check the ascending 
 fluid, when once it has passed them, from falling back 
 These valves look upward, so as to leave the ascent free, 
 but to prevent the return of the chyle, if, for want of suffi- 
 cient force to push it on, its weight should at any time 
 cause it to descend. Fifthly, the chyle enters the blood 
 in an odd place, but perhaps the most commodious place 
 possible, viz. at a large vein near the neck, so situated with 
 respect to the circulation, as speedily to bring the mixture 
 to the heart. And this seems to be a circumstance of 
 great moment; for had the chyle entered the blood at an 
 artery, or at a distant vein, the fluid, composed of the old 
 and new materials, must have performed a considerable 
 part of the circulation, before it received that churning in 
 tlie lungs, which is probably, necessary for the intimate 
 and perfect union of the old blood with the recent chyle. 
 Who could have dreamed of a communication between the 
 cavity of the intestines and the left great vein near the 
 nechl Who could have suspected tha,t this communication 
 should be the medium through which all nourishment is 
 derived to the body.^ or this the place, where, by a side 
 inlet, the important junction is formed between the blood 
 and the material which feeds it? 
 
 II. We postponed the consideration of digestion, lest d 
 should interrupt us in tracing the course of the food to ue 
 blood; but, in treating of the alimentary system, so prin- 
 cipal a part of the process cannot be omitted. 
 
 Of the gastric juice, the immediate agent by which that 
 change which food undergoes in our stomachs is effected, 
 we shall take our account, from the numerous, careful, and 
 varied experiments of the Abbe Spallanzani. 
 
 I* 
 
102 
 
 OF THE VESSELS 
 
 1. It is not a simple diluent, but a real solvent. A 
 quarter of an ounce of beef had scarcely touched the sto- 
 mach of a crow, when the solution began. 
 
 2. It has not the nature of saliva; it has not the nature 
 of bile; but is distinct from both. By experiments out of 
 the body it appears, that neither of these secretions acts 
 upon the alimentary substances, in the same manner as the 
 gastric juice acts. 
 
 3 Digestion is not putrefaction ; for, the digesting fluid 
 resists putrefaction most pertinaciously; nay, not only 
 checks its farther progress, but restores putrid substances 
 
 4. It is not a fermentative process; for the solution 
 begins at the surface, and proceeds towards the centre, 
 contrary to the order in which fermentation acts and 
 spreads. 
 
 o. It is not the digestion of heat, for, the cold maw of 
 a cod or sturgeon will dissolve the shells of crabs or lob- 
 sters, harder than the sides of the stomach which contains 
 them. 
 
 In a word, animal digestion carries about it the marks of 
 being a power and a process completely sui generis; dis- 
 tinct from every other; at least from every chemical pro- 
 cess with which we are acquainted. And the most wonder- 
 ful thing about it is its appropriation; its subserviency to 
 the particular economy of each animal. The gastric juice 
 of an owl, falcon, or kite, will not touch grain ; no, not 
 even to finish the macerated and half-digested pulse which 
 is left in the crops of the sparrows that the bird devours. 
 In poultry, the trituration of the gizzard, and the gastric 
 juice, conspire in the work of digestion. The gastric juice 
 will not dissolve the grain whilst it is whole. Entire grains 
 of barley, enclosed in tubes or spherules, are not affected 
 by it. But if the same grain be by any means broken or 
 ground, the gastric juice immediately lays hold of it. Here 
 then is wanted, and here we find, a combination of mechan- 
 ism and chemistry. For the preparatory grinding, the giz- 
 zard lends its mill. And, as all mill-work should be strong, 
 its structure is so, beyond that of any other muscle belonging 
 to the animal. The internal coat also, or lining of the giz- 
 zard, is, for the same purpose, hard and cartilaginous. But, 
 forasmuch as this is not the sort of animal substance suited 
 for the reception of glands, or for secretion, the gastric juice • 
 in this family, is not supplied, as in membranous stomachs, 
 by the stomach itself, but by the gullet, in which the feed- 
 ing glands are placed, and from which it trickles down into 
 ihe stomach. 
 
OF ANIMAL BODIES 
 
 103 
 
 In Siieep , the gastric fluid has no efTect in digesting 
 plants, unless they have been previously masticated. It only 
 produces a slight maceration ; nearly such as common wa- 
 ter would produce, in a degree of heat somewhat exceed- 
 ing the medium temperature of the atmosphere. But pro- 
 vided that the plant has been reduced to pieces by chewing, 
 the gastric juice then proceeds with it, first by softening its 
 substance; next, by destroying its natural consistency; and, 
 lastly, by dissolving it so completely, as not even to spare 
 the toughest and most stringy parts, such as the nerves of 
 the leaves. 
 
 So far our accurate and indefatigable Abbe. — ^Dr. Ste- 
 vens of Edinburgh, in 1777, found, by experiments tried 
 with perforated balls, that the gastric juice of the sheep and 
 the ox speedily dissolved vegetables, but made no impres- 
 sion upon beef, mutton, and other animal bodies. Dr. Hun- 
 ter discovered a property of this fluid, of a most curious 
 kind; viz. that in the stomachs of animals which feed up- 
 on flesh, irresistibly as this fluid acts upon animal substan- 
 ces, it is only upon the dead substance, that it operates at 
 all. The living fibre suffers no injury from lying in con- 
 tact with it. Worms and insects are found alive in the 
 stomachs of such animals. The coats of the human stom- 
 ach, in a healthy state, are insensible to its presence: yet, 
 in cases of sudden death, (wherein the gastric juice, not 
 having been weakened by disease, retains its activity,) it 
 has been known to eat a hole through the bowel which con- 
 tains it.* How nice is this discrimination of action, yet 
 how necessary.^ 
 
 But to return to our hydraulics. 
 
 III. The gall-bladder is a very remarkable contrivance 
 It is the reservoir of a canal. [PI. XVIII. fig. 1, 2.] It 
 does not form the channel itself, i, e. the direct communi- 
 cation between the liver and the intestine which is by an- 
 other passage, viz. the ductus hepaticus, continued under 
 the name of the ductus communis; but it lies adjacent to 
 this channel, joining it by a duct of its own, the ductus 
 cysticus; by which structure it is enabled, as occasion 
 may require, to add its contents to, and increase the flow 
 of bile into the duodenum. And the position of the gall- 
 bladder is such as to apply this structure to the best advan- 
 tage. In its natural situation, it touches the exterior sur- 
 face of the stomach, and consequently is compressed by the 
 distension of that vessel: the effect of which compression 
 
 Phil. Trans, vol. Ixii. p. 447. 
 
104 
 
 OF THE VESSELS 
 
 is, to force out frotn the bag, and send into the duodenum^ 
 an extraordinary quantity of bile, to meet the extraordinar}' 
 demand which the repletion of the stomach by food is about 
 to occasion.* Cheselden describesi the gall-bladder as 
 seated against the duodenum, and thereby liable to have its 
 fluid pressed out, by the passage of the aliment through that 
 cavity; which likewise v/ill ‘lave the effect of causing it to 
 be received into the intestine, at a right time, and in a due 
 proportion. 
 
 There may be other purposes answered by this contri* 
 vance; and it is probable that, there are. The contents of 
 the gall-bladder are not exactly of the same kind as what 
 passes from the liver through the direct passage. J It is 
 possible that the gall may be changed, and for some pur- 
 poses meliorated, by keeping. 
 
 The entrance of the gall-duct into the duodenum, furnish- 
 es another observation. Whenever either smaller tubes 
 are inserted into larger tubes, or tubes into vessels and 
 cavities, such receiving tubes, vessels, or cavities, being 
 subject to muscular constriction, we always find a con- 
 trivance to prevent gurgitation. In some cases, valves 
 are used; in other cases, amongst which is that now be- 
 fore us, a different expedient is resorted to; which m.ay 
 be thus described: The gall-duct enters the duodenum 
 obliquely: after it has pierced the first coat, it runs near 
 two fingers’ breadth between the coats, before it opens into 
 the cavity of the intestine.^ The same contrivance is used 
 in another part, where there is exactly the same occasion 
 for it, viz. in the insertion of the ureters in the bladder. 
 These enter the bladder near its neck, running obliquely for 
 the space of an inch between its coats. || It is, in both 
 cases, sufficiently evident, that this structure has a ne- 
 cessary mechanical tendency to resist regurgitation; for, 
 whatever force acts in such a direction as to urge the fluid 
 back into the orifices of the tubes, must, at the same time, 
 stretch the coats of the vessels, and thereby compress that 
 part of the tube, which is included between them. 
 
 IV. Amongst the vessels of the human body, the pipe 
 which conveys the saliva from the place where it is made, 
 to the place where it is wanted, deserves to be reckoned 
 amongst the most intelligible pieces of mechanism with 
 which we are acquainted. [PI. XX. fig. 1, 2.] The saliva, 
 we all know, is used in the mouth; but much of it is 
 
 * Keill’s Anat. p. 64. t Anat. p. 164 
 
 i Keill's from !\Ialpigluus, p. 62. § Keill’s Anat. p. 62. 
 
 11 dies. Auat. p. 2 50. 
 
OF ANIMAL BODIES. 
 
 105 
 
 manufactured on the outside of the cheek, by the parotid 
 gland, whiiih lies between the ear and the angle of the low- 
 er jaw. In order to carry the secretion to its destina- 
 tion, there is laid from the gland, on the outside, a pipe 
 about the thickness of a wheat straw, and about three fin- 
 gers’ breadth in length; which, after riding over the masse- 
 ter muscle, bores for itself a hole through the very middle 
 of the cheek; enters by that hole, which is a complete per- 
 foration of the buccinator muscle, into the mouth; ard there 
 discharges its fluid very copiously. 
 
 V. Another exquisite structure, differing indeed from 
 the four preceding instances in that it does not relate to 
 the conveyance of fluids, but still belonging, like these, to 
 the class of pipes, or conduits of the body, is seen in the 
 larynx. [PI. XXL fig. 1, 2.] We all know that there go 
 down the throat two pipes, one leading to the stomach, the 
 other to the lungs ; the one being the passage for the food, 
 the other for the breath and voice: we know also that both 
 these passages open into the bottom of the mouth; the gullet, 
 necessarily, for the conveyance of the food; and the wind- 
 pipe, for speech, and the modulation of sound, not much 
 less so; therefore the difficulty was, the passages being so 
 contiguous, to prevent the food, especially the liquids, which 
 we swallow into the stomach, from entering the windpipe, 
 i. e. the road to the lungs; the consequence of which er- 
 ror, when it does happen, is perceived by the convulsive 
 throes that are instantly produced. This business, which 
 is very nice, is managed in this manner. The gullet (the 
 passage for food) opens into the mouth like the cone or 
 upper part of a funnel, the capacity of which forms indeed 
 the bottom of the mouth. Into the side of this funnel, at 
 the part which lies the lowest, enters the windpipe, by a 
 chink or slit, with a lid or flap, like a little tongue, accu- 
 rately fitted to the orifice. The solids or liquids which we 
 swallow, pass over this lid or flap, as they descend by the 
 funnel into the gullet Both the weight of the food, and 
 the action of the musc.es concerned i.i swallowing, con- 
 tribute to keep the lid close down upon the aperture, whilst 
 anything is passing; whereas, by means of its natural car- 
 tilaginous spring, it raises itself a little as soon as the food 
 is passed, thereby allowing a free inlet and outlet for the 
 respiration of air by the lungs. And we may here remark 
 the almost complete success of the expedient, viz. how sel- 
 dom it fails of its purpose, compared with the number of 
 instances in which it fulfils it. Reflect how frequently we 
 swallow how constantly we breathe. In a city feast, for 
 
106 
 
 OF THE VESSELS 
 
 example, what deglutition, what anhelation! yet does this 
 little cartilage ; he epiglottis, so effectually interpose its of- 
 fice, so securely guard the entrance of the windpipe, that 
 whilst morsel after morsel, draught after draught, are cours- 
 ing one another over it, an accident of a crumb or a drop 
 slipping into this passage, (which nevertheless must be 
 opened for the breath every second of time,) excites in the 
 whole company, not only alarm by its danger, but surprise 
 by its novelty. Not two guests are choked in a century.^ 
 
 There is nO room for pretending that the action of the 
 parts may have gradually formed the epiglottis: I do not 
 mean in the same individual, but in a succession of genera- 
 tions. Not only the action of the parts has no such ten- 
 dency, but the animal could not live, nor consequently the 
 parts act, either without it, or with it in a half-formed state. 
 The species w^as not to wait for the gradual formation or 
 expansion of a part which was, from the first, necessary to 
 the life of the individual. 
 
 Not only is the larynx curious, but the whole windpipe 
 possesses a structure adapted to its peculiar office. It is 
 made up (as any one may perceive by putting his fingers 
 to his throat) of stout cartilaginous ringlets placed at 
 small and equal distances from one another. Now this is 
 not the case with any other of the numerous conduits of 
 the body. The use of these cartilages is to keep the pas- 
 sage for the air constantly open; which they do mechanic- 
 ally. A pipe with soft membranous coats, liable to col- 
 lapse and close when empty, would not have answered here ; 
 although this be the general vascular structure, and a 
 structure which serves very well for those tubes which are 
 kept in a state of perpetual distension by the fluid they en- 
 close, or which afford a passage to solid and protruding 
 substances. 
 
 Nevertheless (which is another particularity well worthy 
 
 * The same general structure of these parts is found in all other animals 
 of the same class with mankind, but there is a singular variation from it 
 in the elephant, by which, if possible, the influence of a deriving intelli- 
 gence is more wonderfully exemplified than in the ordinary structure. It 
 is well known that this animal drinks by sucking up the liquid into its 
 trunk, and then after thrusting the end of it into its mouth, blowing the 
 liquid into its throat. In this case, the act of blowing through the trunk 
 and swallowing, must be both going on at the same instant, and not in 
 successive instants as in man. I he liquid must be passing down the 
 throat, while the epiglottis is open and the air issuing. In order to pro- 
 vide against interfer 3nce, a channel is provided 04i each side of the epig- 
 lottis, along which ',e drink passes quietly on, without running into the 
 windpipe. — Kd, 
 
OF ANIMAL BOD. ES. 
 
 07 
 
 of notice) these r„igs are not complete, that is, are not car- 
 tilaginous and stiff all round; but their hinder part, which 
 is contiguous to the gullet, is membranous and soft, easily 
 yielding to the distensions of that organ occasioned by the 
 descent of solid food. The same rings are also bevelled off 
 at the upper and lower edges, the better to close upon one 
 another, when the trachea is compressed or shortened. 
 
 The constitution of the trachea may suggest likewise an 
 other reflection. The membrane which lines its inside, is 
 perhaps, the most sensible irritable membrane of the body 
 It rejects the touch of a crumb of bread, or a drop of water, 
 with a spasm which convulses the whole frame; yet, left to 
 itself, and its proper ofhce, the intromission of air alone, 
 nothing can be so quiet. It does not even make itself felt ; 
 a man does not know that he has a trachea. This capaci- 
 ty of perceiving with such acuteness, this impatience of 
 offence, yet perfect rest and ease when let alone; are pro- 
 perties, one would have thought, not likely to reside in the 
 same subject. It is to the junction, however, of these al- 
 most inconsistent qualities, in this, as well as in some other 
 delicate parts of the body, that we owe our safety and our 
 comfort; — our safety to their sensibility, our comfort to 
 their repose. 
 
 The larynx, or rather the whole windpipe taken together, 
 (for the larynx is only the upper part of the windpipe,) be- 
 sides its other uses, is also a musical instrument, that is to 
 say, it is mechanism expressly adapted to the modulation of 
 sound; for it has been found upon trial, that, by relaxing 
 or tightening the tendinous bands at the extremity of the 
 windpipe, and blowing in at the other end, all the cries 
 and notes might be produced of which the living animal 
 was capable. It can be sounded, just as a pipe or flute is 
 sounded. Birds, says Bonnet, have at the lower end of 
 the windpipe, a conformation like the reed of a hautboy, 
 for the modulation of their notes. A tuneful bird is a ven- 
 triloquist. The seat of the song is in the breast. [PL 
 XXI. fig. 3.] 
 
 The use of the lungs in the system has been said to be 
 obscure: one use however is plain, though, in some sense, 
 externa] to the system, and that is, the formation, in con- 
 junction with the larynx, of voice and speech. They are, to 
 animal utterance, what the bellows are to the organ. 
 
 For the sake of method, we have considered animal bo- 
 dies under three divisions: their bones, their muscles, and 
 their vessels; and we have stated our observations upon 
 
108 
 
 OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES. 
 
 .hese parts separately. But this is to diminish the strength 
 of the argument. The wisdom of the Creator is seen, not 
 in their separate but their collective action; in their mutu- 
 al subserviency and dependence; in their contributing to- 
 gether to one effect, and one use. It has been said, that a 
 man cannot lift his hand to his head, without finding enough 
 to convince him of the existence of a God. And it is well 
 said; for he has only to reflect, familiar as this action is, 
 and simple as it seems to be, how many things are requisite 
 for the performing of it; how many things which we under- 
 stand, to say nothing of many more, probably, which we 
 do not; viz. first, a long, hard, strong cylinder, in order to 
 give to the arm its firmness and tension; but which, being 
 rigid, and in its substance inflexible, can only turn upon 
 joints: secondly, therefore, joints for this purpose, one at 
 the shoulder to raise the arm, another at the elbow to bend 
 it ; these joints continually fed with a soft mucilage to make 
 the parts slip easily upon one another, and holden together 
 by strong braces, to keep them in their position: then, third- 
 ly, strings and wires, i. e. muscles and tendons, artificially 
 iii.serted for the purpose of drawing the bones in the direc- 
 tions in which the joints allow them to move. Hitherto we 
 seem to understand the mechanism pretty well; and, under- 
 standing this, we possess enough for our conclusion: never- 
 theless, we have hitherto only a machine standing still; a 
 dead organization — an apparatus. To put the system in a 
 state of activity, to set it at work, a farther provision is ne- 
 cessary, viz. a communication with the brain by means of 
 nerves. We know the existence of this communication, 
 because we can see the communicating threads, and can 
 trace them to the brain: its necessity we also know, be- 
 cause if the thread be cut, if the communication be inter- 
 cepted, the muscle becomes paralytic: but beyond this we 
 know little, the organization being too minute and subtile 
 for our inspection. 
 
 To what has been enumerated, as officiating in the single 
 act of a man's raising his hand to his head, must be added 
 likewise, all that is necessary, and all that contributes to the 
 growth, nourishment, and sustentation of the limb, the re- 
 pair of its waste, the preservation of its health: such as the 
 circulation of the blood through every part of it; its lym- 
 phatics, exhalants, absorbents; its excretions and integu- 
 ments. All these share in the result; join in the effect; and 
 how all these, or any of them, come together without a de- 
 signing, disposing intelligence, it is impossible to conceive 
 
OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE, &C 
 
 100 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE REGARDED AS A MASS. 
 
 Contemplating an animal body in its collective .capacity, 
 we cannot forget to notice, what a number of instruments 
 are brought together, and often within how small a ?om'* 
 pass. It is a cluster of contrivances. In a Canary bird, 
 for instance, and in the single ounce of matter which com- 
 poses its body, (but which seems to be all employed,) we 
 have instruments for eating, for digesting, for nourishment, 
 for breathing, for generation, for running, for flying, for 
 seeing, for hearing, for smelling, each appropriate, — each 
 entirely different from all the rest. 
 
 The human, or indeed the animal frame, considered as 
 a mass or assemblage, exhibits in its composition three 
 properties, which have long struck my mind as indubitable 
 evidences, not only of design, but of a great deal of atten- 
 tion and accuracy in prosecuting the design. 
 
 I. The first is, the exact correspondency of the two 
 sides of the same animal; the right hand answering to the 
 left, leg to leg, eye to eye, one side of the countenance to 
 the other; and with a precision, to imitate which in any 
 tolerable degree, forms one of the difficulties of statuary, 
 and requires, on the part of the artist, a constant attention 
 to this property of his work, distinct from every other. 
 
 It is the most difficult thing that can be to get a wig 
 made even; yet how seldom is the face awry! And what 
 care is taken that it should not be so, the anatomy of its 
 bones demonstrates. The upper part of the face is com- 
 posed of thirteen bones, six on each side, answering each 
 to each, and the thirteenth, without a fellow, in the mid- 
 dle: the lower part of the face is in like manner composed 
 of six bones, three on each side respectively corresponding, 
 and the lower jaw in the centre. In building an arch, could 
 more be done in order to make the curve true, i. e. the 
 parts equi-distant from the middle, alike in figure and po- 
 sition? 
 
 The exact resemblance of the eyes, considering how 
 compounded this organ is in its structure, how various and 
 how delicate are the shades of color with which its iris is 
 tinged; how differently, as to effect upon appeirance, the 
 eye may be mounted in its socket, and how differently in 
 different 1: eads eyes actually are set, — is a property of an 
 K 
 
10 
 
 OF THE ANlMAi. I5TRUCTURE 
 
 imal bodies much to be admired. Often thousand eyes, 1 
 do not know that it would be possible to match one, except 
 with its own fellow; or to distribute them into suitable pairs 
 by any other selection than that which obtains. 
 
 This regularity of the animal structure is rendered more 
 remarkable by the three following considerations: — First, 
 the limbs, separately taken, have not this correlation of 
 parts; but the contrary of it. A knife drawn down the 
 chine, cuts the human body into two parts, externally equal 
 and alike; you cannot draw a straight line which will di- 
 vide a hand, a foot, the leg, the thigh, the cheek, the eye, 
 the ear, into two parts equal and alike. Those parts which 
 are placed upon the middle or partition line of the body, or 
 which traverse that line, as the nose, the tongue, the lips, 
 may be so divided, or, more properly speaking, are double 
 organs; but other parts cannot. This shows that the cor- 
 respondency which we have been describing, does not 
 arise by any necessity in the nature of the subject: for, if 
 necessary, it would be universal; whereas it is observed only 
 in the system or assemblage: it is not true of the separate 
 parts; that is to say, it is found where it conduces to beau- 
 ty or utility ; it is not found where it would subsist at the 
 expense of both. The two wings of a bird always corres- 
 pond: the two sides of a feather frequently do not. In cen- 
 tipedes, millepedes, and that whole tribe of insects, no two 
 legs on the same side are alike; yet there is the most exact 
 parity between the legs opposite to one another. 
 
 2. The next circumstance to be remarked is, that whilst 
 the cavities of the body are so configurated, as externally 
 to exhibit the most exact correspondency of the opposite 
 sides, the contents of these cavities have no such corres- 
 pondency. A line drawn down the middle of the breast, 
 divides the thorax into two sides exactly similar; yet these 
 two sides enclose very different contents. The heart lies 
 on the left side; a lobe of the lungs on the right; balancing 
 each other neither in size nor shape. The same thing 
 holds of the abdomen. The liver lies on the right side,* 
 without any similar viscus opposed to it on the left. The 
 spleen indeed is situated over against the liver; but agree- 
 ing with the liver neither in bulk nor form. There is no 
 equipollency between these. The stomach is a vessel, both 
 irregular in its shape, and oblique in its position. The fold- 
 ings and doublings of the intestines do not present a parity 
 
 * The principal lobe of the liver is on the right, but a smaller is extend 
 ed into the left side. See Plate XXII. 
 
REGARDED AS A MASS. 
 
 Ill 
 
 of sides. Zet that symmetry which depends upon the cor- 
 relation o- the sides, is externally preserved throughout the 
 whole trunk; and is the more remarkable in the lower parts of 
 it, as the integuments are soft; and the shape, consequent- 
 ly, is not, as the thorax is by its ribs, reduced by natural 
 stays. It is evident, therefore, that the external proportion 
 does not arise from any equality in the shape or pressure 
 of the internal contents. What is it indeed but a correc- 
 tion of inequalities? an adjustment, by mutual compensa- 
 tion, of anomalous forms into a regular congeries? the ef- 
 fect, in a word, of artful, and, if we might be permitted so 
 to speak, of studied collocation? 
 
 3. Similar also to this, is the third observation; that an 
 internal inequality in the feeding vessels is so managed, 
 as to produce no inequality in parts which were intended 
 to correspond. The right arm answers accurately to the 
 left, both in size and shape; but the arterial branches, 
 which supply the two arms, do not go off from their trunk, 
 in a pair, in the same manner, at the same place, or a< 
 the same angle. Under which want of similitude, it k 
 very difficult to conceive how the same quantity of bloo^' 
 should be pushed through each artery: yet the result i 
 right; the two limbs, which are nourished by them, per 
 ceive no difference of supply, no effects of excess or de- 
 ficiency. 
 
 Concerning the difference of manner, in which the sub- 
 clavian and carotid arteries, upon the different sides of 
 the body, separate themselves from the aorta, Cheselden 
 seems to have thought, that the advantage which the left 
 gain by going off at a much more acute angle than the 
 right, is made up to the right by their going off together 
 in one branch.* It is very possible that this may be the 
 compensating contrivance; and if it be so, how curious, 
 how hydrostatical ? 
 
 11. Another perfection of the animal mass is package 
 [PI. XXII. fig. 1.] I know nothing which is so surprising 
 Examine the contents of the trunk of any large animal 
 Take notice how soft, how tender, how intricate they are 
 how constantly in action, how necessary to life! Reflect 
 upon the danger of any injury to their substance, any de- 
 rangement of their position, any obstruction to their office. 
 Observe the heart pumping at the centre, at the rate of 
 eighty strokes in a minute: one set of pipes carrying the 
 stream away from it, another set bringing, in its cou''se, the 
 
 * Ches. Anat. p. 184. ed, 7. 
 
112 
 
 OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE 
 
 fluid back to it again ; the lungs performing their elaborate 
 office, viz. distending and contracting their many thousand 
 vesicles, by a reciprocation which cannot cease for a min- 
 ute; the stomach exercising its powerful chemistry; the 
 bowels silently propelling the changed aliment; collecting 
 from it, as it proceeds, and transmitting to the blood an 
 incessant supply of prepared and assimilated nourishment; 
 that blood pursuing its course ; the liver, the kidneys, the 
 pancreas, the parotid, with many other known and dis- 
 tinguishable glands, drawing off from it, all the while, 
 their proper secretions. These several operations, togeth- 
 er with others more subtile but less capable of being inves- 
 tigated, are going on within us, at one and the same time 
 Think of this ; and then observe how the body itself, the case 
 which holds this machinery, is rolled, and jolted, and tossed 
 about, the mechanism remaining unhurt, and with very 
 little.molestation, even of its nicest motipns. Observe a rope 
 dancer, a tumbler, or a monkey: the sudden inversions and 
 contortions which the internal parts sustain by the postures 
 into which their bodies are thrown; or rather observe the 
 shocks which these parts, even in ordinary subjects, some- 
 times receive from falls and bruises, or by abrupt jerks and 
 twists, without sensible, or with soon-recovered damage. 
 Observe this, and then reflect how firmly every part must 
 be secured, how carefully surrounded, how well tied down 
 and packed together. 
 
 This property of animal bodies has never, I think, been 
 considered under a distinct head, or so fully as it deserves. 
 I may be allowed, therefore, in order to verify my observa- 
 tion concerning it, to set forth a short anatomical detail, 
 though it oblige me to use more technical language than I 
 should wish to introduce into a work of this kind. 
 
 1. The heart (such care is taken of the centre of life) 
 is placed between the soft lobes of the lungs; tied to the 
 mediastinum and to the pericardium; which pericardium is 
 not only itself an exceedingly strong membrane, but adheres 
 firmly to the duplicature of the mediastinum, and, by its 
 point, to the middle tendon of the diaphragm. The heart 
 is also sustained in its place by the great blood-vessels which 
 issue from it * 
 
 2. The lungs are tied to the sternum by the mediasti- 
 num, before; to the vertebrae by the pleura, behind. It 
 seems indeed to be the very use of the mediastinum (which 
 IS a me'Tibrane that goes straight through the middle of the 
 
 * Keill's Anat. p. 107. ed. tf. 
 
REGARDED AS A MASS. 
 
 1 1 ::^ 
 
 thorax, from the breast to the back) to keep the contents 
 of the thorax in their places; in particular to hinder one 
 lobe of the lungs from incommoding another, or the parts 
 of the lungs from pressing upon each other when we lie on 
 one side.^ 
 
 3. The liver is fastened in the body by two ligaments; 
 the first, wh'.ch is large and strong, comes from the cover- 
 ing of the diaphragm, and penetrates the substance of tlie 
 liver; the second is the umbilical vein, which, after birth, 
 degenerates into a ligament. The first, whicii is the prin- 
 cipal, fixes the liver in its situation, whilst the body holds 
 an erect posture; the second prevents it from pressing up- 
 on the diaphragm when we lie down; and both together 
 sling or suspend the liver when we lie upon our backs, so 
 that it may not compress or obstruct the ascending vena 
 cava,! to which belongs the important office of returning 
 the blood from the body to the heart. 
 
 4. The bladder is tied to the naval by the urachus, trans- 
 formed into a ligament: thus, what was a passage for the 
 urine to the foetus, becomes, after birth, a support or stay 
 to the bladder. The peritonneum also keeps the viscera 
 from confounding themselves with, or pressing irregularly 
 upon, the bladder: for the kidneys and bladder are contain- 
 ed in a distinct duplicature of that membrane, being there- 
 by partitioned off from the other contents of the abdomen. 
 
 5. The kidneys are lodged in a bed of fat. 
 
 6. The pancreas, or sweetbread, is strongly tied to the 
 peritonaeum, which is the great wrapping sheet, that encloses 
 all the bowels contained in the lower belly. J 
 
 7. The spleen also is confined to its place by an adhe- 
 sion to the peritonoBum and diaphragm, ai d by a connexion 
 with the omentum. § It is possible, in my opinion, that 
 the spleen may be merely a stuffing, a soft cushion to fill 
 up a vacancy or hollow, which, unless occupiijd, would 
 leave the package loose and unsteady: for, supposing that 
 it answers no other purpose than this, it must be vascular, 
 and admit of a circulation through it, in order to be kept 
 alive, or be a part of a living body. 
 
 8. The omentum, epiploon, or caul, is an apron uje- 
 ed up, or doubling upon itself, at its lowest part. The up- 
 per edge is tied to the bottom of the stomach, to the spleen, 
 as hath already been observed, and to part of the duode- 
 num. The reflected edge also, after forming the doubling, 
 
 * Keill’s Anat. p. 119. ed. 3. f Chei^, Anat. p. 162. 
 
 ? Keill’s Anat. p. 57. § Ches. Anat. p. 167. 
 
 K* 
 
114 
 
 OF THE ANIMAT STRUCTURE 
 
 comes up behind the front flap^ and is tied to the colon ana 
 adjoining viscera.^ 
 
 9. The septa of the brain probably prevent one part 
 of that organ from pressing with too great a weight upon 
 another part. The processes of the dura mater divide the 
 cavity of the skull, like so many inner partition walls, and 
 thereby confine each hemisphere and lobe of the brain to 
 the chamber which is assigned to it, without its being liable 
 to rest upon, or incommode the neighbouring parts. The 
 great art and caution of packing is to prevent one thing 
 hurting another. This, in the head, the chest, and the 
 abdomen, of an animal body, is, amongst other methods, 
 provided for by membranous partitions and wrappings, 
 which keep the parts separate. 
 
 The above may serve as a short account of the manner 
 in which the principal viscera are sustained in their places. 
 But of the provisions for this purpose, by far, in my opin- 
 ion, the most curious, and where also such a provision w^as 
 most wanted, is in the guts. It is pretty evident, that a 
 long narrow tube (in man, about five times the length of 
 the body) laid from side to side in folds upon one another, 
 winding in oblique and circuitous directions, composed al- 
 so of a soft and yielding substance, must, without some ex- 
 raordinary precaution for its safety, be continually displac- 
 ed by the various, sudden, and abrupt motions of the body 
 which contains it. I should expect that, if not bruised or 
 wounded by every fall, or leap, or twist, it would be entan- 
 gled, or be involved with itself, or, at the least, slipped and 
 shaken out of the order in which it is disposed, and which 
 order is necessary to be preserved for the carrying on of 
 the important functions, which it has to execute in the ani- 
 mal economy. Let us see, therefore, how a danger so seri- 
 ous, and yet so natural to the length, narrowness, and tubu- 
 lar form of the part, is provided against. The expedient 
 is admirable, and it is this; the intestinal canal, through- 
 out its whole progress, is knit to the edge of a broad fat 
 membrane called the mcsentenj. [PI. XXII. fig. 2.] It forms 
 the margin of this mesentery, being stitched and fastened 
 to it like the edging of a ruffle: being four times as long as 
 the mesentery itself, it is what a sempstress would call, 
 ‘‘pucKered or gathered on’’ to it. This is the nature of 
 the connexion of the gut with the mesentery; and being 
 thus joined to, or rather made a part of the mesentery, it is 
 folded and wrapped up togetlier with it. Now the mesen- 
 tery, ha ing a considerable dimension in breadth, being in 
 
 * Clies. Auat. p. 149. 
 
REGARDED AS A MASS. 
 
 115 
 
 its substance, withal, both thick and suety, is capable of a 
 close and safe folding, in comparison of what the intestinal 
 tube would admit of, if it had remained loose. The me- 
 sentery, likewise, not only keeps the intestinal canal in its 
 proper place and position, under all the turns and windings 
 of its course, but sustains the numberless small vessels, the 
 arteries, the veins, the lympheducts, and, above all, the 
 lacteals, which lead from or to almost every point of its 
 coats and cavity. This membrane, which appears to be 
 the great support and security of the alimentary apparatus, 
 is itself strongly tied to the first three vertebra) of the loins.^ 
 
 III. A third general property of animal forms is beauty 
 I do not mean relative beauty, or that of one individual 
 above another of the same species, or of one species com- 
 pared with another species; but I mean generally, the pro- 
 vision which is made in the body of almost every animal, 
 to adapt its appearance to the perception of the animals 
 with which it converses. In our own species, for example, 
 only consider what the parts and materials are, of which 
 the fairest body is composed; and no farther observation 
 will be necessary to show, how well these things are wrap- 
 ped up, so as to form a mass, which shall be capable of 
 symmetry in its proportion, and of beauty in its aspect; how 
 the bones are covered, the bowels concealed, the rough- 
 nesses of the muscles smoothed and softened; and how 
 over the whole is drawn an integument, which converts the 
 disgusting materials of a dissecting-room into an object of 
 attraction toUhe sight, or one upon which it rests, at least, 
 with ease and satisfaction^ Much of this effect is to be at- 
 tributed to the intervention of the cellular or adipose mem- 
 brane, which lies immediately under the skin; is a kind 
 of lining to it ; is moist, soft, slippery, and compressible; 
 everywhere filling up the interstices of the muscles, and 
 forming thereby the roundness and flowing line, as well as 
 the evenness and polish of the whole surface. 
 
 All which seems to be a strong indication of design, and 
 of a design studiously directed to this purpose. And it be- 
 ing once allowed, that such a purpose existed with respect 
 to any of the productions of nature, we may refer, with a 
 considerable degree of probability, other particulars to the 
 same intention; such as the tints of flowers, the plumage 
 of birds, the furs of beasts, the bright scales of fishes, the 
 painted wings of butterflies and beetles, the rich colors and 
 spotted lustre of many tribes of insects 
 
 * Keill’s Anat. p. 45. 
 
116 
 
 OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE 
 
 There tire parts also of animals ornamental, and the 
 properties by which they are so, not subservient, that we 
 know of, to any other purpose. The irides of most ani- 
 mals are very beautiful, without conducing at all, by their 
 beauty, to the perfection of vision; and nature could in no 
 part have employed her pencil to so much advantage, 
 because no part presents itself so conspicuously to the 
 observer, or communicates so great an effect to the whole 
 aspect. 
 
 In plants, especially in the flowers of plants, the princi- 
 ple of beauty holds a still more considerable place in their 
 composition ; is still more confessed than in animals. Why, 
 for one instance out of a thousand, does the corolla of 
 the tulip, when advanced to its size and maturity, change 
 its color The purposes, so far as we can see, of vegeta- 
 ble nutrition, might have been carried on as well by its 
 continuing green. Or, if this could not be, consistently 
 with the progress of vegetable life, why break into such a 
 variety of colors? This is no proper effect of age, or 
 of declension in the ascent of the sap; for that, like 
 the autumnal tints, would have produced one color on 
 one leaf, with marks of fading and withering. It seems a 
 lame account to call it, as it has been called, a disease 
 of the plant. Is it not more probable, that this property, 
 which is independent, as it should seem, of the wants and 
 utilities of the plant, was calculated for beauty, intended 
 for display? 
 
 A ground, I know, of objection, has been taken against 
 the whole topic of argument, namely, that there is no such 
 thing as beauty at all; in other words, that whatever is 
 useful and familiar, comes of course to be thought beauti- 
 ful; and that things appear to be so, only by their alliance 
 with these qualities. Our idea of beauty is capable of be- 
 ing so modified by habit, by fashion, by the experience of 
 advantage or pleasure, and by associations arising out of 
 that experience, that a question has been made, whether it 
 be not altogether generated by these causes, or would have 
 ^ny proper existence without them. It seems, however, a 
 carrying of the conclusion too far, to deny the existence of 
 the principle, viz. a native capacity of perceiving beauty, 
 on account of the influence, or of varieties proceeding 
 from that influence, to which it is subject, seeing that prin- 
 ciples the most acknowledged are liable to be affected in 
 Ihe same manner. I should rather argue thus: the ques- 
 tion respects objects of sight. Now every other sense hath 
 its distinclicn of agreeable and disagreeable. Some tastes 
 
REGARDED AS A MASS 
 
 117 
 
 offend the palate, others gratify it. n brutes and insects, 
 this distinction is stronger and more regular than in man 
 Every horse, ox, sheep, swine, when at liberty to choose, 
 and when in a natural state, that is, when not vitiated by 
 habits forced upon it, eats and rejects the same plants. 
 Many insects which feed upon particular plants, will rather 
 die than change their appropriate leaf. All this looks like 
 a determination in the sense itself to particular tastes. In 
 like manner, smells affect the nose, with sensations pleasur- 
 able or disgusting. Some sounds, or compositions of sound, 
 delight the ear ; others torture it. Habit can do much in 
 all these cases, (and it is well for us that it can; for it is 
 this power which reconciles us to many necessities,) but has 
 the distinction, in the meantime, of agreeable and disa- 
 greeable, no foundation in the sense itself.^ What is true 
 of the other senses, is most probably true of the eye, (the 
 analogy is irresistible,) viz. that there belongs to it an orig- 
 inal constitution, fitted to receive pleasure from some im- 
 pressions, and pain from others. 
 
 I do not however know, that the argument which al- 
 leges beauty as a final cause, rests upon this concession. 
 We possess a sense of beauty, however we come by it. It 
 in fact exists. Things are not indifferent to this sense; 
 all objects do not suit it; many, which we see, are agree- 
 able to it; many others disagreeable. It is certainly not 
 the effect of habit upon the particular object, because the 
 most agreeable objects are often the most rare; many, 
 which are very common, continue to be offensive. If they 
 be made supportable by habit, it is all which habit can do; 
 they never become agreeable. If this sense, therefore, be 
 acquired, it is a result; the produce of numerous and com- 
 plicated actions of external objects upon the senses, and of 
 the mind upon its sensations. With this result, there 
 must be a certain congruity to enable any particular object 
 to please: and that congruity, we contend, is consulted in 
 the aspect which is given to animal and vegetable bodies. 
 
 IV. The skin and covering of animals is that upon 
 wliich their appearance chiefly depends, and it is that part 
 which, perhaps, in all animals is most decorated, and most 
 free from impurities. But were beauty, or agreeableness 
 of aspect, entirely out of the question, there is another 
 purpose answered by this integument, and by the collo- 
 cation of the parts of the body beneath it, which is of 
 still greater importance; and that purpose is concealment. 
 Were it possible to view through the skin the mechanism 
 
 our bodies, the sight would frighte is out of our wits. 
 
118 
 
 OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE 
 
 ^ Durst make a single movement/’ asks a lively French 
 writer, or stir a step from the place we were in, if we saio 
 our blood circulating, the tendons pulling, the lungs blow- 
 ing, the humours filtrating, and all the incomprehensible 
 assemblage of fibres, tubes, pumps, valves, currents, piv- 
 ots, which sustain an existence, at once so frail, and so pre- 
 sumptuous?” 
 
 V. Of animal bodies, considered as masses, there is 
 another property, more curious than it is generally thought 
 to be; which is the faculty of standing: and it is more 
 remarkable in two-legged animals than in quadrupeds, and, 
 most of all, as being the tallest, and resting upon the small- 
 est base, in man.* There is more, I think, in the matter 
 than we are aware of. The statue of a man, placed loosely 
 upon its pedestal, would not be secure of standing half an 
 hour. You are obliged to fix its feet to the block by bolts 
 and solder ; or the first shake, the first gust of wind, is sure 
 to throw it down. Yet this statue shall express all the 
 mechanical proportions of a living model. It is not, there- 
 fore, the mere figure, or merely placing the centre of grav- 
 ity within the base, that is sufficient. Either the law of 
 gravitation is suspended in favor of living substances, or 
 something more is done for them, in order to enable them 
 to uphold their posture. There is no reason whatever to 
 doubt, but that their parts descend by gravitation in the 
 same manner as those of dead matter. The gift, there- 
 fore, appears to me to consist, in a faculty of perpetually 
 shifting the centre of gravity, by a set of obscure, indeed, 
 but of quick-balancing actions, so as to keep the line 
 of direction, which is a line drawn from that centre to the 
 ground, within its prescribed limits. Of these actions it 
 may be observed, first, that they in part constitute what we 
 call strength. The dead body drops down. The mere 
 adjustment, therefore, of weight and pressure, which may 
 be the same the moment after death as the moment before, 
 does not support the column. In cases also of extreme 
 
 ♦Anatomy explains the mode in which the weight of the body is 
 transmitted to the feet; and we have seen that the muscles which prevent 
 the head from falling forward in standing, have their fixed point in the 
 neck; that those which perform the same office with regard to the verte- 
 bral column, have theirs in the pelvis; that those which preserve the pel- 
 vis in equilibrium are attached to the tl ighs, or to the bones of the legs; 
 .bat those which prevent the thighs from fallijig backward are inserted into 
 the tibia; and lastly, that tho.se that } -eserve the tibia in their verti- 
 •lal position have their fixed point in th( feet; these preserve us firm in 
 a sta iding positiou —Paxton, 
 
regarded as a mass 
 
 119 
 
 weakness, the patient cannot stand uprignt. Secondly, 
 that these actions are only in a small degree voluntary. A 
 man is seldom conscious of his voluntary powers in keep^ 
 ing himself upon his legs. A child learning to walk is the 
 greatest posture-master in the world; but art, if it may be 
 so called, sinks into habit; and he is soon able to poise 
 himself in a great variety of attitudes, without being sen- 
 sible either of caution or effort. But still there must be 
 an aptitude of parts, upon which habit can thus attach; a 
 previous capacity of motions which the animal is thus taught 
 to exercise: and the facility with which this exercise 
 is acquired forms one object of our admiration What 
 parts are principally employed, or in what manner each 
 contributes its office, is, as hath already been confessed, 
 difficult to explain. Perhaps the obscure motion of the 
 bones of the feet may have their share in this effect. 
 They are put in action by every slip or vacillation of the 
 body, and seem to assist in restoring its balance. Certain 
 it is, that this circumstance in the structure of the foot, 
 viz. its being composed of many small bones, applied to, 
 and articulating with one another, by diversely shaped sur- 
 faces, instead of being made of one piece, like the last of 
 a shoe, is very remarkable.* I suppose also, that it would 
 be difficult to stand firmly upon stilts or wooden legs, though 
 their base exactly imitated the figure and dimensions 
 of the sole of the foot. The alternation of the joints, 
 the knee-joint bending backward, the hip-joint forward; 
 the flexibility, in every direction, of the spine, especially 
 in the loins and neck, appear to be of great moment in 
 preserving the equilibrium of the body. With respect to this 
 last circumstance, it is observable, that the vertebrae are so 
 confined by ligaments, as to allow no more slipping upon 
 
 * [See Plate XI.] There is no part of the human frame which is more 
 wonderfully constructed than the foot. It has the requisite strength to 
 support the weight of the body, and often an additional burden; flexibility, 
 that it may be adapted to the inequalities of the surface on which we tread; 
 and elasticity , to assist in walking, running, and springing from the ground. 
 This advantage we possess from the number of joints, the arch of the 
 foot being composed of twenty^six bones. Those bones have a con- 
 siderable play on each other; and as each articulating surface is cover- 
 ed with cartilage, the essential property of which is elasticity, the 
 jarring is thus prevented which would result from a contact of the 
 bones. 
 
 “ The first question which naturally arises, is. Why there should be 
 so many bones? The answer is — In order that the»*e may be so many 
 joints ; for the structure of a joint not only permits motion but bestows 
 elasticity .” — Paxton 
 
120 
 
 OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE 
 
 tbeir bases, than what is just sufficient to break the shock 
 which any violent motion may occasion to the body. A 
 certain degree also of tension of the sinews appears to be 
 essential to an erect posture; for it is by the loss of this, 
 ffiat the dead or paralytic body drops down. The whole 
 (S a wonderful result of combined powers, and of very 
 complicated operations. Indeed, that standing is not so 
 simple a business as we imagine it to be, is evident from 
 the strange gesticulations of a drunken man, who has lost 
 the government of the centre of gravity. 
 
 We have said that this property is the most worthy of 
 observation in the human body: but a bird, resting upon 
 its perch, or hopping upon a spray, affords no mean speci- 
 men of the same faculty. A chicken runs off as soon as it 
 is hatched from the egg; yet a chicken, considered geo- 
 metrically, and with relation to its centre of gravity, its 
 line of direction, and its equilibrium, is a very irregular 
 solid. Is this gift, therefore, or instruction? May it not 
 be said to be with great attention, that nature hath balanc- 
 ed the body upon its pivots? 
 
 I observe also in the same bird a piece of useful me- 
 chanism of this kind. In the trussing of a fowl, upon bend- 
 ing the legs and thighs up towards the body, the cook finds 
 that the claws close of their own accord. Now let it be 
 remembered, that this is the position of the limbs, in which 
 the bird rests upon its perch. And in this position it sleeps 
 in safety; for the claws do their office in keeping hold of 
 the support, not by any exertion of voluntary power, which 
 sleep might suspend, but by the traction of the tendons in 
 consequence of the attitude which the legs and thighs take 
 by the bird sitting down, and to which the mere weight of 
 the body gives the force that is necessary. 
 
 VI. Regarding the human body as a mass; regarding 
 the general conformations which obtain in it; regarding 
 also particular parts in respect to those conformations; we 
 shall be led to observe what I call “ interrupted analogies.*’ 
 The following are examples of what I mean by these terms, 
 and I do not know how such critical deviations can, by 
 any possible hypothesis, be accounted for without design. 
 
 1 . All the bones of the body are covered with a 
 osieumy except the teeth; where it ceases, and an enamel 
 of ivory, which saws and files will hardly touch, comes into 
 its place. No one can doubt of the use and propriety of 
 his difference; of the ‘‘analogy” being thus “interrupted;” 
 of the rule, which belongs to the conformation of the bones 
 topping where it does stop; for, had so exquisitely sensi- 
 
REGARDED AS V MASS. 
 
 121 
 
 ble a membrane as the periosteum invested the teeth, as it 
 invests every other bone of the body, tkeir action, necessa- 
 ry exposure, and irritation, would have subjected the ani- 
 mal to continual pain. General as it is, it was not the sort 
 of integument which suited the teeth. What they stood in 
 need of, was a strong, hard, insensible, defensive coat; and 
 exactly such a covering is given to them, in the ivory 
 enamel which adheres to their surface. 
 
 2. The scarf-skin, which clothes all the rest of the body, 
 gives way, at the extremities of the toes and fingers, to nails, 
 A man has only to look at his hand, to observe with what 
 nicety and precision, that covering, which extends over 
 every other part, is here superseded by a different sub- 
 stance, and a different texture. Now, if either the rule 
 had been necessary, or the deviation from it accidental, 
 this effect would not be seen. When I speak of the rule 
 being necessary, I mean the formation of the skin upon the 
 surface being produced by a set of causes constituted with- 
 out design, and acting, as all ignorant causes must act, by 
 a general operation. Were this the case, no account could 
 be given of the operation being suspended at the fingers* 
 ends, or on the back part of the fingers, and not on the 
 fore part. On the other hand, if the deviation were acci- 
 dental, an error, an anomalism; were it anything else than 
 settled by intention; we should meet with nails upon other 
 parts of the body. They would be scattered o\er the sur 
 face, lik^ warts or pimples. 
 
 3. All the great cavities of the body are enclosed by 
 membranes, except the skull. Why should not the brain be 
 content with the same covering as that which serves for the 
 other principal organs of the body? The heart, the lungs, 
 the liver, the stomach, the bowels, have all soft integuments, 
 and nothing else. The muscular coats are all soft and 
 membranous. I can see a reason for this distinction in the 
 final cause, but in no other. The importance of the brain 
 to life, (which experience proves to be immediate,) and the 
 extreme tenderness of its substance, make a solid case 
 more necessary for it, than for any other part; and such a 
 case the hardness of the skull supplies. When the smalls 
 est portion of this natural casket is lost, how carefully, yet 
 how imperfectly is it replaced by a plate of metal ? If an 
 anatomist should say, that this bony protection is not con- 
 fined to the brain, but is extended along the course of the 
 spine, I answer, that he adds strength to the argument. If 
 he remark, that the chest also is fortified by bones, I reply, 
 that I should have alleged this instance myself, if the ribs 
 
 L 
 
122 
 
 COxVIPaRaTIVE ANaIOMI. 
 
 had not appeared subservient to the purpose of moth o as 
 well as of defence. What distinguishes the skull from ever) 
 other cavity is, that the bony covering completely surrounds 
 its contents, and is calculated, not for motion, but solely for 
 defence. Those hollows, likewise, and inequalities, which 
 we observe in the inside of the skull, and which exactly fit 
 the folds of the brain, answer the important design of keep- 
 ing the substance of the brain steady, and of guarding it 
 Qgumst concu6Sior45 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 
 
 Whenever we find a general plan pursued, yet with 
 such variations in it as are, in each case required by the 
 particular exigency of the subject to which it is applied, we 
 possess, in such plan and such adaptation, the strongest evi- 
 dence that can be afforded of intelligence and design; an 
 evidence which most completely excludes every other 
 hypothesis. If the general plan proceeded from any fixed 
 necessity in the nature of things, how could it accommodate 
 itself to the various wants and uses which it had to serve 
 under different circumstances, and on different occasions? 
 Arkwright’s mill was invented for the spinning of cotton. 
 We see it employed for the spinning of wool, flax, and 
 hemp, with such modifications of the original principle, 
 such variety in the same plan, as the texture of those dif- 
 ferent materials rendered necessary. Of the machine’s 
 being put together with design, if it were possible to doubt, 
 whilst we saw it only under one mode, and in one form, 
 when we came to observe it in its different applications, 
 with such changes of structure, such additions, and supple 
 ments, as the special and particular use in each case de- 
 manded, we could not refuse any longer our assent to the 
 proposition, ‘‘that intelligence, properly and strictly so 
 called, (including under that name, foresight, consideration, 
 reference to utility,) had been employed, as well in the 
 primitive plan, as in the several changes and accommoda- 
 tions which i is made to undergo.” 
 
 Very much of this reasoning is applicable to what has 
 been called Comparative Jlnatomy. In their general econ- 
 omy, in the outlines of the plan, in the construction as well 
 as ofhces of their principal parts, there exists between all 
 
COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 
 
 123 
 
 large terrestrial animals a close resemblance. In all ifeis 
 sustained, and the body nourished by nearly the same ap- 
 paratus. The heart, the lungs, the stomach, the liver, the 
 kidneys, are much alike in all. The same fluid (for no 
 distinction of blood has been observed) circulates through 
 their vessels, and nearly in the same order. The same 
 cause, therefore, whatever that cause was, has been con- 
 cerned in the origin, has governed the production of these 
 different animal forms. 
 
 When we pass on to smaller animals, or to the inhabi- 
 tants of a different element, the resemblance becomes more 
 distant and more obscure; but still the plan accompanies 
 
 JS. 
 
 And, what we can never enough commend, and which it 
 is our business at present to exemplify, the plan is attend- 
 ed, through all its varieties and deflections, by subservien- 
 cies to special occasions and utilities. 
 
 I. The covering of different animals (though whether I 
 am correct in classing this under their anatomy I do not 
 know) is the first thing which presents itself to our observa- 
 tion; and is, in truth, both for its variety, and its suitable- 
 ness to their several natures, as much to be admired as any 
 part of their structure. We have bristles, hair, wool, furs, 
 feathers, quills, prickles, scales; yet in this diversity both 
 of material and form, we cannot change one animal’s coc>.t 
 for another, without evidently changing it for the worse; 
 taking care however to remark, that these coverings are, in 
 many cases, armor as well as clothing; intended for pro- 
 tection as well as warmth. 
 
 The human animal is the only one which is naked, and the 
 only one which can clothe itself. This is one of the proper- 
 ties which renders him an animal of all climates, and of 
 all seasons. He can adapt the warmth or lightness of his 
 covering to the temperature of his habitation. Had he 
 been born with a fleece upon his back, although he might 
 have been comforted by its warmth in high latitudes, it 
 would have oppressed him by its weight and heat, as the 
 species spread towards the equator. 
 
 What art, however, does for men, nature has, in many 
 instances, done for those animals which are incapable of 
 art. Their clothing, of its own accord, changes with 
 I heir necessities. This is particularly the case with that 
 large tribe of quadrupeds which are covered with furs. 
 Every dealer in hare-skins and rabbit-skins, knows how 
 much the fur is thickened by the approach of winter. It 
 seems to be a part of the same constitution and the same 
 
124 
 
 COMPARA.TIVE ANAT031Y. 
 
 design, that, wool in hot countries, degenerate*?, as it is 
 called, bit n truth (most happily for the animal’s ease) 
 passes into hair ; whilst, on the contrary, that hair on the 
 dogs of the polar regions, is turned into wool, or some- 
 thing very like it. To which may be referred, what natural- 
 ists have remarked, that bears, wolves, foxes, hares, which 
 do not take the water, have the fur much thicker on the 
 back than the belly: whereas in the beaver it is the thick- 
 est upon the belly; as are the feathers on waterfowl. 
 We know the final cause of all this; and we know no 
 other.. 
 
 The covering of birds cannot escape the most vulgar ob- 
 servation. Its lightness, its smoothness, its warmth; — the 
 disposition of the feathers all inclined backward, the down 
 about their stem, the overlapping of their tips, their differ- 
 ent configuration in different parts, not to mention the va- 
 riety of their colors, constitute a vestment for the body, 
 so beautiful, and so appropriate to the life which the animal 
 is to lead, as that, I think, w^e should have had no concep- 
 tion of anything equally perfect, if we had never seen it, 
 or can now imagine anything more so. Let us suppose 
 (what is possible only in supposition) a person who had 
 never seen a bird, to be presented with a plucked pheasant, 
 and bid to set his wits to work, how to contrive for it a 
 covering which shall unite the qualities of warmth, levity, 
 and least resistance to the air, and the highest degree of 
 each; giving it also as much of beauty, and ornament as 
 he could afford. He is the person to behold the work of 
 the Deity, in this part of his creation, with the sentiments 
 which are due to it. 
 
 The commendation, which the general aspect of the 
 feathered world seldom fails of exciting, will be increased 
 by farther examination. It is one of those cases in which 
 the philosopher has more to admire than the common ob- 
 server. Every feather is a mechanical wonder. If we 
 look at the quill, we find properties not easily broughc 
 together, — strength and lightness. I know few thii gs 
 more remarkable than the strength and lightness of the 
 very pen with which I am writing. If we cast our eye 
 to the upper part of the stem, we see a material, made for 
 ti e purp ise, used in no otlier class of animals, and in no 
 oihe' part of birds; tough, light, pliant, elastic. The 
 pith, also, which feeds tlie feathers, is, amongst animal 
 substances, sui generis: neither bone, flesh, membrane, 
 nor tendon. ^ 
 
 But the artificial part of a feather is the beard, oi\ as it 
 
COMPARATIVE ANAlOttY. 
 
 125 
 
 is sometimes, I believe, called, the vane. By the beards 
 are meant, what are fastened on each side of the stem, and 
 what constitute the breadth of the feather; what we usual- 
 ly strip off, from one side or both, when we make a pen. 
 llie separate pieces of laminae, of which the beard is 
 composed, are called threads, sometimes filaments, or rays. 
 Now the first thing which an attentive observer will remark 
 is, hew much stronger the beard of the feather shows it- 
 self to be, when pressed in a direction perpendicular to its 
 plane, than when rubbed, either up or down, in the line of 
 the stem; and he will soon discover the structure jvhich 
 occasions this difference, viz. that the laminae, whereof 
 these beards are composed, are flat, and placed with their 
 flat sides towards each other; by which means, whilst they 
 easily bend for the approaching of each other, as any one 
 may perceive by drawing his finger ever so lightly upwards, 
 they are much harder to bend out of their plane, which is 
 the direction in which they have to encounter the impulse 
 and pressure of the air, and in which their strength is 
 wanted and put to the trial. 
 
 This is one particularity in the structure of a feather; 
 a second is still more extraordinary. Whoever examines 
 a feather, cannot help taking notice, that the threads or la- 
 minge, of which we have been speaking, in their natural 
 state unite; that their union is something more than the 
 mere apposition of loose surfaces; that they are not part- 
 ed asunder without some degree offeree; that nevertheless 
 there is no glutinous cohesion between the»^ , that, there- 
 fore, by some mechanical means or other, they catch or 
 clasp among themselves, thereby giving to the beard or 
 vane its closeness and compactness of texture. Nor is this 
 all: when two laminae, which have been separated by acci- 
 dent or force, are brought together again, they immediately 
 reclasp; the connexion, whatever it was, is perfectly re- 
 covered, and the beard of the feather becomes as smooth 
 and firm as if nothing^ had happened to it. Draw your fin- 
 ger down the feather, which is against the grain, and you 
 break probably the junction of some of the contiguous 
 threads; draw your finger up the feather, and you restore 
 all things to their former state. This is no common con- 
 trivance: and now for the mechanism by which it is ef- 
 fected. The threads or laminae above mentioned, are m- 
 
 * By the aid of the microscope it appears, that the laminae are not flat, 
 es they appear to the unassisted eye, but are semi-tubular, having on 
 heir outward edge a series of bristles, termed in the text fibres, set in pairs 
 opposite one another, which clasp with the bristles of the approximate 
 L* 
 
126 
 
 COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 
 
 terlaced with one another; and the interlacing is perform- 
 ed by means of a vast number of fibres, or teeih, which 
 the laminse shoot forth on each side, and which hook and 
 grapple together. A friend of mine counted fifty of these 
 fibres in one twentieth of an inch. These fibres are crook- 
 ed; but curved after a different manner: for those which 
 proceed from the thread on the side towards the extremity 
 3f the feather, are longer, more flexible, and bent down- 
 ward; whereas those which proceed from the side towards 
 the beginning, or quill-end of the feather, are shorter, firm- 
 er, and turn upwards. The process then which takes 
 place is as follows: When two laminae are pressed to- 
 gether, so that these long fibres are forced far enough over 
 the short ones, tliew crooked parts fall into the cavity made 
 by the crooked parts of the others; just as the latch that is 
 fastened to a door enters into the cavity of the catch fixed 
 to the door-post, and there hooking itself, fastens the door; 
 for it is properly in this manner, that one thread of a 
 feather is fastened to the other. 
 
 This admirable structure of the feather, which it is easy 
 to see with the microscope, succeeds perfectly for the use 
 to which nature has designed it; which use was, not only 
 that the laminas might be united, but that when one thread 
 or lamina has been separated from another by some exter- 
 nal violence, it might be reclasped with sufficient facility 
 and expedition.* 
 
 In the ostrich, this apparatus of crotchets and fibres, of 
 hooks and teeth, is wanting: and we see the consequence 
 of the want. The filaments hang loose and separate from 
 one another, forming only a kind of down; which consti- 
 tution of the feathers, however it may fit them for the flow- 
 ing honors of a lady’s head-dress, may be reckoned an 
 imperfection in the bird, inasmuch as wings, composed of 
 ihese feathers, although they may greatly assist it in run- 
 ning, do not serve for flight. 
 
 But under the present division of our subject, our busi- 
 ness with feathers is, as they are the covering of the bird. 
 And herein a singular circumstance occurs. In the small 
 order of birds which winter with us, from a snipe down- 
 
 laminsB, and cause that adhesiveness observable between the several 
 .aniinoe of the vane. 
 
 The bristles are not of the same form on each side of one lamina ; the 
 ower tier, Tab. XXIII. fi^. 6. form a simple and slight curve, while the 
 upper, fig. 7. terminate with three or four little hooks, which serve to 
 catch the simple corresponding bristle, fig. 6. of the next lamina. 
 
 * The above account is taken from .Memoirs for a Natural Ilist.^ry of 
 Animals, by the Royal Academy of Paris, published 1701, p. 209. 
 
COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 
 
 
 wards, let he external color of the feathers be what it 
 will, their Creator has universally given them a bed ot 
 black down next their bodies. Black, we know, is the 
 warmest color; and the purpose here is, to keep in the 
 heat, arising from the heart and circulation of the blood. 
 It is farther likewise remarkable, that this is not found in 
 larger birds; for which there is also a reason: — small birds 
 are much more exposed to the cold than large ones; foras- 
 much as they present, in proportion to their bulk, a much 
 larger surface to the air. If a turkey were divided into a 
 number of wrens, (supposing the shape of the turkjoy and 
 the wren to be similar,) the surface of all the wrens would 
 exceed the surface of the turkey, in the proportion of the 
 length, breadth, (or, of any homologous line,) of a turkey 
 to that of a wren; which would be, perhaps, a proportion 
 of ten to one. It was necessary, therefore, that small 
 birds should be more warmly clad than large ones: and this 
 seems to be the expedient by which that exigency is pro- 
 vided for. 
 
 II. In comparing different animals, I know no part of 
 their structure which exhibits greater variety, or, in that 
 variety, a nicer accommodation to their respective conve- 
 niency, than that which is seen in the different formations 
 of their mouths. Whether the purpose be the reception of 
 aliment merely, or the catching of prey, the picking up 
 of seeds, the cropping of herbage, the extraction of juices, 
 the suction of liquids, the breaking and grinding of food, 
 the taste of that food, together with the respiration of air, 
 and, in conjunction with it, the utterance of sound; these 
 various offices are assigned to this one part, and, indiffer- 
 ent species, provided for, as they are wanted, by its differ- 
 ent constitution. In the human species, forasmuch as 
 there are hands to convey the food to the mouth, the mouth 
 is flat, and by reason of its flatness, fitted only for reccp^ 
 lion; whereas the projecting jaws, the wide rictus, the 
 pointed teeth of the dog and his affinities, enable them to 
 apply their mouths to snatch and seize the objects of their 
 pursuit. The full lips, the rough tongue, the corrugated 
 cartilaginous palate, the broad cutting teeth of the ox, the 
 deer, the horse, and the sheep, qualify this tribe for 6roiys- 
 ing upon their pasture; either gathering large mouthfuls 
 at once, where the grass is long, which is the case with 
 the ox in particular; or biting close, where it is short, 
 whicn the horse and the sheep are able to do, in a degree 
 that one could hardly expect. The retired under jaw of a 
 swine works in the ground y after the protruding snout, lik'^, 
 
128 
 
 COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 
 
 a prong or ploughshare, has made its way to the roots upon 
 which it feeds. A conformation so happy was not the gift 
 of chance. 
 
 In birds, this organ assumes a new character; new both 
 in substance and in form; but in both, wonderfully adapted 
 to the wants and uses of a distinct mode of existence. We 
 have no longer the fleshy lips, the teeth of enamelled bone; 
 but we have, in the place of these two parts, and to perform 
 the office of both, a hard substance (of the same nature 
 with that which composes the nails, claws, and hoofs of 
 quadrupeds) cut out into proper shapes, and mechanically 
 suited to the actions which are wanted. The sharp edge 
 and tempered point of the sparrow's bill picks almost every 
 kind of seed from its concealment in the plant; and not 
 only so, but hulls the grain, breaks and shatters the coats 
 of the seed, in order to get at the kernel. The hooked beak 
 of the hawk tribe separates the flesh from the bones of the 
 animals which it feeds upon, almost with the cleanness and 
 precision of a dissector’s knife. The butcher-bird trans- 
 fixes its prey upon the spike of a thorn, whilst it picks its 
 bones. In some birds of this class, we have the a^oss bill, 
 
 e. both the upper and lower bill hooked, and their tips 
 crossing. The sjwoii bill, enables the goose to graze, to 
 collect its food from the bottom of pools, or to seek it 
 amidst the soft or liquid substances with which it is mixed. 
 The long tapering bill of the snipe and woodcock, pene- 
 trates still deeper into moist earth, which is the bed in which 
 the food of that species is lodged. This is exactly the in- 
 strument which the animal wanted. It did not want 
 strength in its bill, which was inconsistent with the slender 
 form of the animal’s neck, as well as unnecessary for the 
 Kind of aliment upon which it subsists; but it wanted 
 lengtli to reach its object. 
 
 But the species of bill which belongs to birds that live 
 by suciion, deserves to be described in its relation to that 
 office. They are what naturalists call serrated or dentated 
 bills; the inside of them, towards the edge, being thickly 
 set with parallel or concentric rows of short, strong, sharp- 
 pointed prickles. These, though they should be called 
 teeth, are not for the purpose of mastication, like the teeth 
 of quadrupeds; nor yet, as in fish, for the seizing and retain- 
 ing of their prey; but for a quite different use. They 
 form a filter The duck by means of them discusses the 
 mud; examining with great accuracy the puddle, the brake, 
 every mixtu»*e which is likely to contain her food. The 
 operatior is thus carried on : — The liquid or semi-liquid sub- 
 
COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 
 
 129 
 
 stances, in which the animal has plunged her hi7, she 
 draws, by the action of her lungs, through tlie narrow in- 
 terstices which lie between these teeth; catching, as the 
 stream passes across her beak, whatever it may happen to 
 bring along with it, that proves agreeable to her choice, 
 and easily dismissing all the rest. Now, suppose the pur- 
 pose to have been, out of a mass of confused heterogene- 
 ous substances, to separate for the use of the animal, or 
 rather to enable the animal to separate for its own, those few 
 particles which suited its taste and digestion; what more 
 artificial, or more commodious instrument of selection, 
 could have been given to it, than this natural filter?* It has 
 been observed, also, (what must enable the bird to choose 
 and distinguish with greater acuteness, as well, probably, 
 as what increases its gratification and its luxury,) that the 
 bills of this species are furnished with large nerves, that 
 they are covered with a skin, — and that the nerves run 
 down to the very extremity. In the curlew, woodcock, and 
 snipe, there are three pairs of nerves, equal almost to the 
 optic nerve in thickness, which pass first along the roof of 
 the mouth, and then along the upper chap, down to the 
 point of the bill, long as the bill is. [PI. XXIII. fig. 1.] 
 
 But to return to the train of our observations. — The sim- 
 ilitude between the bills of birds and the mouths of quad- 
 rupeds, is exactly such as, for the sake of the argument, 
 might be wished for. It is near enough to show the con- 
 tinuation of the same plan; it is remote enough to exclude 
 the supposition of the difference being produced by action 
 or use. A more prominent contour, or a wider gape might 
 be resolved into the effect of continued efforts, on the part 
 of the species, to thrust out the mouth, or open it to the 
 stretch. But by what course of action, or exercise, or en- 
 deavour, shall we get rid of the lips, the gums, the teeth ; 
 and acquire, in the place of them, pincers of horn? By 
 what habit shall we so completely change, not only the 
 shape of the part, but the substance of which it is compos- 
 ed? The truth is, if we had seen no other than the months 
 of quadrupeds, we should have thought no other could have 
 been formed: little could we have supposed, that all the 
 purposes of a m^uth furnished with lips, and armed with 
 
 * There is a remarkable contrivance of this kind in the genus halcpna, 
 or proper whale. Numerous parallel plates of the substance called 
 whalebone, cover the palatine surface of the uper jaw, and descend ver- 
 tically into the mouth; the lower edges are fringed by long fibres, whicr^ 
 serve the vinimal, when taking in the water, to retain the rnofiuscse, 
 with whi h the water abounds, and which constitute its food . — Paxton 
 
130 
 
 COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 
 
 leeth, could be answered by an instrument which had none 
 of these; c( uld be supplied, and that with many additional 
 advantages, by the hardness, and sharpness, and figure of 
 the bills of birds. 
 
 JEverything about the animal mouih is mechanical. The 
 teeth of fish have their points turned backward, like the 
 teeth of a wool or cotton card. The teeth of lobsters work 
 one against another, like the sides of a pair of shears. In 
 many insects, the mouth is converted into a pump or sucker, 
 fitted at the end sometimes with a wimble, sometimes with 
 a forceps; by which double provisions, viz. of the tube and 
 the penetrating form of the point, the insect first bores 
 through the integuments of its prey, and thejn extracts the 
 juices. And, what is most extraordinary of all, one sort of 
 mouth, as the occasion requires, shall be changed into an- 
 other sort. The caterpillar could not live without teeth; 
 in several species, the butterfly formed from it could not 
 use them. The old teeth therefore, are cast off with the 
 exuviae of the grub ; a new and totally different apparatus as- 
 sumes their place in the fly. Amid these novelties of form, 
 we sometimes forget that it is, all the while, the animal's 
 mouih; that, whether it be lips, or teeth, or bill, or beak, 
 or shears, or pump, it is the same part diversified: and it 
 is also remarkable, that, under all the varieties of configura- 
 tion with which we are acquainted, and which are very 
 great, the organs of taste and smelling are situated near 
 each other. 
 
 III. To the mouth adjoins the gullet: in this part also, 
 comparative anatomy discovers a difference of structure, 
 adapted to the different necessities of the animal. In 
 brutes, because the posture of their neck conduces little 
 to the passage of the aliment, the fibres of the gullet, which 
 act in this business, run in two close spiral lines, crossing 
 each other: in men these fibres run only a little obliquely 
 from the upper end of the oesophagus to the stomach, into 
 which, by a gentle contraction, they easily transmit the 
 descending morsels; that is to say, for the more laborious 
 deglutition of animals, which thrust their food up instead 
 of doivn, and also through a longer passage, a proportion- 
 ably more powerful apparatus of muscles is provided; more 
 powerful, rot merely by the strength of the fibres, which 
 might be attributed to the greater exercise of their force, 
 but in their collocation, which is a dctcruiinate circum- 
 stance, and must have been original. 
 
 JV. The gullet leads to the i)iicsfi)u\s ; here, likewise, 
 as before, comparing quadrupeds with man, under a gene- 
 
COMPARATIVE ..NAPOMY. 
 
 .31 
 
 ral simili.ude we meet with appropriate difTerences. The 
 valvulce conniventes, or, as they are by some called, the 
 semilunar valves, found in the human intestine, are want- 
 ing in that of brutes. These are wrinkles or plaits of the 
 innermost coat of the guts, the effect of which is, to retard 
 the progress of the food through the alimentary canal. It 
 is easy to understand how much more necessary such a 
 provision may be to the body of an animal of an erect pos- 
 ture, and in which, consequently, the weight of the food 
 IS added to the action of the intestine, than in that of a 
 quadruped, in which the course of the food, from its en- 
 trance to its exit, is nearly horizontal: but it is impossible 
 to assign any cause, except the final cause, for this distinc- 
 tion actually taking place.* [PI. XXIII. fig. 2.] So far 
 as depends upon the action of the part, this structure was 
 more to be expected in a quadruped than in a man. In 
 truth, it must in both have been formed, not by action, but 
 in direct opposition to action, and to pressure ; but the op- 
 position which would arise from pressure, is greater in the 
 upright trunk than in any other. That theory therefore is 
 pointedly contradicted by the example before us. The 
 structure is found where its generation, according to the 
 method by which the theorist would have it generated, is 
 the most difficult; bilt (observe) it is found where its effect 
 is most useful. 
 
 The different length of the intestines in carnivorous and 
 herbivorous animals, has been noticed on a former occasion. 
 The shortest, I believe, is that of some birds of prey, in 
 which the intestinal canal is little more than a straight pas- 
 sage from the mouth to the vent. The longest is in the 
 deer kind. The intestines of a Canadian stag, four feet 
 high, measured ninety-six feet.| The intestines of a sheep, 
 unravelled, measures thirty times the length of the body 
 The intestines of a wild cat is only three times the length 
 of the body. Universally, where the subst^ce upon which 
 the animal feeds is of slow concoction, or yields its chyle 
 
 It may be questioned, whether these extremely soft rugae cr folds 
 of the villous coat of the intestine can in the least retard the passage of 
 the food through its canal ; nor does the erect attitude of man require 
 them ; for since there are as many of the convolutions of the intestines 
 ascending as there are descending, the weight of the food can have no 
 influence in the action of the intestine: it is certain, however, that this 
 arrangement of the internal coat, affords a moi'e extenswe surface for 
 the lacteals and secreting vessels ; and this appears to be the real use 
 of the valvulce conniventes. — Paxton, 
 
 i Mem. of Acad. Paris, 1701, p. 170 
 
132 
 
 COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 
 
 With lAore difficulty, there the passage is circuitous and 
 dilatory, that time and space may be allowed for the change 
 and the absorption which are necessary. Where the food 
 ^is soon dissolved, or already half assimilated, an unneces- 
 sary, or perhaps hurtful, detention is avoided, by giving to 
 it a shorter and a readier route. 
 
 V. In comparing the hones of different animals, we are 
 struck, in the bones of birds, with a propriety, which could 
 only proceed from the wisdom of an intelligent and design- 
 ing Creator. In the bones of an animal which is to fly, the 
 two qualities required are strength anc lightness. Where- 
 in, therefore, do the bones of birds (I speak of the cylindri- 
 cal bones) differ in these respects from the bones of quad- 
 rupeds ? In three properties; first, their cavities are much 
 larger in proportion to the weight of the bone than in those 
 of quadrupeds; secondly, these cavities are empty; thirdly, 
 the shell is of a firmer texture than the substance of other 
 bones. It is easy to observe those particulars, even in 
 picking the wing or leg of a chicken. Now, the weight 
 being the same, the diameter, it is evident, will be greater 
 in a hollow bone than in a solid one, and with the diame- 
 ter, as every mathematician can prove, is increased, cceteiis 
 paribus, the strength of the cylinder, or its resistance to 
 breaking. In a w’ord, a bone of the same weight would 
 not have been so strong in any other form; and to have 
 made it heavier, would have incommoded the animal’s 
 flight. Yet this form could not be acquired by use, or the 
 bone become hollow and tubular by exercise. What appe- 
 tency could excavate a bone.^ 
 
 VI. The lungs also of birds, as compared with the lungs 
 of quadrupeds, contain in them a provision, distinguishingly 
 calculated for this same purpose of levitation; namely, a 
 communication (not found in other kinds of animals) be- 
 tween the air-vessels of the lungs and the cavities of the 
 body; so that by the intromission of air from one to the 
 other (at the will, as it should seem, of fie animal,) its body 
 can be occasionally puffed out, and its tendency to descend 
 in the air, or its specific gravity, made less. The bodies 
 of birds are blown up from their lungs (which no other ani- 
 mal bodies are,) and thus rendered buoyant. 
 
 VII. All birds are oviparous. This likewise carries 
 on the work of gestation with as little increase as possible 
 of the weight of the body. A gravid uterus would have 
 been a troublesome burden to a bird in its flight. The ad- 
 vantage, in this respect, of an oviparous procreation is, that 
 whilst the whole brood are hatched together, the eggs are 
 
COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 
 
 133 
 
 excluded singly, and at considerable intervals. Ten, fif- 
 teen, or twenty young birds may be produced in one cletch 
 or covey, yet the parent bird have never been encum- 
 bered by the load of more than one full-^rown egg at one 
 time. 
 
 VIII. A principal topic of comparison between animals, 
 is in their instruments of motion. These come before us 
 under three divisions; feet, wings, and fins. I desire any 
 man to sa} ^ which of the three is best fitted for its use; or 
 whether the same consummate art be not conspicuous in 
 them all. The constitution of the elements in which the 
 motion is to be performed, is very different. The animal 
 action must necessarily follow that constitution. The 
 Creator, therefore, if we might so speak, had to prepare for 
 difierent situations, for different difficulties ; yet the purpose 
 is accomplished not less successfully in one case than in the 
 otner; and, as between wings and the corresponding limbs 
 of quadrupeds, it is accomplished without deserting the 
 general idea. The idea is modified, not deserted. Strip 
 a wing of its feathers, and it bears no obscure resemblance 
 to the fore leg of a quadruped. The articulations at the 
 shoulder and the cubitus are much alike; and, what is a 
 closer circumstance, in both cases the upper part of the 
 limb consists of a single bone, the lower part of two. 
 
 But, fitted up with its furniture of feathers and quills, it 
 becomes a wonderful instrument, more artificial than its 
 first appearance indicsites, though that be very striking: at 
 least, the use which the bird makes of its wings in flying 
 is more complicated, and more curious, than is generally 
 known. One thing is certain, that if the flapping of the 
 wings in flight were no more than the reciprocal motion of 
 the same surface in opposite directions, either upwards and 
 downwards, or estimated in any oblique line, the bird 
 would lose as much by one motion as she gained by another. 
 The skylark could never ascend by such an action as this ; 
 for, though the stroke upon the air by the underside of her 
 wing would carry her up, the stroke from the upper side, 
 when she raised her wing again, would bring her down. 
 In order, therefore, to account for the advantage which the 
 bird derives from her wing, it is necessary to suppose that 
 the surface of the wing, measured upon the same plane, is 
 contracted whilst the wing is drawn up; and let out to its 
 full expansion, when it descends upon the air for the pur- 
 pose of moving the body by the reaction of that element. 
 Now, the form and structure of the wing, its external con- 
 vexity, the disposition, and particularly the overlapping, 
 
 M 
 
134 
 
 COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 
 
 of its larger feathers, the action of the muscles, ^ and oints 
 of the pinions, are all adapted to this alternate adjustment 
 of its shape and dimensions. Such a twist, for instance, 
 or semirotatory motion, is given tg the great feathers of the 
 wing, that they strike the air with their flat side, but rise 
 from the stroke slantwise. The turning of the oar in row- 
 ing whilst the rower advances his hand for a new stroke, 
 is a similar operation to that of the feather, and takes its 
 name from the resemblance. I believe that this faculty is 
 not found in the great feathers of the tail. This is the 
 place also for observing, that the pinions are so set up- 
 on the body, as to bring down the wings, not vertically, 
 but in a direction obliquely tending towards the tail; which 
 motion, by virtue of the common resolution of forces, does 
 two things at the same time ; supports the body in the air, 
 and carries it forward. 
 
 The steerage of a bird in its flight is effected partly 
 by the wing^^ *yut in a principal degree by the tail. And 
 herein we meet with a circumstance not a little remarka- 
 ble. Birds with long legs have short tails, and in their 
 flight place their legs close to their bodies, at the same 
 time stretching them out backwards as far as they can. 
 [n this position the legs extend beyond the rump, and be- 
 come the rudder; supplying that steerage which the tail 
 could not. 
 
 From the win^s of birds, the transition is easy to the 
 jins of fish. They are both, to their respective tribes, the 
 instruments of their motion; but in the work which they 
 have to do, there is a considerable difference, founded on 
 this circumstance. Fish, unlike birds, have very nearly 
 the same specific gravity with the element in which they 
 move.' In the case of fish, therefore, there is little or no 
 weight to bear up; what is wanted, is only an impulse suffi- 
 cient to carry the body through a resisting medium, or to 
 maintain the posture, or to support or restore the balance 
 of the body, which is always the most unsteady where 
 (here is no weight to sink it. For these offices the fins are 
 as large as necessary, though much smaller than wings, 
 
 * There are three powerful muscles (the fleshy part of the breast) 
 called pectoral muscles, which, with other smaller on the bones of the 
 wing which are analogous to the arm, press with vigor on the air, the 
 elasticity of which gives support. “ And it is remarkable that the gene- 
 ral resemblance which the best form of windmill sails bears to the fea- 
 thers of the vviogs of birds is striking, and one of those beautiful instance# 
 of truly mathematical principles om which the works of creation are con 
 structed. * ’ — Paxton, 
 
COMPARATIVE ANx POMY. 
 
 135 
 
 their action mechanical, their position, and the muscles by 
 which they are moved, in the highest degree convenient 
 The following short account of some experiments upon fish, 
 made for the purpose of ascertaining the use^of their fins, will 
 be the best confirmation of what we assert. In most fish, 
 beside the great fin, the tail, we find two pair of fins upon 
 the sides, two single fins upon the back, and one upon the 
 belly, or rather between the belly and the tail. The bal- 
 ancing use of these organs is proved in this manner. Of 
 the large-headed fish, if you cut off the pectoral fins, i. e. 
 the pair which lies close behind the gills, the head falls 
 prone to the bottom; if the right pectoral fin only be cut 
 off, the fish leans to that side; if the ventral fin on the 
 same side be cut away, then it loses its equilibrium entire- 
 ly; if the dorsal and ventral fins be cut off, the fish reels 
 to the right and left. When the fish dies, that is, when 
 the fins cease to play, 'the belly turns upwards. The use 
 of the same parts for motion is seen in the following obser- 
 vation upon them when put in action. The pectoral, and 
 particularly the ventral fins, serve to raise and depress 
 the fish: when the fish desires to have a 7'eiro grade motion, 
 a stroke forward with the pectoral fin effectually produces 
 it; if the fish desire to tmm either way, a single blow with 
 the tail the opposite way, sends it round at once: if the 
 tail strike both ways, the motion produced by the double 
 lash is progressive, and enables the fish to dart forwards 
 with an astonishing velocity.* The result is not only in 
 some cases the most rapid, but in all cases the most ger- 
 tle, pliant, easy animal motion with which we are acquain. 
 ed. However, when the tail is cut off, the fish loses a 
 motion, and gives itself up to where the water impels it 
 The rest of the fins, therefore, so far as respects motion 
 seem to be merely subsidiary to this. In their mechanical 
 use, the anal fin may be reckoned the keel; the ventral 
 fins, out-riggers; the pectoral muscles, the oars: and if 
 there be any similitude between these parts of a boat and 
 a fish, observe, that it is not the resemblance of imitation, 
 bat the likeness which arises from applying similar me- 
 chanical means to the same purpose. 
 
 We have seen that the tail in the fish is the great in- 
 strument of motion. Now, in cetaceous or warm-blooded 
 
 ’^Goldsmith’s History of Animated Nature, vol. iv. p. 154. The 
 velocity with which fish swim from one part of the globe to another is 
 astonishing; when a ship is sailing at the rate of fourteen miles an hour, 
 the porpoises will pass it with as much ease as when at anchor. 
 
 Paxton. 
 
136 
 
 COMPAR.VTIVE ANATOMY 
 
 fish, which are obliged to rise every two or three minutes 
 to the surface to take breath, the tail, unlike what it is in 
 other fish, is horizontal; its stroke consequently perpen 
 dicular to the horizon, which is the right direction foi 
 sending the fish to the top, or carrying it down to the bot« 
 tom. 
 
 Regarding animals in their instruments of motion we 
 have only followed the comparison through the first great 
 division of animals into beasts, birds, and fish. If it were 
 our intention to pursue the consideration farther, I should 
 take in that generic distinction amongst birds, the weh^ 
 foot of water-fowl. It is an instance which may be point- 
 ed out to a child. The utility of the web to water-fowl, 
 the inutility to land-fowl, are so obvious, that it seems im- 
 possible to notice the difference without acknowledging 
 the design. I am at a loss to know, how those who deny 
 the agency of an intelligent Creator, dispose of this exam- 
 ple. There is nothing in the action of swimming, as car- 
 ried on by a bird upon the surface of the water, that should 
 generate a membrane between the toes. As to that mem- 
 brane, it is an exercise of constant resistance. The only 
 supposition I can think of is, jhat all birds have been orig- 
 inally water-fowl, and web-footed; that sparrows, hawks, 
 linnets, &c. which frequent the land, have, in process 
 of time, and in the course of many generations, had this 
 part worn away by treading upon hard ground. To such 
 evasive assumptions must atheism always have recourse! 
 and, after all, it confesses that the structure of the feet 
 of birds, in their original form, was critically adapted to 
 their original destination! The web-feet of amphibious 
 quadrupeds, seals, otters. Sic. fall under the same obser- 
 vation. 
 
 IX. The Jive senses are common to most large ani- 
 mals: nor have we much difference to remark in their con- 
 stitution; or much, however, which is referable to mech- 
 anism. 
 
 The superior sagacity of animals which hunt their prey, 
 and which, consequently, depend for their livelihood upon 
 their nose, is well known in its use; but not at all known 
 in the organization which produces it. 
 
 The external ears of beasts of prey, of lions, tigers, 
 wolves, have their trumpet part, or concavity, standing for- 
 wards, to seize the sounds which are before them, viz. the 
 sounds of the animals which they pursue or watch. The 
 ears of animals of flight are turned backward, to give no- 
 tice of the approach of their enemy from behind, whence 
 
PECULIAR ORGANIZATIONS 
 
 137 
 
 he miy steal upon them unseen. This is a critical distinc- 
 tion; and is mechanical: but it may be suggested, and 1 
 think not without probability, that it is the efiect of con 
 tinned habit. 
 
 The eyes of animals which follow their prey by nighty 
 as cats, owls, &c. possess a faculty not given to those or 
 other species, namely, of closing the pupil entwely. The 
 final cause of which seems to be this: — It was necessary 
 for such animals to be able to descry objects with very 
 small degrees of light. This capacity depended upon the 
 superior sensibility of the retina; that is, upon its being 
 affected by the most feeble impulses. But that tenderness 
 of structure, which rendered the membrane thus exquisite- 
 ly sensible, rendered it also liable to be offended by the 
 access of stronger degrees of light. The contractile range, 
 therefore, of the pupil is increased in these animals, so as 
 to enable them to close the aperture entirely: which in- 
 cludes the power of diminishing it in every degree ; where- 
 by at all times such portions, and only such portions of 
 light are admitted, as may be received without injury to 
 .he sense. 
 
 There appears to be also in the figure, and in some prop- 
 erties of the pupil of the eye, an appropriate relation to 
 the wants of different animals. In horses, oxen, goats, 
 sheep, the pupil of the eye is elliptical; the transverse 
 axis being horizontal; by which structure, although the 
 eye be placed on the side of the head, the anterior elon- 
 gation of the pupil catches the forward rays, or those 
 which come from objects immediately in front of the ani- 
 mal's face 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 PECULIAR ORGANIZATIONS. 
 
 I BELIEVE that all the instances which I shall collect 
 under this title, might, consistently enough with technical 
 language, have been placed under the head of Comparative 
 Jinatomy. But there appears to me an impropriety in the 
 use which that term hath obtained: it being, in some sort, 
 absurd to call that a case of Comparative Anatomy, in 
 which there is mthing to ‘‘compare;" in which a confer 
 mat’or is found in one animal, which hath nothing proper- 
 
 M 
 
138 
 
 PECULIAR ORGANIZATIONS. 
 
 ly answerirg to it in another.* Of this kind are the exam- 
 ples which 1 have to propose in the present chapter: and 
 tlie reader will see that, though some of them be the strong- 
 est, perhaps, he will meet with under any division of our 
 subject, they must necessarily be of an unconnected and 
 miscellaneous nature. To dispose them, however, into 
 some sort of order, we will notice first, particularities of 
 structure which belong to quadrupeds, birds, and fish, as 
 such, or to many of the kinds included in these classes of 
 animals; and then, such particularities as are confined to 
 one or two species. 
 
 I. Along each side of the neck of large quadrupeds, 
 rans a stiff, robust ligament, which butchers call the 
 pax wax. No person can carve the upper end of a crop of 
 beef without driving his knife against it. It is a tough, 
 strong, tendinous substance, braced from the head to the 
 middle of the back; its office is to assist in supporting the 
 weight of the head. It is a mechanical provision, of which 
 this is the undisputed use; and it is sufficient, and not 
 more than sufficient, for the purpose which it has to exe- 
 cute. The head of an ox or a horse is a heavy weight, 
 acting at the end of along lever, (consequently with a great 
 purchase,) and in a direction nearly perpendicular to the 
 joints of the supporting neck. From such a force, so ad- 
 vantageously applied, the bones of the neck would be 
 in constant danger of dislocation, if they were not fortified 
 by this strong tape. No such organ is found in the hu- 
 man subject, because, from the erect position of the head, 
 (the pressure of it acting nearly in the direction of the 
 spine,) the junction of the vertebrae appears to be sufficient- 
 ly secure without it. This cautionary expedient, therefore, 
 is limited to quadrupeds: the care of the Creator is seen 
 where it is wanted. 
 
 *The objection here made to the use of the term, Comparative Anato- 
 my, does not seem well founded. As commonly employed, it is intended 
 to designate the anatomy of animals compared with that of men and of 
 one another. It is only by comparison that the use of parts can be dis- 
 oov^cred. Generally, conformations found in one animal have something 
 corresponding to them in other animals; but even where this is not the 
 case, a comparison is not the less necessary to discover the use of the 
 conformation. Thus, particularly, in the first instance mentioned by the 
 author, he points out the function of the pax wax by the very process 
 which he affirms cannot have place. It is by comparing the neck of large 
 quadrupeds in which this provision is found, with that of man in which it 
 is not found, and by comparing the position maintained by man with that 
 maintaincil hy quadrupeds, that he illustrates the object for which this 
 nrovisic i is made. — Kd. 
 
PECULIAR ORGANIZATIONS. 
 
 139 
 
 II. The oil with whicli birds prune their feathers, and 
 the organ which supplies it, is a specific provision for the 
 winged creation. On each side of the rump of birds is ob- 
 served a small nipple, yielding upon pressure a butter-like 
 substance, which the bird extracts by pinching the pap with 
 its bill. With this oil, or ointment, thus procured, the bird 
 dresses its coat; and repeats the action as often as its own 
 sensations teach it that it is in any part wanted, or as the ex- 
 cretion may be sufficient for the expense. The gland, the 
 pap, the nature and quality of the excreted substance, the 
 manner of obtaining it from its lodgment in the body, the 
 application of it when obtained, form, collectively, an evi- 
 dence of intention which it is not easy to withstand. Noth- 
 ing similar to it is found in unfeathered animals. What 
 blind conrtto of nature should produce it in birds should 
 not produce it in beasts.^ 
 
 III. The air-bladder also of a fish, [PI. XXTII. fig. 3,] af- 
 fords a plain and direct instance, not only of contrivance, 
 but strictly of that species of contrivance which we denom- 
 inate mechanical. It is a philosophical apparatus in the body 
 of an animal. The principle of the contrivance is clear ; the 
 application of the principle is also clear. The use of the or- 
 gan to sustain, and, at will, also to elevate the body of the 
 fish in the water, is proved by observing, what has been tried, 
 that, when the bladder is burst, the fish grovels at the bot- 
 tom; and also, that flounders, soles, skates, which are with- 
 out the air-bladder, seldom rise in the water, and that, with 
 effort. The manner in which the purpose is attained, and 
 the suitableness of the means to the end, are not difticult 
 to be apprehended. The rising and sinking of a fish in 
 water, so far as it is independent of the stroke of the fins 
 and tail, can only be regulated by the specific gravity of 
 the body. When the bladder contained in the body of 
 the fish, is contracted, which the fish probably possesses a 
 muscular power of doing, the bulk of the fish is contracted 
 along with it;«whereby, since the absolute weight remains 
 the same, the specific gravity, which is the sinking force, 
 is increased, and the fish descends; on the contrary, when, 
 in consequence of the relaxation of the muscles, the elas- 
 ticity of the enclosed and now compressed air restores the 
 dimensions of the bladder, the tendency downwards be- 
 comes proportionably less than it was before, or is turned 
 into a contrary tendency. These are known properties of 
 bodies immersed in a fluid. The enamelled figures, or 
 little glass bubbles, in a jar of water, are made to rise and 
 fall by thf same artifice. A diving machine might be 
 
140 
 
 PECULIAR ORGANIZATIONS. 
 
 made to ascend and descend, upon the like princ pie ; name- 
 ly, by introducing into the inside of it an air-vessel, which 
 hy its contraction would diminish, and by its distension en- 
 large, the bulk of the machine itself, and thus render it 
 specifically heavier, or specifically lighter, than the water 
 which surrounds it. Suppose this to be done, and the ar- 
 tist to solicit a patent for his invention: the inspectors of 
 the model, whatever they might think of the use or value 
 of the contrivance, could, by no possibility, entertain a 
 question in their minds, whether it were a contrivance or 
 not. No reason has ever been assigned — no reason can be 
 assigned, why the conclusion is not as certain in the fish 
 as it is in the machine; why the argument is not as firm in 
 one case as the other. 
 
 It would be very worthy of inquiry, if it were possible to 
 discover, by what method an animal, which lives constantly 
 in water, is able to supply a repository of air. The ex 
 pedient, whatever it be, forms part, and perhaps the most 
 curious part, of the provision * Nothing similar to the air- 
 bladder, is found in land-animals; and a life in the water 
 has no natural tendency to produce a bag of air. Nothing 
 can be farther from an acquired organization than this is. 
 
 These examples mark the attention of the Creator to 
 the three great kingdoms of his animal creation, and to their 
 constitution as such. — The example which stands next in 
 point of generality, belonging to a large tribe of animals, or 
 rather to various species of that tribe, is the poisonous tooth 
 of serpents. 
 
 I. The fang cf a viper is a clear and curious example 
 of mechanical contrivance. [PI. XXIII. fig. 4, 5.] It is a 
 perforated tooth, loose at the root: in its quiet state, lying 
 down flat upon the jaw, but furnished with a muscle, which 
 with a jerk, and by the pluck as it were of a string, sud- 
 denly erects it. Under the tooth, close to its root, and 
 communicating with the perforation, lies a small bag con- 
 taining the venom. When the fang is raised, the closing of 
 the jaw presses its root against the bag underneath, and the 
 
 * Much obscurity still exists concerning the exact purpose which the 
 air-bag is intended to perform. 13ut with regard to the manner in which 
 it is supplied with air, there seems no reason to doubt that it is effected 
 by a secretion from the blood. It is an established fact in physiology, 
 that many of the internal surfaces of the body have the power of producing 
 gases in this way. In the air-bag of many fishes a very vascular organ is 
 found which has been called the air-gland; and in some species vessels 
 have been discovered conveying the air from this gland into the cavity of 
 the bag. Even where this gland does not exist, it is probable that the in- 
 leriial surface of ths oag may perform the snr-ne office. — Ed. 
 
PECULIAR ORGANIZATIONS. 
 
 141 
 
 force of this compression sends out the fluid with a con 
 siderable impetus through the tube in the middle of the 
 tooth. What more unequivocal, or effectual apparatus 
 could be devised, for the double purpose of at once inflic- 
 ting .he wound and injecting the poison? Yet, though 
 lodged in the mouth, it is so constituted, as, in its inoffen- 
 sive and quiescent state, not to interfere with the animafs 
 ordinary office of receiving its food. It has been observed 
 also, that none of the harmless serpents, the black snake, 
 the blind worm, 8tc. have these fangs, but teeth of an equal 
 size; not movable, as this is, but fixed into the jaw. 
 
 II. In being the property of several different species, 
 the preceding example is resembled by that which I shall 
 next mention, which is the hag of the opossum. [PI. XXI Y. 
 fig. 1 , 2, 3.] This is a mechanical contrivance, most proper- 
 ly so called. The simplicity of the expedient renders the 
 contrivance more obvious than many others, and by no 
 means less certain. A false skin under the belly of the 
 animal forms a pouch, into which the young litter are re- 
 ceived at their birth; where they have an easy and constant 
 access to the teats; in which they are transported by the 
 dam from place to place; where they are at liberty to run 
 in and out; and where they find a refuge from surprise and 
 danger. It is their cradle, their conveyance, and their 
 asylum. Can the use of this structure be doubted of ? Nor 
 is it a mere doubling of the skin; but it is a new organ, 
 furnished with bones and muscles of its own. Two bones 
 are placed before the os pubis, and joined to that bone as 
 their base. These support, and give a fixture to, the mus- 
 cles, which serve to open the bag. To these muscles there 
 are antagonists, which serve in the same manner to shut it; 
 and this office they perform so exactly, that, in the living 
 animal, the opening can scarcely be discerned, except when 
 the sides are forcibly drawn asunder.* Is there any action 
 in this part of the animal, any process arising from that 
 action, by which these members could be formed? Any 
 account to be given of the formation, except design? j 
 
 Goldsmith’s Nat. Hist. vol. iv. p. 244. 
 t There is a very considerable number of animals possessed of the same 
 structure which is here described as existing in the opossum, to which the 
 attention of naturalists has been more particularly called since the first pub 
 lication of this work. The animals of this kind are called marsupial, from 
 the pouch or niarsupiuni which distinguishes them. This provision also 
 has a relation to circumstances in the reproduction of these animals to 
 which Dr. Paley has not referred. He appears merely to regard it as a 
 place of refuge and deposit for the young; somewhat in the same way as 
 tha wings of a hfin are for its brood. The fact is that the young ot theso 
 
42 
 
 PECULIAR 0 -IGANIZATIONS. 
 
 in. As a particularity, yet appertaining to more species 
 than one, and also as strictly mechanical; we may notice 
 a circumstance in the structure of the claws of certain 
 birds. The middle claw of the heron and cormorant, is 
 toothed and notched like a saw. [PI. XXV. fig. 1.] 
 These birds are great fishers, and these notches assist 
 them in holding fieir slippery prey. The use is evident; 
 but the structure such as cannot at all be accounted for 
 by the effort of the animal, or the exercise of the part. 
 Some other fishing birds have these notches in their billsp 
 and for the same purpose. The gannet, or Soland goose, 
 nas the edges of its bill irregularly jagged, that it may hold 
 its prey the faster. [PI. XXV. fig. 2.] Nor can the struc- 
 ture in this, more than in the former case, arise from the 
 manner of employing the part. The smooth surfaces, 
 and soft flesh of fish, were less likely to notch the bills of 
 
 animals are born prematurely, and in a very imperfect and unformed state; 
 and the pouch of the parent seems properly intended for a residence during 
 the completion of the process of developement. The kangaroo is an in- 
 stance of this kind. When full grown it is six feet in extreme length, 
 and weighs an hundred and fifty pounds. W^hen born it is only one inch 
 in length, and weighs but twenty grains. The fore legs are scarcely dis- 
 tinguishable, and the hind ones, which in the adult state form half the 
 length of the body, are marked only by slight projections at the parts 
 where they are afterwards to grow. In fact the kangaroo at birth is as 
 imperfectly formed as the young of any other annnal would be when but 
 a quarter part of the proper period of its growth within its parent had 
 elapsed. 
 
 It is remarkable that it has never yet been ascertained whether these 
 little embryos are conveyed by the parent animal, or whether they find 
 their own way, into the pouch. Having scarce the exercise of any of the 
 senses, and being without limbs, it seems almost impossible they should 
 make their way there by their own exertions. However this may be, 
 they are found in the pouch closely attached, and as it were glued to the 
 nipples, by the mouth or rather by that aperture which afterwards be- 
 comes a mouth. Here they remain, never quitting their hold, until a 
 sufficient p3riod has elapsed for their growth to be completed, and they 
 have thus arrived in regard to form and structure upon an equality with 
 other animals at the usual period of birth. W hen this is accomplished, 
 they undergo, as it were, a second birth, and emerge from the pouch: but 
 return occasionally for the purpose of feeding, and for that of protec- 
 tion from danger. 
 
 No marsupial animal was known before the discovery of America, of 
 which the opossum is a native; and this animal was at first almost regar- 
 ded as a sort of exception to the laws of nature; since the discovery of 
 New Holland, however, and the investigation of its natural history, it 
 has been found that the marsupial animals, so far from forming an excep- 
 tion to :he general construction of animals on that continent, constitute 
 the prevailing model. With a very few exceptions, all the native animaia 
 •)f New HoU\a : are of the niarsup iil tribe. — 
 
PECULIAR ORGANIZATIONS. 
 
 143 
 
 birds, than the hard bodies upon *vhich many other species 
 feed. 
 
 We now come to particularities strictly so called, as be- 
 ing limited to a single species of animal. Of these I shah 
 take one from a quadruped and one from a bird. 
 
 I. The sLomach of the camel is well known to retain 
 large quantities of water, and to retain it unchanged for a 
 considerable length of time. [PI. XX VI.] This property 
 qualities it for living in the desert. Let us see, therefore, 
 what is the internal organization, upon which a faculty sc 
 rare, and so beneficial, depends. A number of distinct 
 sacks oT bags (in a dromedary thirty of these have been 
 counted) are observed to lie between the membranes of 
 the second stomach, and to open into the stomach near 
 the top by small square apertures. Through these ori- 
 fices, after the stomach is full, the annexed bags are fillec 
 from it; and the water so deposited is, in the first place, not 
 liable to pass into the intestines; in the second place, is kept 
 separate from the solid aliment ; and, in the third place, is 
 out of the reach of the digestive action of the stomach, or 
 of mixture with the gastric juice. It appears probable, or 
 rather certain, that the animal, by the conformation of its 
 muscles, possesses the power of squeezing back this water 
 from the adjacent bags into the stomach, whenever thirst 
 excites it to put this power in action. 
 
 II. Th^, tongue of the woodpecker^ is one of those singu- 
 larities, which nature presents us with when a singular, 
 purpose is to be answered. [PI. XXVII. fig. 1 and 2.] It is a 
 particular instrument for a particular use: and what else 
 but design, ever produces such? The woodpecker lives 
 chiefly upon insects, lodged in the bodies of decayed or de- 
 caying trees. For the purpose of boring into the wood, it 
 is furnished with a bill, straight, hard, angular, and sharp. 
 When, by means of this piercer, it has reached the cells of 
 the insects, then comes the office of its tongue; which 
 tongue is, first, of such a length that the bird can dart it 
 out three or four inches from the bill, — in this respect dif- 
 fering greatly from every other species of bird; in the sec- 
 ond place, it is tipped with a stiff, sharp, bony thorn; and 
 m the third place, (which appears to me the most remark- 
 able property of all,) this tip is dentated on both sides, like 
 the beard of an arrow or the barb of a hook. The descrip- 
 tion of the part declares its uses. The bird having expos- 
 ed the retreats of the insects by the assistance of its bill, 
 with a motion inconceivably quick, launches out at them 
 this long tongue, transfixes them upon the barbed needle at 
 
144 
 
 PECULIAR ORGANIZATIONS. 
 
 the end of it, and thus draws its prey within its mouth 
 If this be not mechanism, what is? Should it be said, that, 
 by continual endeavours to shoot out the tongue to the 
 stretch, the woodpecker species may by degrees have 
 lengthened the organ itself beyond that of other birds, 
 what account can be given of its form, of its*tip? How, in 
 particular, did it get its barb, its dentation? These barbs, 
 in my opinion, wherever they occur, are decisive proofs r. 
 mechanical contrivance. 
 
 III. I shall add one more example, for the sake of its 
 novelty. It is always an agreeable discovery, when, having 
 remarked in an animal an extraordinary structure, we come 
 at length to find out an unexpected use for it. The follow- 
 ing narrative, which Goldsmith has taken fromBuflbn, fur- 
 nishes an instance of this kind. The babyrouessa, or In- 
 dian hog, a species of wild boar, found in the East Indies, 
 has two bent teeth, more than half a yard long, growing 
 upwards, and (which is the singularity) from the upper jaw. 
 [PI. XXVII. fig. 4.] These instruments are not wanted 
 lor offence; that service being provided for by two tusks is- 
 suing from the upper jaw, and resembling those of the com- 
 mon boar; nor does the animal use them for defence. 
 They might seem therefore to be both a superfluity and an 
 encumbrance. But observe the event: the animal hitches 
 one of these bent upper teeth upon the branch of a tree, and 
 vhen suffers its whole body to swing from it. This is its 
 manner of taking repose, and of consulting for its safety. 
 It continues the whole night suspended by its tooth, both 
 easy in its posture, and secure; being out of the reach of 
 animals which hunt it for prey.* I 
 
 * Goldsmith’s Natural History, vol. iii. p. 195. 
 
 t There does not seem to be any sufficient authority for ascribing thja 
 use to the tusks of this animal. Indeed one does not readily see how it 
 could in the way described swing itself clear of its enemies, except by first 
 climbing the tree; which is not pretended. The fact is doubted, it is be- 
 lieved, by many naturalists, and the opinion probably was in the first placo 
 founded upon mere conjecture. A modern and distinguished traveller has 
 these remarks upon the subject. “ Philosophers had long puzzled them- 
 selves in conjectures what the design of nature could be, as she does no- 
 thing without design, in giving to this animal a pair of large, curved tusks, 
 pointing inwards to the face in such a manner as made it sufficiently clear 
 they could not be used either for attack or defence, for procuring food, or 
 for assisting the mastication of it when procured. At length it occurred, 
 or was discovered, by whom I do not recollect, that the animal is fond ol 
 sleeping in a standing' posture, and, that liaving a large, ponderous head, 
 it finds a conveniency in hanging it upon the branch of a tree or shrub 
 within the reach of its tusks, which serve on such occasions for hooks. 
 This is at least an ingenious discovery, and may be lru»^ but if so the 
 
PROSPECTIVE CONTRIVANCES. 
 
 145 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 PROSPECTIVE CONTRIVANCES. 
 
 I CAN hardly imagine to myself a more distinguishing 
 mark, and consequently a more certain proof of design, than 
 •preparation^ i. e. the providing of things beforehand which 
 are not to be used until a considerable time afterwards: for 
 this implies a contemplation of the future, which belongs 
 only to intelligence. 
 
 Of these prospective contrivances, the bodies of animals 
 furnish various examples. 
 
 I. The human teeth afford an instance, not only of pros- 
 pective contrivance, but of the completion of the contrivance 
 being designedly suspended. [PI. XXVIII. fig. 1 and 2.] 
 They are formed within the gums, and there they stop; the 
 fact being, that their farther advance to maturity would not 
 only be useless to the new-born animal, but extremely in its 
 way ; as it is evident that the act sucking, by which it is for 
 sometime to be nourished, will be performed with more ease 
 both to the nurse and to the infant, whilst the inside of the 
 mouth, and edges of the gums, are smooth and soft, than if 
 set with hard pointed bones. By the time they are wanted, 
 the teeth are ready. They have been lodged within the 
 gums for some months past, but detained as it were in 
 their sockets, so long as their farther protrusion would in- 
 terfere with the office to which the mouth is destined. Na- 
 ture, namely, that intelligence which was employed in cre- 
 ation, looked beyond the first year of the infant’s life ; yet, 
 whilst she was providing for functions which were after 
 that term to become necessary, was careful not to incom- 
 mode those which preceded them. What renders it more 
 probable that this is the effect of design, is, that the teeth 
 are imperfect, whilst all other parts of the mouth are 
 perfect. The lips are perfect, the tongue is perfect; the 
 
 habits of the animal must vary according to local circumstances. The 
 same species, or one so like it that the difference is not distinguisnablo 
 by any description or drawing that I have seen, is common among the 
 rocks on the deserts of Southern Africa, where, within the distance cf a 
 hundred miles, there is neither tree nor shi*ub, except a few stunted heaths 
 or shrivelled everlastings, thinly scattered over the barren surface. In 
 such situations, where I have hunted and taken them, it would certain- 
 ly be no easy matter for the babyrouessa to find a peg to ?4ang its head 
 npon.” — Bar?'ow^s Voyage to Cochin-China , — Ed 
 
146 
 
 PROSPECTIVE CONTRIVANCES, 
 
 jaws, the palate, the pharynx, the larynx, are all perfect 
 the teeth alone are not so. This is the fact with respect 
 to the human mouth: the fact also is, that the parts above 
 enumerated are called into use from the beginn ng ; whereas 
 the teeth would be only so many obstacles and annoyances, 
 if they were there. When a contrary order is necessary, 
 a contrary order prevails. In the worm of the beetle, as 
 hatched from the egg, the teeth are the first things which 
 arrive at perfection. The insect begins to gnaw as soon 
 as it escapes from the shell, though its other parts be only 
 gradually advancing to their maturity. 
 
 What has been'observed of the teeth, is true of the horns 
 of animals, and for the same reason. The horn of a calf 
 or a lamb does not bud, or at least does not sprout to any 
 considerable length, until the animal be capable of brows- 
 ing upon its pasture; because such a substance upon the 
 forehead of the young animal, would very much incommode 
 the teat of the dam in the office of giving suck. 
 
 But in the case of the teeth, of the human teeth at least, 
 the prospective contrivance looks still farther. A succession 
 of crops is provided, and provided from the beginning; a 
 second tier being originally formed beneath the first, which 
 do not come into use till several years afterwards. And 
 this double or suppletory provision meets a difficulty in 
 the mechanism of the mouth, which would have appeared 
 almost insurmountable. The expansion of the jaw (the 
 consequence of the proportionable growth of the animal, 
 and of its skull,) necessarily separates the teeth of the first 
 set, however compactly disposed, to a distance from one 
 another, which would be very inconvenient. In due, time, 
 therefore, i, e. when the jaw has attained a great part of 
 its dimensions, a new set of teeth springs up (loosening 
 and pushing out the old ones before them,) more exactly 
 fitted to the space which they are to occupy, and rising also 
 in such close ranks, as to allow for any extension of 
 line which the subsequent enlargement of the head may 
 occasion. 
 
 II It is not very easy to conceive a more evidently 
 prospective contrivance than that which, in all viviparous 
 animals, is found in the milk of the female parent. At the 
 moment the young animal enters the world, there is its 
 maintenance ready for it. The particulars to be remarked 
 in this economy are neither few nor slight. We have, first, 
 the nutritious quality of the fluid, unlike, in this respect 
 every other excretion of the body; and in which nature 
 riitherto remains unimitated, neither cookery nor chemistry 
 
PROSPECTIVE CONTRIVANCES. 
 
 147 
 
 having been able to make milk out of grass, we have, 
 secondly, the organ for its reception and retention ; we have, 
 thirdly, the excretory duct, annexed to it; and we have, 
 lastly, the determination of the milk to the breast, at the 
 particular juncture when it is about to be wanted. We 
 have all these properties in the subject before us; and 
 they are all indications of design. The last circumstance 
 is the strongest of any. If I had been to guess beforehand, 
 I should have conjectured, that at the time when there 
 was an extraordinary demand for nourishment in one part 
 of the system, there would be the least likelihood of a re- 
 dundancy to supply another part. The advanced preg- 
 nancy of the female has no intelligible tendency to fill the 
 breast with milk. The lacteal system is a constant won- 
 der; and it adds to other causes of our admiration, that 
 the number of the teats and paps in each species is found 
 to bear a proportion to the number of the young. In the 
 sow, the bitch, the rabbit, the cat, the ^at, which have 
 numerous litters, the paps are numerous, a id are disposed 
 along the whole length of the belly: in the cow and mare 
 they are few. The most simple account of this, is to re- 
 fer it to a designing Creator. 
 
 But, in the argument before us, we are entitled to con- 
 sider not only animal bodies when framed, but the circum- 
 stances under which they are framed: and in this view 
 of the subject, the constitution of many of their parts is 
 most strictly prospective. 
 
 III. The eye is of no use at the time when it is formed. 
 It is an optical instrument made in a dungeon; construct- 
 ed for the refraction of light to a focus, and perfect for its 
 purpose, before a ray of light has had access to it; geo 
 metrically adapted to the properties and action of an ele- 
 ment with which it has no communication. It is about 
 indeed to enter into that communication; and this is pre- 
 cisely the thing which evidences intention. It is pr'ovid- 
 ing for the future in the closest sense which can be given 
 to these terms; for it is providing for a future change, not 
 for the then subsisting condition of the animal, not for 
 any gradual progress or advance in that same condition, 
 but for a new state, the consequence of a great and sudden 
 alteration, which the animal is to undergo at its birth. Is 
 it to be believed that the eye was formed, or, which is the 
 same thing, that the series of causes was fixed by which 
 the eye is formed, without a view to this change; without 
 a prospect of that condition, in which its fabric, of no use 
 at present, is about to be of the greatest; without a con- 
 
148 
 
 PROSPECTIVE CONTRIVANCES. 
 
 sideration of the qualities of that element, hitherto ent.re- 
 \y excluded, but with which it was hereafter to hold so in- 
 timate a relation? A young man makes a pair of specta- 
 cles for himself against he grows old; for which spectacles 
 he has no want or use whatever at the time he makes them. 
 Could this be done without knowing and considering 
 the defect of vision to which advanced age is subject? 
 Would not the precise suitableness of the instrument to its 
 purpose, of the remedy to the defect, of the convex lens 
 to the flattened eye, establish the certainty of the conclu- 
 sion, that the case, afterwards to arise, had been consider- 
 ed beforehand, speculated upon, provided for? all which 
 are exclusively the acts of a reasoning mind. The eye 
 formed in one state, for use only in another state, and in a 
 different state, affords a proof no less clear of destination to 
 a future purpose, and a proof proportionably stionger, as 
 the machinery is more complicated, and the adaptation more 
 exact. 
 
 IV. What has been said of the eye, holds equally true 
 of the lungs. Composed of air-vessels, where there is no 
 air; elaborately constructed for the alternate admission and 
 expulsion of an elastic fluid, where no such fluid exists; 
 this great organ, with the whole apparatus belonging to it, 
 lies collapsed in the foetal thorax, yet in order, and in read- 
 iness for action, the first moment that the occasion requires 
 its service. This is having a machine locked up in store 
 for a future use; which incontestably proves, that the case 
 was expected to occur, in which this use might be experi- 
 enced: but expectation is the proper act of intelligence. 
 Considering the state in which an animal exists before its 
 birth, I should look for nothing less in its body than a sys- 
 tem of lungs. It is like finding a pair of bellows in the 
 bottom of the sea; of no sort of use in the situation in 
 which they are found; formed for an action which was im- 
 possible to be exerted; holding no relation or fitness tothe 
 element which surrounds them, but both to another e e- 
 meiit in another place. 
 
 As part and parcel of the same plan, ought to be men- 
 tioned, in speaking of the lungs, the provisionary contri- 
 vances of the foramen ovale and dncfiis arteriosus. [PI. 
 XXIX.] In the foetus, pipes are laid for the passage of the 
 blood through the lungs; but, until the lungs be inflated 
 by tlie ins[)f ration of air, that passage is imj)ervious, or in a 
 great degree obstructed. A\ liat then is to be done? What 
 would an artist, what would a master do upon the occasion? 
 He would endeavour, most probably, to provide a iemporanf 
 
RELATIONS. 
 
 149 
 
 passage, which might carry on the communication requir- 
 ed, until the other was open. Now this is the thing which 
 is actually done in the heart: instead of the circuitous route 
 through the lungs, which the blood afterwards takes before 
 it gets from one auricle of the heprt to the other, a portion 
 of the blood passes immediately from the right auricle to 
 the left, through a hole placed in the partition which sepa- 
 rates these cavities. This hole anatomists call the fora- 
 men ovale. There is likewise another cro^s cut, answering 
 the same purpose, by what is called the ductus arteriosus, 
 lying between the pulmonary artery and the aorta. But 
 both expedients are so strictly temporary, that after birth 
 the one passage is closed, and the tube which forms the 
 other shrivelled up into a ligament. If this be not contri- 
 vance, what is.^ 
 
 But, forasmuch as the action of the air upon the blood 
 in the lungs appears to be necessary to the perfect concoc- 
 th)n of that fluid, i, e. to the life and health of the animal, 
 (otherwise the shortest rout might still be the best,) how 
 comes it to pass that the fxtus lives, and grows, and thrives, 
 without it.^ The answer is, that the blood of the foetus 
 is the mother’s; that it has undergone that action in her 
 ,iabit ; that one pair of lungs serves for both. When the 
 animals are separated, a new necessity arises; and to meet 
 this necessity as soon as it occurs, an organization is pre- 
 pared. It is ready for its purpose; it only waits for the 
 atmosphere; it begins to play the moment the air is admit- 
 ted to it. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 RELATIONS. 
 
 When several different parts contribute to one effect; 
 or, which is the same thing, when an effect is produced 
 by the joint action of different instruments; the fitness of 
 such parts or instruments to one another, for the purpose of 
 producing, by their united action, the effect, is what I call 
 relation; and wherever this is observed in the works of 
 nature or of man, it appears to me to carry along with it 
 decisive evidence of understanding, intention, art. In 
 examining, for instance, the several parts of r watch, the 
 spring, the barrel, the chain, the fusee, the balance, the 
 wheels of various sizes, forms, and positions, what is il 
 
150 
 
 RELATIONS. 
 
 which would take an observer’s attention, as most plainl]^ 
 evincing a construction, directed by thought, deliberation, 
 and contrivance? It is the suitableness of these parts to 
 one another; first, in the succession and order in which 
 they act; and, secondly, with a view to the efxect finally 
 produced. Thus, referring the spring to the Avheels, he 
 sees in it that which originates and upholds ihew mo- 
 tion; in the chain, that which transmits the motion to the 
 fusee; in the fusee, that which communicates it lo the 
 wheels: in the conical figure of the fusee, if he refei back 
 again to the spring, he sees that which corrects the ine- 
 quality of its force. Referring the wheels to one another, 
 he notices, first, their teeth, which would have been without 
 use or meaning, if there had been only one wheel, or if the 
 wheels had had no connexion between themselves, or com- 
 mon bearing upon- some joint effect; secondly, the corres- 
 pondency of their position, so that the teeth of one wheel 
 catch into the teeth of another ; thirdly, the proportion ob- 
 served in the number of teeth of each wheel, which de- 
 termines the rate of going. Referring the balance to the 
 rest of the works, he saw, when he came to understand its 
 action, that which rendered their motions equable. Lastly, 
 in looking upon the index and face of the watch, he saw 
 the use and conclusion of the mechanism, viz. marking the 
 succession of minutes and hours; but all depending upon 
 the motions within, all upon the system of intermediate 
 actions between the spring and the pointer. What thus 
 struck his attention in the several parts of the watch, he 
 might probably designate by one general name of “rela- 
 tion; ” and observing with respect to all cases whatever, 
 in which the origin and formation of a thing could be as- 
 certained by evidence, that these relations were found in 
 things produced by art and design, and in no other thfngs, 
 he w^ould rightly deem of them as characteristic of such 
 productions. — To apply the reasoning here described to the 
 w’orks of nature. 
 
 The animal economy is full; is made up of these rela 
 lions : — 
 
 I. There are, first, what in one form or other belong to all 
 animals, the parts and powers which successively act upon 
 their food. Compare this action with the process of a 
 manufactory. Jn men and quadrupeds, the aliment is 
 first broken and bruised by mechanical instruments of 
 mastication, viz. sharp spikes or hard knobs, pressing 
 against or rubbing upon one another: thus ground and 
 commin'jte 1, it is carried by a pipe into the stomach, where 
 
RELATIONS. 
 
 151 
 
 it waits to undergo a great chemical action, which wc call 
 digestion: when digested, it is delivered through an orifice, 
 which opens and shuts as there is occasion, into the first 
 intestine; there, after being mixed with certain proper in- 
 gredients, poured through a hole in the side of the vessel, 
 it is farther dissolved; in this state, the milk, chyle, or 
 part which is wanted, and which is suited for animal nour- 
 ishment, is strained off by the mouths of very small tubr's, 
 opening into the cavity of the intestines: thus freed from 
 its grosser parts, the percolated fluid is carried by a long, 
 winding, but traceable course, into the main stream of the 
 old circulation; which conveys it, in its progress, tr> every 
 part of the body. Now, I say again, compare this with the 
 process of a manufactory ; with the making of cider, for ex- 
 ample; with the bruising of the apples in the mill, the squeez- 
 ing of them when so bruised in the press, the fermentation 
 m the vat, the bestowing of the liquor thus fermented in the 
 hogsheads, the drawing off into bottles, the pouring out for 
 use into the glass. Let any one show me any difference 
 between these two cases, as to the point of contrivance. 
 That which is at present under our consideration, the “ re- 
 lation” of the parts successively employed, is not more 
 clear in the last case, than in the first. The aptness of the 
 jaws and teeth to prepare the food for the stomach, is, at 
 least, as manifest, as that of the cider-mill to crush the 
 apples for the press. The concoction of the food in the 
 stomach is as necessary for its future use, as the fermenta- 
 tion of the stum in the vat is to the perfection of the liquor. 
 The disposal of the aliment afterwards; the action and 
 change which it undergoes, the route which it is made to 
 take, in order that, and until that, it arrive at its destina- 
 tion, is more complex indeed and intricate, but, in the 
 midst of complication and intricacy, as evident and certain, 
 as is the apparatus of cocks, pipes, tunnels, for transferring 
 the cider from one vessel to another; of barrels and bottles 
 for preserving it till fit for use, or of cups and glasses foi 
 bringing it, when wanted, to the lip of the consumer. Thf 
 character of the machinery is in both cases this, that om 
 part answers to another part, and every part to the fina 
 result. 
 
 This parallel, between the alimentary operation and some 
 of the processes of art, might be carried farther into detail. 
 Spallanzani has remarked* a circumstantial resemblance 
 Dctween ^he stomachs of gallinaceous fowls and the struc- 
 
 * Diss. I. Sect liv. 
 
152 
 
 RELATIONS. 
 
 t^ire of corn-mills. Whilst the two sides of the gizzard per 
 form the office of the mill-stones, the craw or crop supplies 
 the place of the hopper. AVhen our fowls are abundantly 
 supplied with meat they soon fill their craw: but it does 
 not immediately pass thence into the gizzard; it always 
 enters in very small quantities, in proportion to the progress 
 of trituration; — in like manner as, in a mill, a receiver is 
 fixed above the two large stones which serve for grinding 
 the corn; which receiver, although the corn be put into it 
 by bushels, allows the grain to dribble only in small quan- 
 tities, into the central hole in the upper mill-stone. 
 
 But we have not done with the alimentary history. There 
 subsists a general relation between the external organs of 
 an animal by which it procures its food, and the internal 
 powers by which it digests it.=^ Birds of prey, by their 
 talons and beaks, are qualified to seize and devour many 
 species, both of other birds and of quadrupeds. The con- 
 stitution of the stomach agrees exactly with the form of the 
 members. The gastric juice of a bird of prey, of an owl, 
 
 * This subject of the relation of parts, and the correspondence of one 
 part of the animal structure to all the others which is here briefly spoken 
 of by our author, has since been made, in the hands of some distinguished 
 anatomists, of immense importance in a scientific point of view. The 
 following extract from Afr. BelVs Treatise on Animal Aiechanics^ 
 shows how extensively it is capable of being considered, and what inter- 
 esting results may be drawn from it. — Kd, 
 
 “ VVhat we have to state has been the result of the studies of many 
 naturalists; but although they have labored, as it were, in their own de- 
 partment of comparative anatomy, they have failed to seize upon it with 
 the privilege of genius, and to handle it in the masterly manner of Cuvier. 
 
 Suppose a man ignorant of anatomy to pick up a bone in an unex- 
 plored country, he learns nothing, except that some animal has lived and 
 died there; but the anatomist can, by that single bone, estimate, not mere- 
 ly the size of the animal, as well as if he saw the print of its foot, but 
 the form and joints of the skeleton, the stracture of its jaws, and teeth, 
 the nature of its food, and its internal economy. This, to one ignorant of 
 the subject, must appear wonderful, but it is after this manner that the 
 anatomist proceeds; let us suppose that he has taken up that portion of 
 bone in the limb of the quadruped which corresponds to the human wrist; 
 and that he finds that the form of the bone does not admit of free motion 
 in various directions, like the paw of the carnivorous creature. It is ob- 
 vious, by the structure of the part, that the limb must have been merely 
 for supporting the animal, and for progression, and not for seizing prey. 
 ’I'his leads him to the fact that there were no bones resembling those of 
 the hand and fingers, or those of the claws of the tiger; for the motions 
 whirh that conformation of hones permits in the paw, would be useless, 
 without the rotation of tlie wrist — he concludes that these bones were 
 formed in one mass, like the cannon-bone, pastern-bone, and coffin-bones 
 of the horse’s foot. 
 
 *■ The uiotiou limited to flection and extension of the foot cf a hoofed 
 
RELATIONS. 
 
 153 
 
 a falcon, or a kite, acts upon the animal fibre alone; it wilj 
 not act upon seeds or grasses at all. On the other hand 
 the conformation of the mouth of the sheep or of the ox is 
 suited for browsing upon herbage. Nothing about these 
 animals is fitted for the pursuit of living prey. Accord- 
 ingly it has been found by experiments, tried not many 
 years ago, with perforated balls, that the gastric juice of 
 ruminating animals, such as the sheep and the ox, speedily 
 dissolves vegetables, but makes no impression upon animal 
 bodies. This accordancy is still more particular. The 
 gastric juice, even of granivorous birds, will not act upon 
 he grain whilst whole and entire. In performing the ex- 
 animal implies the absence of a collar-bone and a restrained motion in 
 the shoulder-joint; and thus the naturalist, from the specimen in his hand, 
 has got a perfect notion of all the bones of the anterior extremity! 
 The motions of the extremities imply a condition of the spine which 
 unites them. Each bone of the spine will have that form which per- 
 mits the bounding of the stag, or the galloping of the horse, but it will 
 not have that form of joining which admits the turning or writhing of 
 the spine, as in the leopard or the tiger. 
 
 “ And now he comes to the head: — the teeth of a carnivorous animal, 
 he says, would be useless to rend prey, unless there were claws to hold 
 it, and a mobility of the extremities like the hand, to grasp it. lie con- 
 siders, therefore, that the teeth must have been for bruising herbs, md 
 the back teeth for grinding. The socketing of these teeth in the jaw gives 
 a peculiar form to these bones, and the muscles which move them are 
 also peculiar; in short, he forms a conception of the shape of the skull. 
 From this point he may set out anew, for by the form of the teeth, he 
 ascertains the nature of the stomach, the length of the intestines, and all 
 the peculiarities which mark a vegetable feeder. 
 
 “ Thus the whole parts of the animal system are so connected with 
 one another, that from one single bone or fragment of bone, be it of the 
 jaw, or of the spine, or of the extremity, a really accurate conception of 
 the shape, motions, and habits of the animal, may be formed. 
 
 “ It will readily be understood that the same process of reasoning will 
 ascertain, from a small portion of a skeleton, the existence of a carnivo- 
 rous animal, or of a fowl, or of a bat, or of a lizard, or of a fish ; and 
 what a conviction is here brought home to us, of the extent of that plan 
 which adapts the members of every creature to its proper office, and yet 
 exliibits a system extending through the whole range of animated beings, 
 W’hose motions are conducted by the operation of muscles and bones! 
 
 “ After all, this is but a part of the wonders disclosed through the 
 knowledge of a thing so despised as a fragment of bone. It carries ua 
 into another science ; since the knowledge of the skeleton not only 
 teaches us the classification of creatures, now alive, but affords proofs of 
 thr former existence of animated beings which are not now to be found on 
 the surface of the earth. We are thus led to an unexpected conclusion 
 from such premises; not merely the existence cf an individual animal, 
 or race of animals; but even the changes which the globe itself has un- 
 iergone in times before all existing records, and before the creation of 
 '.i...ian beings to inhabit the earth, are opened to our contemplation.” 
 
154 
 
 RELATIONS. 
 
 perin 3nt of digestion with the gastric juice in vessels, the 
 grain must be crushed and bruised before it be submitted 
 to the menstruum; that is to say, must undergo by art with- 
 out the body, the preparatory action which the gizzard ex- 
 erts upon it within the body; or no digestion will take place. 
 So strict, in this case, is the relation betweeen the offices 
 assigned to the digestive organ, between the mechanical 
 operation, and the chemical process. 
 
 II. The relation of the kidneys to the bladder, and oi 
 the ureters to both, i. e, of the secreting organ to the ves- 
 sel receiving the secreted liquor, and the pipe laid from one 
 to the other, for the purpose of conveying it from one to 
 the other, is as manifest as it is amongst the different ves- 
 sels employed in a distillery, or in the communications be- 
 tween them. The animal structure in this case being sim- 
 ple, and the parts easily separated, it forms an instance of 
 correlation which may be presented by dissection to every 
 eye, or which indeed, without dissection, is capable of be- 
 ing apprehended by every understanding. This correla 
 tion of instruments to one another fixes intention some- 
 where: especially when every other solution is negatived 
 by the conformation. If the bladder had been merely an 
 expansion of the ureter, produced by retention of the fluid, 
 Jiere ought to have been a bladder for each ureter. One 
 receptacle, fed by two pipes, issuing from different sides of 
 the body, yet from both conveying the same fluid, is not 
 to Be accounted for by any such supposition as this. 
 
 III. Relation of parts to one another accompanies us 
 throughout the whole animal economy. Can any relation 
 be more simple, yet more convincing, than this, that the 
 eyes are so placed as to look in the direction in which the 
 legs move and the hands work ? It might have happened 
 very differently if it had been left to chance. There were 
 at least three-quarters of the compass out of four to have 
 erred in. Any considerable alteration in the position of 
 the eye, or the figure of the joints, would have disturbed 
 the line, and destroyed the alliance between the sense and 
 the limbs. 
 
 IV. But relation perhaps is never so striking, as when 
 it subsists, not between different parts of the same thing, 
 bit between different things. The relation between a 
 loch: and a key is more obvious tlian it is between differ- 
 ent parts of the lock. A bow was designed for an arrow, 
 and an arrow for a bow: and the design is more evident 
 for their iieing separate implements. 
 
 Ncr do the works of the Deity want this clearest spe- 
 
RELATIONS. 
 
 156 
 
 cies of relation. The sexes are manifestly nade for each 
 other They form the grand relation of animated nature; 
 universal, organic, mechanical: subsisting like the clear- 
 est relations of art, in different individuals; unequivocal, 
 inexplicable without design. 
 
 So much so, that were every other proof of contrivance 
 in nature dubious or obscure, this alone would be suffi- 
 cient. The example is complete. Nothing is wanting to 
 the argument, I see no way whatever of getting over it. 
 
 V'. The teats of animals, which give suck, bear a re- 
 lation to the mouth of the suckling progeny; particularly 
 to the lips and tongue. Here also, as before, is a corres- 
 pondency of parts; which parts subsist in different indi- 
 viduals. 
 
 These are general relations, or the relations of parts 
 which are found, either in all animals, or in large classes 
 and descriptions of animals. Particular relations, or the 
 relations which subsist between the particular configura- 
 tion of one or more parts of certain species of animals, 
 and the particular configuration of one or more other parts 
 of the same animal, (which is the sort of relation that is 
 perhaps most striking,) are such as the following: 
 
 I. In the swan; the web foot, the spoon bill, the long 
 neck, the thick down, the graminivorous stomach, bear all 
 a relation to one another, inasmuch as they all concur in 
 one design, that of supplying the occasions of an aquatic 
 fowl, floating upon the surface of shallow pools of water, 
 and seeking its food at the bottom. Begin with any one 
 of these particularities of structure, and observe how the 
 rest follow it. The web foot qualifies the bird for swimming ; 
 the spoon bill enables it to graze. But how is an animal, 
 floating upon the surface of pools of water, to graze at the 
 bottom, except by the mediation of a long neck.^ A long 
 neck accordingly is given to it. Again, a warm-blooded 
 animal, which was to pass its life upon water, required a 
 defence against the coldness of that element. Such a de- 
 fence is furnished to the swan, in the muff in which its body 
 •s wrapped. But all this outward apparatus would have 
 been in vain, if the intestinal system had not been suited 
 to the digestion of vegetable substances. I say, suited to 
 the digestion of vegetable substances: for it is well known, 
 that there are two intestinal systems found in birds, one 
 with a membranous stomach and a gastric juice, capable 
 of dissolving animal substances alone; the other with a 
 crop and gizzard, calculated for the moistening, bruising 
 and afterwards digesting, of vegetable aliment. 
 
156 
 
 RELATIONS. 
 
 Or R3t off with any other distinctive part in the body 
 of the swan; for instance, with the long neck. The long 
 neck, without the web foot, would have been an encum- 
 brance to the bird; yet there is no necessary connexion 
 between a long neck and a web foot. In fact they do not 
 usually go together. How happens it, therefore, that they 
 meet only when a particular design demands the aid of 
 both ? 
 
 II. This mutual relation, arising from a subserviency 
 to a common purpose, is very observable also in the parts 
 of a mole. The strong short legs of that animal, the pal- 
 inated feet armed with sharp nails, the pig-like nose, the 
 teeth, the velvet coat, the small external ear, the sagacious 
 smell, the sunk protected eye, all conduce to the utilities 
 or to the safety of its under-ground life. It is a special 
 purpose, specially consulted throughout. The form of the 
 feet fixes the character of the animal. They are so many 
 shovels; they determine its action to that of rooting in the 
 ground; and everything about its body agrees with this 
 destination. The cylindrical figure of the mole, as well as 
 the compactness of its form, arising from the terseness of 
 its limbs, proportionably lessens its labor; because, accord- 
 ing to its bulk, it thereby requires the least possible quanti- 
 ty of earth to be removed for its progress. It has nearly 
 the same structure of the face and jaws as a swine, and 
 the same office for them. The nose is sharp, slender, 
 tendinous, strong; with a pair of nerves going down to 
 the end of it. The plush covering, which, by the smooth- 
 ness, closeness, and polish of the short piles that compose 
 it, rejects the adhesion of almost every species of earth, 
 defends the animal from cold and wet, and from the imped- 
 iment which it would experience by the mould sticking to 
 its body. From soils of all kinds the little pioneer comes 
 forth bright and clean. Inhabiting dirt, it is, of all animals, 
 the neatest. 
 
 But what I have always most admired in the mole is its 
 njes. This animal occasionally visiting the surface, and 
 wanting, for its safety and direction, to be informed when 
 it does so, or when it approaches it, a perception of light 
 was necessary. I do not know that the clearness of sight 
 depends at all upon the size of the organ. What is gained 
 by the largeness or prominence of the globe of the eye is 
 width in the field of vision. Such a capacity would be of 
 no use to an animal which was to seek its food in the dark. 
 The mole did not want to look about it; nor would a large 
 advanced eye have been easily defended from the annoy- 
 
COMPENSAnON. 
 
 157 
 
 ance to which the life of the animal must constantly ex 
 pose it. How indeed was the mole, working its way un- 
 der ground, to guard its eyes at all? In order to meet 
 this difiiculty, the eyes are made scarcely larger than the 
 head of a ^'orking-pin; and these minute globules are sunk 
 so deep ir. the skull, and lie so sheltered within the velvet 
 of its covering, as that any contraction of what may be 
 called the eye brows, not only closes up the apertures 
 wJiich lead to the eyes, but presents a cushion, as it were, 
 to any sharp or protruding substance, which might push 
 against them. This aperture, even in its ordinary state, is 
 like a pin-hole in a piece of velvet, scarcely pervious to 
 loose particles of earth. 
 
 Observe then, in this structure, that which we caii re- 
 lation. There is no natural connexion between a small 
 sunk eye and a shovel palmated foot. Palmated feet might 
 have been joined with goggle eyes; or small eyes might 
 have been joined with feet of any other form. What was 
 it therefore which brought them together in the mole? 
 That which brought together the barrel, the chain, and the 
 fusee, in a watch; design: and design, in both cases, in- 
 ferred from the relation which the parts bear to one an- 
 other in the prosecution of a common purpose. As hath 
 already been observed, there are different ways of stating 
 the relation, according as we set out from a different part. 
 In the instance before us, we may either consider the 
 shape of the feet, as qualifying the animal for that mode 
 of life and inhabitation to which the structure of its eyes 
 coihnes it; or we may consider the structure of the eye, 
 as the only one which would have suited with the action 
 to which the feet are adapted. The relation is manifest, 
 whichever of the parts related we place first in the order 
 of our consideration. In a word; the feet of the mole are 
 made for digging; the neck, nose, eyes, ears, and skin, are 
 peculiarly adapted to an under-ground life; and this is 
 what I call relation. [PI. XXX. fig. 1.) 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 COMPENSATION. 
 
 Compensation is a species of relation. It is relation 
 when the defects of one part, or of one organ, are supplied 
 
 O 
 
158 
 
 COMPENSATION. 
 
 by the structure of another part, or of ani>ther organ 
 Thus, 
 
 I. The short, unbending neck of the elephant, is com- 
 pensated by the length and flexibility of his prohos, is. He 
 could not have reached the ground without it; or, if it be 
 supposed that he might have fed upon the fruit, leaves, or 
 branches of trees, how was he to drink? Should it be 
 asked, v/hy is the elephant’s neck so short? it may be an- 
 swered that the weight of a head so heavy could not have 
 been supported at the end of a longer lever. To a form, 
 therefore, in some respects necessary, but in some respects 
 also inadequate to the occasion of the animal, a supple- 
 ment is added, which exactly makes up the deficiency un- 
 der which he labored. 
 
 If it be suggested that this proboscis may have been 
 produced, in a long course of generations, by the constant 
 endeavour of the elephant to thrust out his nose (which is 
 the general hypothesis by which it has lately been attempt- 
 ed to account for the forms of animated nature,) I would 
 ask, how was the animal to subsist in the meantime, dur- 
 ing the process, until this elongation of snout was com- 
 pleted? What was to become of the individual, whilst 
 the species was perfecting? 
 
 Our business at present is, simply to point out the rela- 
 tion which this organ bears to the peculiar figure of the 
 animal to which it belongs. And herein all things corres- 
 pond. The necessity of the elephant’s proboscis arises 
 from the shortness of his neck; the shortness of the neck 
 is rendered necessary by the weight of the head. Were 
 we to enter into an examination of the structure and anat- 
 omy of the proboscis itself, we should see in it one of the 
 most curious of all examples of animal mechanism. [PI 
 XXX. fig. 2, 3, 4, 5.] The disposition of the ringlets 
 and fibres, for the purpose, first of forming a long cartilag- 
 inous pipe; secondly, of contracting and lengthening that 
 pijie; thirdly, of turning it in every direction at the will 
 of the animal; with the superaddition at the end, of a 
 fleshy production, of about the length and thickness of a 
 finger, and performing the office of a finger, so as to pick 
 up a straw from the ground; these properties cf the same 
 organ, taken together, exhibit a specimen, no only of de- 
 sign, (which is attested by the advantage,) but of consum- 
 mate art and, as I may say, of elaborate preparation, in 
 accomplisniiig that design. 
 
 II The hook in the wing of a hat is strictly a me- 
 chanical, and also a compensating contrivance. [PI. XXX 
 
COMPENSATION, 
 
 159 
 
 fig. 6.] At le angle of its wing there is a bent claw, 
 exactly in the form of a hook, by which the bat at- 
 taches itself to the sides of rocks, caves, and buildings, 
 laying hold of crevices, joinings, chinks, and roughnesses. 
 It hooks itself by this claw ; remains suspended by this 
 hold; takes its flight from this position: which operations 
 compensate for the decrepitude of its legs and feet. With- 
 out her hook, the bat would be the most helpless of all 
 animals. She car# neither run upon her feet, nor raise 
 herself from the ground. These inabilities are made up 
 to her by the contrivance in her wing: and in placing 
 a claw on. that part, the Creator has deviated from the 
 analogy observed in winged animals. — singular defect 
 required a singular substitute. 
 
 III. The crane kind are to live and seek their food 
 amongst the waters; yet, having no web-feet, are incapa- 
 ble of swimming. To make up for this deficiency, they 
 are furnished with long legs for wading, or long bills for 
 groping; or usually with both. This is compensation. But 
 I think the true reflection upon the present instance is, 
 how every part of nature is tenanted by appropriate in- 
 habitants. Not only is the surface of deep waters peopled 
 by numerous tribes of birds that swim, but marshes and 
 shallow pools are furnished with hardly less numerous tribes 
 of birds that wade. 
 
 IV. The common parrot has, in the structure of its 
 beak, both an inconveniency, and a compensation for it 
 When I speak of an inconveniency, I have a view to a di- 
 lemma which frequently occurs in the works of nature, viz. 
 that the peculiarity of structure by which an organ is made 
 to answer one purpose, necessarily unfits it for s^me other 
 purpose. This is the case before us. The upper bill of a 
 parrot is so much hooked, and so much overlaps the lower, 
 that if, as in other birds, the lower chap alone had motion, 
 the bird could scarcely gape wide enough to receive its 
 food: yet this hook and overlapping of the bill could not 
 be spared, for it forms the very instrument by which the 
 bird climbs, to say nothing of the use which it makes ox 
 it in breaking nuts and the hard substances upon which it 
 faeds. How, therefore, has nature provided for the open- 
 ing of this occluded mouth? By making the upper chap 
 movable, [PI. XXX. fig. 7,] as well as the lower. In 
 most birds, the upper chap is connected, and makes but 
 one piece with the skull; but in the parrot, the upper chap 
 is joined to the bone of the head by a strong membran«> 
 
160 
 
 COMPENSATION. 
 
 placed on each side of it, which lifts and depresses it a* 
 pleasure.* 
 
 V. The spider’s iveh is a compensating contrivance 
 The spider lives upon flies, without wings to pursue them; 
 a case, one would have thought, of great difficulty, yet 
 provided for; and provided for by a resource, which no 
 stratagem, no effort of the animal, could have produced, 
 had not both its external and internal structure been speci- 
 fica ly adapted to the operation. ^ 
 
 VI. In many species of insects, the eye is fixed; and 
 consequently without the power of turning the pupil to the 
 object. This great defect is, however, perfectly compensate 
 ed; and by a mechanism which we should not suspect. 
 The eye is a multiplying glass, with a lens looking in 
 every direction and catching every object. By which 
 means, although the orb of the eye be stationary, the field 
 of vision is as ample as that of other animals, and is 
 commanded on every side. [PI. XXX. fig. 8.] When 
 this lattice-work was first observed, the multiplicity and 
 minuteness of the surfaces must have added to the surprise 
 of the discovery. Adams tells us, that fourteen hundred 
 of these reticulations have been counted in the two eyes of 
 a drone bee. 
 
 In other cases the compensation is effected by the num- 
 ber and position of the eyes themselves. [PI. XXX. fig. 9.] 
 The spider has eight eyes, mounted upon different parts of 
 the head; two in front, two in the top of the head, two on 
 each side. These eyes are without motion; but, by their 
 situation, **suited to comprehend every view which the wants 
 or safety of the animal may render it necessary for it to take 
 
 VII. The Memoirs for the Natural History of Animals, 
 published by the French Academy, A. D. 1687, furnish us 
 with some curious particulars in the eye of a chameleon. 
 [PI. XXXI. fig. 1.] Instead of two eyelids, it is covered 
 by an eyelid with a hole in it. This singular structure ap- 
 pears to be compensatory, and to answer to some other sin- 
 gularities in the shape of the animal. The neck of the 
 chameleon is inflexible. To make up for this, the eye is 
 so prominent, as that more than half the ball stands out of 
 the head. By means of which extraordinary projection, 
 the pupil of the eye can be carried by the muscles in every 
 direction, and is capable of being pointed towards every 
 ol)j(3ct. But then, so unusual an exposure of the globe of 
 .lie eye re'ruires, for its lubricity and defence, a more than 
 
 * Goldsmith’s Nat. Hist. vol. v. p. 274. 
 
COMPENSATION. 
 
 I6I 
 
 ( Jinary pr-rleoiion of eyelid, as well as a more than oi - 
 diaary supply of moisture; yet the motion of an eyelid, 
 formed according to the common construction, would be 
 impeded, as it should seem, by the convexity of the organ. 
 The aperture in the lid meets this difficulty. It enables 
 the animal to keep the principal part of the surface of the 
 eye under cover, and to preserve it in a due state of hu- 
 midity without shutting out the light; or without perform- 
 ing every moment a nictitation, which, it is probable, would 
 be more laborious to this animal than to others. 
 
 VIII. In another animal, and in another part of the 
 animal economy, the same Memoirs describe a most re- 
 markable substitution. The reader will remember what 
 we have already observed concerning the intestinal canal; 
 that its length, so many times exceeding that of the body, 
 promotes the extraction of the chyle from the aliment, by 
 giving room for the lacteal vessels to act upon it through 
 a greater space. This long intestine, wherever it occurs, 
 is in other animals disposed in the abdomen from side to 
 side in returning folds. But, in the animal now under 
 our notice, the matter is managed otherwise. The same 
 intention is mechanically effectuated; but by a mechanism 
 of a different kind. The animal of which I speak is an 
 amphibious quadruped, which our authors call the alope- 
 cias, or sea-fox. [PI. XXXI. fig. 2, 3.] The intestine 
 is straight from one end to the other: but in this straight 
 and consequently short intestine, is a winding, corkscrew, 
 spiral passage, through which the food, not without several 
 circumvolutions, and in fact by along route, is conducted 
 to its exit. Here the shortness of the gut is compensated 
 by the obliquity of the perforation. 
 
 IX. But the works of the Deity are known by expe- 
 dients. Where we should look for absolute destitution; 
 where we can reckon up nothing but wants, some contr 
 vance always comes in to supply the privation. A snail 
 without wings, feet, or thread, climbs up the stalks ol 
 plants, by the sole aid of a viscid humour discharged from 
 her skin. She adheres to the stems, leaves, and fruits 
 of plants, by means of a sticking plaster. A muscle, 
 which might seem, by its helplessness, to lie at the mercy 
 of every wave that went over it, has the singular power of 
 spinning strong tendinous threads, by which she moors 
 her shell to rocks and timbers. A cockle, on the contrary, 
 by means of its stiff tongue, works for itself a shelter in the 
 sand. The provisions of nature extend to cases the most 
 desperate. A lobster has in its constitution a difficulty so 
 
 O * 
 
162 
 
 COMPENSATION. 
 
 great, that one could hardly conjecture beforehand ho^v 
 nature would dispose of it. In most animals, the skin 
 grows with their growth. If, instead of a soil skin, there 
 be a shell, still it admits of a gradual enlargement. If the 
 shell, as in the tortoise, consists of several pieces, the ac- 
 cession of substance is made at the sutures. Bivalve shells 
 grow bigger by receiving an accretion at their edge; it is 
 the same with spiral shells at their mouth. The simplici- 
 y of their form admits of this. But the lobster’s shell be- 
 ing applied to the limbs of the body, as well as to the body 
 itself, allows not of either of the modes of growth which 
 are observed to take place in other shells. Its hardness 
 resists expansion; and its complexity renders it incapable 
 of increasing its size by addition of substance to its edg« 
 How then was the growth of the lobster to be provided fo ^ 
 Was room to be made for it in the old shell, or was it o 
 be successively fitted with new ones? If a change of sh il 
 became necessary, how was the lobster to extricate hims^ If 
 from his present confinement? How was he to uncase his 
 buckler, or draw his legs out of his boots? The process, 
 which fishermen have observed to take place, is as follows: 
 At certain seasons, the shell of a lobster grows soft, the 
 animal swells its body, the seams open, and the* claws 
 burst at the joints. When the shell has thus become loose 
 upon the body, the animal makes a second effort, and by 
 a tremulous, spasmodic motion, casts it off. In this state, 
 the liberated but defenceless fish retires into holes in the 
 rock. The released body now suddenly pushes its growth. 
 In about eight and forty hours, a fresh concretion of hu- 
 mour upon the surface, i. e. a new shell, is formed, adapted 
 in every part to the increased dimensions of the animal 
 Tliis wonderful mutation is repeated every year. 
 
 If there be imputed defects without compensation, I 
 ihould suspect that they were defects only in appearance, 
 riius, the body of the sloth has often been reproached 
 ^or the slowness of its motions, which has been attributed 
 .o an imperfection in the formation of its limbs. But it 
 jught to be observed, that it is this slowness which alone 
 suspends the voracity of the animal. He fasts during his 
 migration from one tree to another; and this fast may be 
 necessary for the relief of his over-charged vessels, as well 
 us to allow time for the concoction of the mass of coarse 
 and hard food which he has taken into his stomach. The 
 tardiness of his pace seems to have reference to the capac- 
 ity of nis organa, ai d to his propensities with respect lo 
 
COMPENSATION-. 
 
 163 
 
 food; i e. is calculated to counteract the effects of reple^ 
 tion.^ 
 
 Or there may be cases in which a defect is artificial, and 
 compensated by the very cause which produces it. Thus 
 the s/ieepj in the domesticated state in which we see it, is 
 destitute of the ordinary means of defence or escape; is 
 incapable either of resistance or flight. But this is not so 
 with the wild animal. The natural sheep is swift and 
 active; and if it lose these qualities when it comes under 
 the subjection of man, the loss is compensated by his pro- 
 tection. Perhaps there is no species of quadruped wliat- 
 ever, wh’ch sutlers so little as this does from the depreda- 
 tion of animals of prey. 
 
 For the sake of making our meaning better understood, 
 we have considered this business of compensation under 
 certain pmiiculaHlies of constitution, in which it appears 
 to be most conspicuous. This view of the subject neces- 
 sarily limits the instances to sngle species of animals. But 
 there are compensations, perliaps not less certain, which 
 extend over large classes, and to large portions of living 
 nature. 
 
 I. In quadrupeds, the deficiency of teeth is usually co?n- 
 pensated by the faculty of rumination. The sheep, deer, 
 and ox tribe, are without fore-teeth in the upper jaw. These 
 ruminate. The horse and ass are furnished with teeth in 
 the upper jaw, and do not ruminate. In the former class, 
 the grass and hay descend into the stomach nearly in the 
 state in which they are cropped from the pasture, or gath- 
 ered from the bundle. In the stomach, they are softened 
 by the gastric juice, which in these animals is unusually 
 copious. Thus softened and rendered tender, they are 
 returned a second time to the action of the mouth, where 
 the grinding teeth complete at their leisure the trituration 
 
 * Blumenbach states, in his Manual of Natural History, that he had 
 conversed with many Hollanders who had lived in Guiana, and from 
 them collected, that this apparently miserable animal is rather an en- 
 viable one. First, he nourishes himself entirely from leaves, and, there- 
 fore, when he has once climbed a tree, he can live on the same dish a 
 quarter of a year. Secondly, he does not drink at all. Thirdly, on a 
 tree he is exposed to but few eaemies, and when the sloth marks that 
 a tiger-cat is climbing up a brinch, it goes softly to the end of the 
 jranch, and rocks it till the tiger-cat falls off, so that seldom is there 
 an instance that a tiger-cat surprises one: even upon the ground, so 
 powerful are the claws of the sloth, and so fearful its cries, that its 
 enemies generally get the worst. So idle is Buffon’s declamation against 
 the goodness and wisdom of Providence, draw n from this beast. 
 
 Paxton 
 
IG4 
 
 COMPENSATION. 
 
 which is necessary, but which was before left imperfect. 1 
 say, the trituration which is necessary; for it appears from 
 experiments, that the gastric fluid of sheep, for example, 
 has no effec: in digesting plants, unless they have been 
 previously masticated; that it only produces a slight mac- 
 eration, nearly as common water would do in a like degree 
 of heat; but that when once vegetables are reduced to 
 pieces by mastication, the fluid then exerts upon them its 
 specific operation. Its first effect is to soften them, and to 
 destroy their natural consistency; it then goes on to dis- 
 solve them; not sparing even the toughest parts, such as 
 the nerves of the leaves.^ 
 
 I think it very probable, that the gratification also of the 
 animal is renewed and prolonged by this faculty. Sheep, 
 deer, and oxen, appear to be in a state of enjoyment whilst 
 they are chewing the cud. It is then, perhaps, that they 
 best relish their food. 
 
 II. In birds, the compensation is still more striking. 
 They have no teeth at all. What have they then to make 
 up for this severe want.^ I speak of granivorous and 
 herbivorous birds; such as common fowls, turkeys, ducks, 
 geese, pigeons, &c. for it is concerning these alone that 
 the question need be asked. All these are furnished with 
 a peculiar and most powerful muscle called the gizzard; 
 the inner coat of which is fitted up with rough plates, which, 
 by a strong friction against one another, break and grind 
 the hard aliment as effectually, and by the same mechani- 
 cal action, as a coffee-mill would do. It has been proved 
 by the most correct experiments, that the gastric juice 
 of these birds wfill not operate upon the entire grain; not 
 even when softened by water or macerated in the crop. 
 Therefore, without a grinding machine within its body, 
 without the trituration of the gizzard, a chicken would have 
 starved upon a heap of corn. Yet w hy should a bill and a 
 gizzard go together ? Why should a gizzard never be found 
 where .here are teeth? 
 
 Nor does the gizzard belong to birds as such. A giz- 
 zard is not found in birds of prey. Their food requires 
 not to be ground down in a mill. The compensatory con- 
 trivance goes no farther than the necessity. In both clas- 
 ses of birds, however, the digestive organ within the body 
 bears a strict and mechanical relation to the external in- 
 struments for procuring food. The soft membranous sto- 
 mach, accompanies the hooked, notched beak; tho short 
 
 Spall, dis. III. Sect. 140. 
 
^COMPENSATION. 
 
 165 
 
 muscular legs; the strong, sharp, crooked talons: The car- 
 tilaginous stomach attends that conformation of bill and 
 toes, which restrains the, bird to the picking of seeds, or 
 the cropping of plants. 
 
 III. But to proceed with our compensations . — A very 
 numerous and comprehensive tribe of terrestrial animals 
 are entirely without feet; yet locomotive; and in a very 
 considerable degree swift in their motion. How is the 
 cant of feet compensated? It is done by the disposition 
 ?f the muscles and fibres of the trunk. In consequence of 
 the just collocation, and by means of the joint action of 
 longitudinal and annular fibres, that is to say, of strings 
 and rings, the body and train of reptiles* are capable of be- 
 ing reciprocally shortened and lengthened, drawn up and 
 stretched out. The result of this action is a progressive, 
 and in some cases, a rapid movement of the whole body, 
 in any direction to which the will of the animal determine?! 
 it. The meanest creature is a collection of wonders. Thi5 
 play of the rings in an eartJi-xcorm as it crawls; the undu 
 latory motion propagated along the body; the beards or 
 prickles with which the annuli are armed, and which thr 
 animal can either shut up close to its body, or let out to la} 
 hold of the roughness of the surface upon which it creeps; 
 and the power arising from all these, of changing its place 
 and position, affords, when compared with the provisions 
 for motion in other animals, proofs of new and appropriate 
 mechanism. Suppose that we had never seen an animal 
 move upon the ground without feet, and that the problem 
 was; muscular action, i. e. reciprocal contraction and rel 
 axation being given, to describe how such an animal might 
 be constructed, capable of voluntarily changing place 
 Something, perhaps, like the organization of reptiles 
 might have been hit upon by the ingenuity of an artist; or 
 might have been exhibited in an automaton, by the com- 
 bination of springs, spiral wires, and ringlets; but to the 
 solution of the problem would not be denied, surely, (he 
 
 * Contraction and expansion is the mode of progression in toor?ns, but 
 not in reptiles; in the class of serpents locomotion consists simply of re. 
 pcated horhontal undulations, viz. flexion and extension. Thus the head 
 being the fixed point, the body and tail assume several curves; the tail 
 than becomes the fixed point, the curvatures are straightened, and thus the 
 animal advances with a serpentine motion. By these successive curva- 
 tures and right lines alternating, it moves forward at each step nearly the 
 length of the whole body; the ribs, which Sir E. Home considers to act 
 as feet, hiving nothing to do with locomotion unless as affording a fulcrum 
 for the muscles . — Paxton 
 
166 
 
 THE RELATION OF ANIMATED BODIES 
 
 praise of invention and of successful thought: least of alj 
 could it ever be questioned, whether intelligence had been 
 employed about it, or not. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE RELATION OF ANIMATED BODIES TO INANIMATE NATURE 
 
 We have already considered relation, and under differ* 
 ent views; but it was the relation of parts to parts, of the 
 parts of an animal to other parts of the same animal, or of 
 another individual of the same species. 
 
 But the bodies of animals hold, in their constiiuiion and 
 properties, a close and important relation to natures alto- 
 gether external to their own ; to inanimate substances, and 
 to the specific qualities of these; e. g. they hold a strict 
 relation to the elements by ivhich they are surrounded. 
 
 I. Can it be doubted, whether the ivings of birds bear 
 a relation to air, and the fins of fish to water? They are 
 instruments of motion, severally suited to the properties 
 of the medium in which the motion is to be performed: 
 which properties are different. Was not this difference 
 contemplated, when the instruments were differently con- 
 stituted ? 
 
 II. The structure of the animal ear depends for its use, 
 not simply upon being surrounded by a fluid, but upon the 
 specific nature of that fluid. Every fluid would not serve: 
 its particles must repel one another, it must form an elastic 
 medium: for it is by the successive pulses of such a medi- 
 um, that the undulations excited by the surrounding body 
 are carried to the organ; that a communication is formed 
 between the object and the sense; which must be done be- 
 fore the internal machinery of the ear, subtile as it is, can 
 act at all. 
 
 III. The organs of voice and respiration are, no less 
 tlian the ear, indebted for the success of their opera- 
 tion to the peculiar qualities of the fluid in which the 
 animal is immersed. They, therefore, as well as the ear, 
 are constituted upon the supposition of such a fluid, i. e. of 
 a fluid with srich particular properties, being always pres- 
 ent. Chang: the properties of the fluid, and the organ 
 cam ot act; change the organ, and the properties of the 
 fluid would be lost The structure therefore, of our or- 
 
TO INANIMATE NATURE. 
 
 i67 
 
 gans, and the properties of our atmosphere, are made for 
 one another. Nor does it alter the relation, whether you 
 allege the organ to be made for the element, (^which seems 
 the most natural way of considering it,) or the element as 
 prepared for the organ. 
 
 IV. But there is another fluid with which we have to do; 
 with properties of its own; with laws of acting, and of be- 
 ing acted upon, totally different from those of air and water: 
 and that is light. To this new, this singular element; to 
 qualities perfectly peculiar, perfectly distinct and remote 
 from the qualities of any other substance with which we 
 are acquainted, an organ is adapted, an instrument is cor- 
 rectly adjusted, not less peculiar amongst the parts of the 
 body, not less singular in its form, and in the substance of 
 which it is composed, not less remote from the materials, 
 the model, and the analogy of any other part of the animal 
 frame, than the element to which it relates is specific 
 amidst the substances with which we converse. If this 
 does not prove appropriation, I desire to know what would 
 prove it. 
 
 Yet the element of light and fhe organ of vision, how 
 ever related in their office and use, have no connexion 
 whatever in their original. The action of rays of light 
 upon the surfaces of animals, has no tendency to breed eyes 
 in their heads. The sun might shine forever upon living 
 bodies, without the smallest approach towards producing the 
 sense of sight. On the other hand also, the animal eye 
 does not generate or emit light. 
 
 V. Throughout the universe there is a wonderful p 
 portioning of one thing to another. The size of animals, 
 of the human animal especially, when considered with re- 
 spect to other animals, or to the plants which grow around 
 him, is such, as a regard to his conveniency would have 
 pointed out. A giant or a pigmy could not have milked 
 goats, reaped corn, or mowed grass; we may add, could 
 not have rode a horse, trained a vine, shorn a sheep, with 
 the same bodily ease as we do, if at all. A pigrr y would 
 have been lost amongst rushes, or carried off by oirds of 
 prey. 
 
 It may be mentioned likewise, that the model and the 
 materials of the human body being what they are, a much 
 greater bulk would have broken down by its own weight. 
 The persons of men who much exceed the ordinary stat- 
 ure, betray this tendency. 
 
 VI. Again (and which includes a vast variety of paitic- 
 ulars, and those of the greatest importance;) how close is 
 
168 
 
 THE RELATION OF ANIMATED BODIES 
 
 the suitableness of the earth and sea to their several in 
 nabitants; and of these inhabitants, to the places of theii 
 appointed residence! 
 
 Take the earth as it is; and consider the corresponden- 
 cy of the powers of its inhabitants with the properties and 
 condition of the soil which they tread. Take the inliab- 
 itants as they are; and consider the substances which the 
 earth yields for their use. They can scratch its surface, 
 and its surface supplies all which they want. This is the 
 length of their faculties! and such is the constitution of 
 the globe, and their own, that this is sufficient for all their 
 occasions. 
 
 When we pass from the earth to the sea, from land to 
 water, we pass through a great change; but an adequate 
 change accompanies us of animal forms and functions, of 
 animal capacities and wants ; so that correspondency remains. 
 The earth in its nature is very different from the sea, and 
 the sea from the earth; but one accords with its inhabitants 
 as exactly as the other. 
 
 VII. The last relation of this kind which I shall men- 
 tion is that of sleep to night; and it appears to me to be 
 a relation which was expressly intended. Two points are 
 manifest: first, that the animal frame requires sleep; sec- 
 ondly, that night brings with it a silence, and a cessation 
 of activity, which allows of sleep being taken without in- 
 terruption, and without loss. Animal existence is made 
 up of action and slumber; nature has provided a season for 
 each. An animal which stood not in need of rest, would 
 always live in daylight. An animal which, though made 
 for action, and delighting in action, must have its strength 
 repaired by sleep, meets by its constitution the returns of 
 day and night. In the human species, for instance, were 
 the bustle, the labor, the motion of life, upheld by the 
 constant presence of light, sleep could not be enjoyed with- 
 out being disturbed by noise, and without expense of that 
 time which the eagerness of private interest would not con- 
 tentedly resign. It is happy therefore for this part of the 
 creation, I mean that it is conformable to the frame and 
 wants of their constitution, that nature, by the very dispo- 
 sition of her elements, has commanded, as it were, and 
 imposed upon them, at moderate intervals, a general inter- 
 mission of their toils, their occupations, and pursuits. 
 
 But it is not for man, either solely or principally, that 
 night is made. Inferior, but less perverted natures, taste 
 its solace, and expect its return with greater exactness 
 and advantage than he does. I have often observed, and 
 
TO INANIMATE NATURE. 
 
 169 
 
 never observed but to admire, the satisfactior no less than 
 the regularity, with which the greatest part of the irration- 
 al world yield to this soft necessity, this grateful vicissi- 
 tude: how comfortably the birds of the air, for example, 
 address themselves to the repose of the evening; with what 
 ahirtness they resume the activity of the day! 
 
 Nor does it disturb our argument to confess, that certain 
 species of animals are in motion during the night, and at 
 rest in the day. With respect even to them, it is still true, 
 that there is a change of condition in the animal, and an 
 external change corresponding with it. There is still the 
 relation, though inverted. The fact is, that the repose of 
 other animals sets these at liberty, and invites them to their 
 food or their sport. 
 
 If the relation of sleep to nighty and, in some instances, 
 its converse, be real, we cannot reflect without amazement 
 upon the extent to which it carries us. Day and night are 
 things close to us; the change applies immediately to our 
 sensations; of all the phenomena of nature, it is the most 
 obvious and the most familiar to our experience; but in its 
 cause, it belongs to the great motions which are passing 
 in the heavens. Whilst the earth glides round her axle, 
 she ministers to the alternate necessities of the animals 
 dwelling upon her surface, at the same time that she obeys 
 the influence of those attractions which regulate the order 
 of many thousand worlds. The relation therefore of sleep 
 to night, is the relation of the inhabitants of the earth to 
 the rotation of their globe ; probably it is more ; it is a re- 
 lation to the system, of which that globe is a part ; and still 
 farther, to the congregation of systems, of which theirs is 
 only one. If this account be true, it connects the meanest 
 individual with the universe itself: a chicken roosting upon 
 its perch, with the spheres revolving in the firmament. 
 
 VIII. But if any one object to our representation, that 
 the succession of day and night, or the rotation of the earth 
 upon which it depends, is not resolvable into central at- 
 traction, we will refer him to that which certainly is, — to 
 he change of the seasons. Now the constitution of ani- 
 mals susceptible of torpor, bears a relation to winter, simi- 
 lar to that which sleep bears to night. Against not only tho 
 cold, but the want of food which the approach of winter 
 induces, the Preserver of the world has provided in many 
 animals by migration, in many others by torpor. As one 
 example out of a thousand; the bat, if it did not seep 
 through the winter, must have starved, as the moths and 
 flying insects, upon which it feeds, disappear. But tho 
 
 P 
 
170 
 
 INSTINCTS. 
 
 transition from summer to winter carries js Lito the ver;y 
 midst of physical astronomy; that is to say, into the midst 
 of those laws which govern the solar system at least, and 
 probably all the heavenly bodies. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 INSTINCTS. 
 
 The order may not be very obvious, by which I place 
 instincts next to relations. But I consider them as g 
 species of relation. They contribute, along with the ani- 
 mal organization, to a joint effect, in which view they are 
 related to that organization. In many cases, they refer 
 from one animal to another animal; and when this is the 
 case, become strictly relations in a second point of view. 
 
 An INSTINCT is a propensity prior to experience, and 
 independent of instruction. We contend, that it is by 
 instinct that the sexes of animals seek each other; that 
 animals cherish their offspring; that the young quadruped 
 is directed to the teat of its dam; that birds build their 
 nests, and brood with so much patience upon their eggs; 
 that insects which do not sit upon their eggs, deposit them 
 in those particular situations, in which the young, when 
 hatched, find their appropriate food; that it is instinct 
 which carries the salmon, and some other fish, out of the 
 sea into rivers, for the purpose of shedding their spawn in 
 fresh water. 
 
 We may select out of this catalogue the incubation of 
 eggs. I entertain no doubt, but that a couple of sparrows 
 hatched in an oven, and kept separate from the rest of 
 their species, would proceed as other sparrows do, in every 
 office which related to the production and preservation of 
 their brood. Assuming this fact, the thing is inexplicable 
 upor any other hypothesis than that of an instinct impress- 
 ed upon the constitution of the animal. For, first, what 
 should induce the female bird to prepare a nest before she 
 lays her eggs? It is in vain to suppose her to be possess- 
 ed of the faculty of reasoning; for no reasoning will reach 
 the case. The fulness or distention which she might fee 
 in a particular part of her body, from the growth and so- 
 lidity of the egg within her, could not possilily inform her, 
 that she was about to produce something, which, when pro- 
 
INSTINCTS. 
 
 171 
 
 duced, was to be preserved and taken care of. Prior to 
 e^xperience, there was nothing to lead to this inference, of 
 to this suspicion. The analogy was all against it ; for, in 
 every other instance, what issued from the body, was cast 
 out and rejected. 
 
 But, secondly, let us suppose the egg to be produced 
 into day; how should birds know that their eggs contain 
 their young ^ there is nothing, either in the aspect, or in the 
 internal composition of an egg, which could lead even the 
 most daring imagination to conjecture, that it was here- 
 after to turn out from under its shell, a living, perfect 
 bird. The form of the egg bears not the rudiments of a 
 resemblance to that of the bird. Inspecting its contents, 
 we find still less reason, if possible, to look for the result 
 which actually takes place. If we should go so far, as, 
 from the appearance of order and distinction in the dis- 
 position of the liquid substances which we noticed in the 
 egg, to guess that it might be designed for the abode ana 
 nutriment of an animal, (which would be a very bold hy- 
 pothesis,) we should expect a tadpole dabbling in the slime, 
 much rather than a dry, winged, feathered creature; a 
 compound of parts and properties impossible to be used in 
 a state of confinement in the egg, and bearing no conceiv- 
 able relation, either in quality or material, to anything ob- 
 served in it. From the white of an egg, would any one 
 look for the feather of a goldfinch.^ or expect from a sim- 
 ple uniform mucilage, the most complicated of all ma- 
 chines, the most diversified of all collections of substances? 
 nor would the process of incubation, for sometime at least, 
 lead us to suspect the event. Who that saw red streaks 
 shooting in the fine membrane which divides the white 
 from the yolk, would suppose that these were about to be- 
 come bones and limbs? Who that espied two discolored 
 points first making their appearance in the cicatrix, would 
 have had the courage to predict, that these points were to 
 grow into the heart and head of a bird? It is difficult to 
 strip the mind of its experience. It is difficult to resusci- 
 tate surprise, when familiarity has once laid the sentiment 
 asleep. But could we forget all that we know, and which 
 oiir sparrows never knew, about oviparous generation: 
 could we divest ourselves of every information, but what we 
 derive from reasoning upon the appearance or quality 
 discovered in the objects presented to us, I am convinced 
 that Harlequin coming out of an egg upon the stage, is not 
 more astonishing to a child, than the hatching of a chick- 
 en both would be, and ought to be, to a philosopher. 
 
172 
 
 INSTINCTS. 
 
 But admit the sparrow by some means o know, tha. 
 within that egg was concealed the principle of a future 
 bird, from what chemist was she to learn, that warmth was 
 necessary to bring it to maturity, or that the degree of 
 warmth, imparted by the temperature of her own body, was 
 the degree required? 
 
 To suppose, therefore, that the female bird acts in this 
 process from a sagacity and reason of her own, is to sup- 
 pose her to arrive at conclusions which there are no prem- 
 ises to justify. If our sparrow, sitting upon her eggs, 
 expect young sparrows to come out of them, she forms, I 
 will venture to say, a wild and extravagant expectation, in 
 opposition to present appearances, and to probability. She 
 must have penetrated into the order of nature, farther than 
 any faculties of ours will carry us; and it hath been well ob- 
 served, that this deep sagacity, if it be sagacity, subsists in 
 conjunction with great stupidity, even in relation to the same 
 subject. Achemical operation, ” says Addison, “couldnot 
 be followed with greater art or diligence, than is seen in 
 hatching a chicken; yet is the process carried on without 
 the least glimmering of thought or common sense. The 
 hen will mistake a piece of chalk for an egg; is insensible 
 of the increase or diminution of their number; does not dis- 
 tinguish between her own and those of another species; is 
 frightened when her supposititious breed of ducklings take 
 the water.’’ 
 
 But it will be said, that what reason could not do for 
 the bird, observation, or instruction, or tradition, might. 
 Now, if it be true, that a couple of sparrows, brought up 
 from the first in a state of separation from all other birds, 
 would build their nest, and brood upon their eggs, then 
 there is an end of this solution. What can be the tradi- 
 tionary knowledge of a chicken hatched in an oven? 
 
 Of young birds taken in their n^sts, a few species breed 
 when kept in cages; and they which do so, build their 
 nests nearly in the same manner as in the wild state, and 
 sit upon their eggs. This is suthcient to prove an instinct, 
 without having recourse to experiments upon birds hatched 
 by artificial heat, and deprived from their birth of all 
 communication with their species; for we can hardly bring 
 ourselves to believe, that the parent bird mformed her un- 
 fledged pupil of the history of her gestation, her timely 
 preparation of a nest, her exclusion of the eggs, her long 
 incubation, and of the joyful eruption at last of her expected 
 oflspring; all which the bird in the cage must have learned 
 in her infancy, if ve resolve her conduct into imtiluiion 
 
INSTINCTS. 
 
 173 
 
 Unless we will rather suppose, that she remembers bei 
 own escape from the egg; had attentively observed the 
 conformation of the nest in which she was nurtured; and 
 had treasured up her remarks for future imitation: which 
 is not only extremely improbable, (for who, that sees a 
 brood of clJlow birds in their nest, can believe that they 
 are taking a plan of their habitation?) but leaves unac- 
 counted for, one principal part of the difficulty, ‘‘the pre- 
 paration of the nest before the laying of the egg,” This 
 she could not gain from observation in her infancy. 
 
 It is remarkable also, that the hen sits upon eggs which 
 she has laid without any communication with the male, 
 and which are therefore necessarily unfruitful; that secret 
 she is not let into. Yet, if incubation had been a sub- 
 iect of instruction or of tradition, it should seem that this 
 distinction would have formed part of the lesson; whereas 
 the instinct of nature is calculated for a state of nature; 
 the exception here alluded to taking place chiefly, if not 
 solely, amongst domesticated fowls, in which nature is 
 forced out of her course. 
 
 There is another case of oviparous economy, which is 
 still less likely to be the effect of education than it is even 
 in birds, namely that of moths and butterflies, which de- 
 posit their eggs in the precise substance, that of a cabbage 
 for example, from which, not the butterfly herself, but the 
 caterpillar which is to issue from her egg, draws its ap- 
 propriate food. The butterfly cannot taste the cabbage. 
 Cabbage is no food for her; yet in the cabbage, not by 
 chance, but studiously and electively, she lays her eggs. 
 There are, amongst many other kinds, the willow cater- 
 pillar, and the cabbage caterpillar: but we never find upon 
 a willow the caterpillar which eats the cabbage; nor the con- 
 verse. This choice, as appears to me, cannot in the butter- 
 fly proceed from instruction. She had no teacher in her 
 caterpillar state. She never knew her parent. I do not 
 see, therefore, how knowledge, acquired by experience, if 
 it ever were such, could be transmitted from one genera- 
 tion to another. There is no opportunity either for instruc- 
 tion or imitation. The parent race is gone, before the new 
 brood is hatched. And if it be original reasoning in the 
 butterfly, it is profound reasoning indeed. She must re^ 
 member her caterpillar state, its tastes and habits; of which 
 memory she shows no signs whatever. She must conclude 
 from analogy, for here her recollection cannot serve her, 
 that the little round body which drops from her abdomen, 
 wf 1 at a future period produce a living creature, not like 
 
174 
 
 INSTINCTS. 
 
 herseir. but like the caterpillar, which she remembers hersell 
 once to have been. Under the influence of these reflections, 
 she goes about to make provision for an order of things, 
 which she concludes will, sometime or other, take place. 
 And it is to be observed, that not a few out of many, but 
 that all butterflies argue thus, all draw this conclusion; all 
 act upon it.* 
 
 But suppose the address, and the selection, and the plan, 
 which we perceive in the preparations which many irra- 
 tional animals make for their young, to be traced to some 
 probable origin; still there is left to be accounted for, that 
 which is the source and foundation of these phenomena, 
 that \^hich sets the whole at work, the oToQyy], the parent- 
 al affection, which I contend to be inexplicable upon any 
 other hypothesis than that of instinct. 
 
 For we shall hardly, I imagine, in brutes, refer their 
 conduct towards their offspring to a sense of duty, or of 
 decency, a care of reputation, a compliance with public 
 manners, with public laws, or with rules of life built upon 
 a long experience of their utility. And all attempts to ac- 
 count for the parental affection from association, I think, 
 fail. With what is it associated.^ Most immediately with 
 the throes of parturition, that is, with pain, and terror, and 
 disease., The more remote, but not less strong association, 
 that which depends upon analogy, is all against it. Every- 
 thing else, which proceeds from the body, is cast away and 
 rejected. 
 
 In birds, is it the egg which the hen loves? or is it the 
 expectation which she cherishes of a future progeny, that 
 keeps her upon her nest? What cause has she to expect 
 delight from her progeny? Can any rational answer be 
 given to the question, why, prior to experience, the brood- 
 ing hen should look for pleasure from her chickens? It 
 does not, I think, appear, that the cuckoo ever knows her 
 
 * The dragon-fly is an inhabitant of the air, and could not exist in 
 water; yet in this element, which is alone adapted for her young, she 
 drops her eggs. 
 
 Not less surprising is the parental instinct of the gad-fly, {Gastero- 
 philub equi) whose larvae are destined to be nourished in the stomach 
 and intestines of the horse! How shall the parent convey them there ? 
 By a mode truly extraordinary — Flying round the animal she curiously 
 poises her body while she deposits her eggs on the hairs of his skin. 
 Whenever therefore the horse chances to lick the part of his body to 
 which they are attached, they adhere to the tongue, and from thence pass 
 intc the stomach and intestines. And what increases our surprise is, that 
 the fly places her eggs almost exclusively on the knee and the shoulder, 
 on those paits the horse is sure to lick. — Faxtori, 
 
INSTINCTS. 
 
 175 
 
 young; yet, in her way, she is as careful in making prcvi 
 sion ?ci them, as any other bird. She does not leave her 
 egg in (jvery hole. 
 
 The salmon suffers no surmountable obstacle to oppose 
 her progress up the stream of fresh rivers. And what does 
 she do there? She sheds a spawn, which she immediately 
 quits, in order to return to the sea; and this issue of her 
 body she never afterwards recognises in any shape what- 
 ever. Where shall we find a motive for her efforts and 
 her perseverance? Shall we seek it in argumentation, or 
 in instinct? The violet crab of Jamaica performs a fa- 
 tiguing march of some months’ continuance, from the 
 mountains to the sea-side. When she reaches the coast, 
 she casts her spawn into the open sea; and sets out upon 
 aer return home. 
 
 Moths and butterflies, as hath already been observed, 
 seek out for their eggs those precise situations and sub- 
 stances, in which the offspring caterpillar will find its ap- 
 propriate food. That dear caterpillar the parent butterfly 
 must never see. There are no experiments to prove that 
 she would retain any knowledge of it, if she did. How 
 shall we account for her conduct ? I do not mean for her 
 art and judgment in selecting and securing a maintenance 
 for her young, but for the impulse upon which she acts 
 What should induce her to exert any art, or judgment, or 
 choice, about the matter? The undisclosed grub, the ani- 
 mal which she is destined not to know, can hardly be the 
 object of a particular affection, if we deny the influence 
 of instinct. There is nothing, therefore, left to her, but 
 that of which her nature seems incapable, an abstract anx- 
 iety for the general preservation of the species; a kind of 
 patriotism; a solicitude lest the butterfly race should cease 
 from the creation. 
 
 Lastly, the principle of association will not explain the 
 discontinuance of the affection when the young animal 
 is grown up. Association, operating in its usual way, 
 would rather produce a contrary effect. The object would 
 become more necessary by habits of society: whereas 
 birds and beasts, after a certain time, banish their off- 
 spring; disown their acquaintance; seem to have even no 
 knowledge of the objects which so lately engrossed the 
 attention of their minds, and occupied the industry and 
 labor of their bodies. This change, in different animals 
 takes place at different distances of time from the birth, 
 but the time always corresponds with the ability of the 
 young animal to maintain itself; never anticipates it. In 
 
176 
 
 INSTINCTS 
 
 the sparrow tribe, when it is perceived that the young 
 brood can fly and shift for themselves, then the parents 
 forsake them forever; and though they continue to live 
 together, pay them no more attention than they do to other 
 birds in the same flock.* I believe the same thing is true 
 of all gregarious quadrupeds. 
 
 In this part of the case, the variety of resources, expedi- 
 ents, and materials, which animals of the same species are 
 said to have recourse to, under different circumstances, and 
 when differently supplied, makes nothing against the doc- 
 trine of instincts. The thing which we want to account 
 for, is the propensity. The propensity being there, it is 
 probable enough that it may put the animal upon different 
 actions, according to different exigencies. And this adap- 
 tation of resources may look like the effect of art and con- 
 sideration, rather than of instinct;, but still the propensity is 
 instinctive. For instance, suppose what is related of the 
 woodpecker to be true, that, in Europe, she deposits her 
 eggs in cavities, which she scoops out in the trunks of soft 
 or decayed trees, and in which cavities the eggs lie con- 
 cealed from the eye, and in some sort safe from the hand 
 of man; but that, in the forests of Guinea and the Brazils, 
 which man seldom frequents, the same bird hangs her 
 nest to the twigs of tall trees; thereby placing them out of 
 the reach of monkeys and snakes; i. e. that in each situa- 
 tion she prepares against the danger which she has most 
 occasion to apprehend: suppose, I say, this to be true, and 
 to be alleged, on the part of the bird that builds these nests, 
 as evidence of a reasoning and distinguishing precaution, 
 still the question returns, whence the propensity to buila 
 at all? 
 
 Nor does parental affection accompany generation by any 
 universal law of animal organization, if such a thing were 
 intelligible. Some animals cherish their progeny with the 
 most ardent fondness, and the most assiduous attention; 
 others entirely neglect them; and this distinction always 
 meets the constitution of the young animal, with respect 
 to its wants and capacities. In many, the parental care 
 extends to the young animal; in others, as in all oviparous 
 fish, it is confined to the egg, and even, as to that, to the 
 disposal of it in its proper element. Also, as there is 
 generation without parental affection, so is there parental 
 instinct, or what exactly resembles it, without generation 
 In the bee tribe, the grub is nurtured neither by the fathei 
 
 Goldsniith’a Nat. Hist. vol. iv. p. 244. 
 
INSTINCTS. 
 
 177 
 
 nor the mother, but by the neutral bee. Probably the case 
 is the name with ants. 
 
 I am not ignorant of the theory which resolves instinct 
 into sensation ; which asserts, that what appears to have 
 a vie\^ and relation to the future, is the result onl/ of the 
 present disposition of the animal’s body, and of pleasure 
 or pain experienced at the time. Thus the incubation of 
 3ggs is accounted for by the pleasure which the bird is 
 supposed to receive from the pressure of the smooth con- 
 vex surface of the shells against the abdomen, or by the 
 relief which the mild temperature of the egg may afford 
 to the heat of the lower part of the body, which is observ- 
 ed at this time to be increased beyond its usual state. This 
 present gratification is the only motive with the hen for 
 sitting upon her nest; the hatching of the chickens, is with 
 respect to her, an accidental consequence. The affection 
 of viviparous animals for their young is, in like manner, 
 solved by the relief, and perhaps the pleasure, which they 
 receive from giving suck. The young animal’s seeking, 
 in so many instances, the teat of its dam, is explained from 
 the sense of smell, which is attracted by the odour of 
 milk. The salmon’s urging its way up the stream of fresh 
 water rivers, is attributed to some gratification or refresh- 
 ment, which, in this particular state of the fish’s body, she 
 receives from the change of element. Now of this theory 
 t may be said. 
 
 First, that of the cases which require solution, there are 
 nw to which it can be applied with tolerable probability , 
 that there are none to which it can be applied without 
 strong objections, furnished by the circumstances of the 
 case. The attention of the cow to its calf, and of the ewe 
 to its lamb, appear to be prior to their sucking. The at 
 traction of the calf or lamb to the teat of the dam, is not 
 explained by simply referring it to the sense of smell 
 What made the scent of milk so agreeable to the lamb, 
 that it should follow it up with its nose, or seek with its 
 mouth the place from which it proceeded.^ No observation, 
 no experience, no argument could teach the new dropped 
 animal, that the substance from which the scent issued, 
 was the material of its food. It had never tasted milk be- 
 fore its birth. None of the animals, which are not de- 
 signed for that nourishment, ever ofier to suck, or to seek 
 Dut any such food. What is the conclusion, but that the 
 sugescent parts of animals are fitted for their use, and 
 the knowledge of that use put into them? 
 
178 
 
 INSl NCTS. 
 
 We assert, se3)ndly, that, even as to the cases in whicr 
 the hypothesis has the fairest claim to consideration, it 
 does not at all lessen the force of the argument for inten- 
 tion and design. The doctrine of instincts is that of ap- 
 petencies, siiperaddcd to the constitution of an animal, for 
 the effectuating of a purpose beneficial to the species. The 
 above-stated solution would derive these appetencies from 
 organization; but then this organization is not less speci- 
 fically, not less precisely, and, therefore, not less evidently 
 adapted to the same ends, than the appetencies themselves 
 would be upon the old hypothesis. In this way of consid- 
 ering the subject, sensation supplies the place of foresight; 
 but this is the effect of contrivance on the part of the 
 Creator. Let it be allowed, for example, that the hen is 
 induced to brood upon her eggs by the enjoyment or re- 
 lief which, in the heated state of her abdomen, she ex- 
 periences from the pressure of round smooth surfaces, or 
 from the application of a temperate warmth. How comes 
 this extraordinary heat or itching, or call it what you will, 
 which you suppose to be the cause of the bird's inclina- 
 tion, to be felt, just at the time when the inclination itself 
 is wanted; when it tallies so exactly with the internal 
 constitution of the egg, and with the help which that con- 
 stitution requires in order to bring it to maturity ? In my 
 opinion, this solution, if it be accepted as to the fact, ought 
 to increase, rather than otherwise, our admiration of the 
 contrivance. A gardener lighting up his stoves, just when 
 he wants to force his fruit, and when his trees require the 
 heat, gives not a more certain evidence of design. So 
 again; when a male and female sparrow come together, they 
 do not meet to confer upon the expediency of perpetuating 
 their species. As an abstract proposition, they care not 
 the value of a barley-corn, whether the species be perpetu- 
 ated or not: they follow their sensations; and all those 
 consequences ensue, which the wisest counsels could have 
 dictated, which the most solicitous care of futurity, which 
 the most anxious concern for the sparrow world could have 
 produced. But how do these consequences ensue? The 
 sensations, and the constitution upon which they depend, 
 are as manifestly directed to the purpose wliich we see 
 fulfilled by them; and the train of intermediate effects, as 
 manifestly laid ana planned with a view to that ])urpose; 
 that is to say, design is as completely evinced by the phe- 
 nomena, as it would he^ even il’we suppose the operations 
 to begin, or to be carried on, from wliat some will allow to 
 he alone properly called instincts, Oiat is, Irom desires di- 
 
INSTINCTS. 
 
 179 
 
 reeled to a future end, and having no accomplishment or 
 gratification distinct from the attainment of that end. 
 
 In a word; I should say to the patrons of this opinion, 
 Be it so: be it, that those actions of animals which we re- 
 fer to instinct, are not gone about with any view to their 
 consequences, but that they are attended in the animal 
 with a present gratification, and are pursued for the sake of 
 that gratification alone ; what does all this prove, but that 
 the prospection, which must be somewhere, is not in the 
 animal, but in the Creator? 
 
 In treating of the parental affection in brutes, our busi- 
 ness lies rather with the origin of the principle, than with 
 the effects and expressions of it. Writers recount these 
 with pleasure and admiration. The conduct of many kinds 
 of animals towards their young, has escaped no observer, 
 no historian of nature. “How will they caress them,’’ 
 says Derham, “ with their affectionate notes; lull and quiet 
 them with their tender parental voice ; put food into their 
 mouths; cherish and keep them warm; teach them to 
 pick, and eat, and gather food for themselves; and, in a 
 word, perform the part of so many nurses, deputed by the 
 sovereign Lord and Preserver of the world, to help such 
 young and shiftless creatures!” Neither ought it, under 
 this head, to be forgotten, how much the instinct costs the 
 animal which feels it ; how much a bird, for example, gives 
 up, by sitting upon her nest; how repugnant it is to her 
 organization, her habits, and her pleasures. An animal, 
 formed for liberty, submits to confinement in the very sea- 
 son when everything invites her abroad: what is more; an 
 animal delighting in motion, made for motion, all whose 
 motions are so easy and so free, hardly a moment, at other 
 times, at rest, is, for many hours of many days together, 
 fixed to her nest, as close as if her limbs were tied down by 
 pins and wires. For my part, I never see a bird in that 
 situation, but I recognise an invisible hand, detaining tho 
 contented prisoner from her fields and groves, for the pur- 
 pose, as the event proves, the most worthy of the sacrifice, 
 the most important, the most beneficial. 
 
 But the loss of liberty is not the whole of what the pro- 
 creant bird suffers. Harvey tells us, that he has oftei: 
 found the female wasted to skin and bone by sitting upon 
 her eggs. 
 
 One observation more, and I will dismiss the subject 
 The pahing of birds, and the non-pairing of beasts, forms 
 a distinction between the two classes, which shows that the 
 conjugaj instinct is modified with a reference to utility 
 
80 
 
 OF INSECTS. 
 
 founded on the condition of the offspring. In quadrupeds, 
 the young animal draws its nutriment from the body of the 
 dam. The male parent neither does, nor can contribute 
 any part to its sustentation. In the winged race, the 
 young bird is supplied by an importation of food, to procure 
 i^p.d bring home which, in a sufficient quantity for the de- 
 mand of a numerous brood, requires the industry of both 
 parents. In this difference, we see a reason for the vagrant 
 instinct of the quadruped, and for the faithful love of the 
 feathered mate. 
 
 CHAPTER XDL 
 
 OP INSECTS. 
 
 We are not writing a system of natural history; there- 
 fore we have not attended to the classes into which the 
 subjects of that science are distributed. What we had to 
 observe concerning different species of animals, fell easily, 
 for the most part, within the divisions which the course of 
 our argument led us to adopt. There remain, however, 
 some remarks upon the insect tribe, which could not prop- 
 erly be introduced under any of these heads; and which 
 therefore, we have collected into a chapter by themselves. 
 
 The structure, and the use of the parts of insects, are 
 less understood than that of quadrupeds and birds, not only 
 by reason of their minuteness, or the minuteness of their 
 parts (for that minuteness we can in some measure fol- 
 low with glasses,) but also by reason of the remoteness of 
 their manners and modes of life from those of larger ani- 
 mals. For instance: insects, under all their varieties of 
 form, are endowed with antennae, [PL XXXII. fig. 2, 3.] 
 which is the name given to those long feelers that rise 
 from each side of the head; but to what common use or 
 want of the insect kind, a provision so universal is subser- 
 vient, has not yet been ascertained: and it has not been 
 ascertained, because it admits not of a clear, or very pro- 
 bable comparison, with any organs which we possess our- 
 selves, or with the organs of animals which resemble our- 
 selves in their functions and faculties, or with which we are 
 better acquainted than we are with insects. We want a 
 ground of analogy. This difficulty stands in our way as to 
 some particulars in the insect constitution, which we might 
 wisli to be acquainted! with. Nevertheless, there are many 
 
OF INSECTS. 
 
 181 
 
 contrivances in the bodies of insects, neither dubious in 
 their use, nor obscure in their structure, and most properly 
 mechanical. These form parts of our argument. 
 
 I. The dytru, or scaly wings of the genus of scarabaeus 
 or beetle, furnish an example of this kind. The true wing 
 of the animal is a light transparent membrane, finer than 
 the finest gauze, and not unlike it. It is also, when ex- 
 panded, in proportion to the size of the animal, very large. 
 In order to protect this delicate structure, and perhaps 
 also to preserve it in a due state of suppleness and humidi- 
 ty, a strong hard case is given to it, in the shape of the 
 horny wing which we call the elytron. When the animal 
 is at rest, the gauze wings lie folded up under this impene- 
 trable shield. When the beetle prepares for flying, he 
 raises the integument, and spreads out his thin membrane 
 to the air. And it cannot be observed without admiration, 
 what a tissue of cordage, i. e, of muscular tendons, must 
 run in various and complicated, but determinate directions, 
 along this fine surface, in order to enable the animal, either 
 to gather it up into a certain precise form, whenever it 
 desires to place its wings under the shelter which na- 
 ture hath given to them; or to expand again their folds, 
 when wanted for action. [PI. XXXII. fig. 1.] 
 
 In some insects, the elytra cover the whole body; in oth 
 ors, half; in others, only a small part of it; but in all, they 
 completely hide and cover the true wings. [PI. XXXII 
 <ig. 2.] 
 
 Also, many or most of the beetle species lodge in holes in 
 the earth, environed by hard rough substances, and have 
 frequently to squeeze their way through narrow passages; 
 in which situation, wings so tender, and so large, could 
 scarcely have escaped injury, without both a firm covering 
 to defend them, and the capacity of collecting themselves 
 up under its protection. 
 
 II. Another contrivance, equally mechanical and equal- 
 ly clear, is the aiol or borer, fixed at the tails of various 
 species of flies; and with which they pierce, in some 
 cases, plants; in others, wood; in others, the skin and 
 flesh of animals; in others, the coat of the chrysalis of in- 
 sects of a different species from their own; and in others, 
 even lime, mortar, and stone. I need not add, that hav- 
 ing pierced the substance, they deposit their eggs in the 
 hole. The descriptions v/hich naturalists give of this organ, 
 are such as the following: it is a sharp-pointed instru- 
 ment, which, in its inactive state, lies concealed in the 
 extremity of the abdomen, and which the animal draws 
 
 Q 
 
OF INSECTS. 
 
 k82 
 
 out at pleasure, for the purpose of making & pun;..ture in 
 the leaves, stem, or bark, of the particular plant which is 
 suited to the nourishment of its young. In a sheath which 
 divides and opens whenever the organ is used, there is 
 enclosed a compact, solid, dentated stem, along which runs 
 a gutter or groove, by which groove, after the penetration 
 is effected, the egg, assisted in some cases by a peristaltic 
 motion, passes to its destined lodgement.^ In the oestrus 
 or gad-fly, the wimble draws out like the pieces of a spy- 
 glass; the last piece is armed with three hooks, and is able 
 to bore through the hide of an ox. Can anything more 
 be necessary to display the mechanism, than to relate the 
 fact.? [PI. XXXII. fig. 3, 4.] 
 
 III. The stings of insects, though for a different pur- 
 pose, are, in their structure, not unlike the piercer. The 
 sharpness to which the point in all of them is wrought; the 
 temper and firmness of the substance of which it is compos- 
 ed; the strength of the muscles by which it is darted out, 
 compared with the smallness and weakness of the insect, 
 and with the soft and friable texture of the rest of the body; 
 are properties of the sting to be noticed, and not a little to 
 be admired. The sting of a bee will pierce through a goat- 
 skin glove. It penetrates the human flesh more read- 
 ily than the finest point of a needle. The action of the 
 sting affords an example of the union of chemistry and 
 mechanism, such as, if it be not a proof of contrivance, 
 nothing is. First, as to the chemistry; how highly con- 
 centrated must be the venom, which, in so small a quantity, 
 can produce such powerful effects! And in the bee we 
 may observe, that this venom is made from honey, the only 
 food of the insect, but the last material from which I should 
 have expected that an exalted poison could, by any pro- 
 cess or digestion whatsoever, have been prepared. Ii? the 
 next place, with respect to the mechanism, the sting is not 
 a simple, but a compound instrument. The visible sting, 
 though drawn to a point exquisitely sharp, is, in strictness, 
 only a sheath; for, near to the extremity maybe perceived 
 by the microscope two minute orifices, from which orifices, 
 in the act of stinging, and, as it should seem, after the point 
 
 * There are numerous variations in the structure of this orjjan; an exam- 
 ple of the one jwst mentioned is seen in the ovipositor of the buprestis, 
 Fig. 9. It consists of three long and sharp laminje, the two lateral ones 
 forming a slieath to the interdiediate one, wliich is the tube which conveys 
 the egg. In some cases tlie instrument forms a saw, or what Pa ey here 
 calls a dentated stem, which conveys the eggs, as in the tenthredo, ciev^^ 
 cimbex, &c. — Paxton, 
 
OF INSECTS. 
 
 183 
 
 of the mdn sting has buried itself in the flesh, are launch- 
 ed out two subtile rays, which may be called the true or 
 proper stings, as being those through which the poison is 
 infused into the puncture already made by the exterior sting. 
 
 I have said, that chemistry and mechanism are here united: 
 by which observation I meant, that all this machinery, 
 would have been useless, telum imbelle, if a supply of 
 poison, intense in quality, in proportion to the smallness of 
 the drop, had not been furnished to it by the chemical 
 elaboration which was carried on in the insect^s body; and 
 that, on the other hand, the poison, the result of this pro- 
 cess, could not have attained its effect, or reached its 
 enemy, if, when it was collected at the extremity of the 
 abdomen, it had not found there a machinery, fitted to con- 
 duct it to the external situations in which it was to operate, 
 viz. an awl to bore a hole, and a syringe to inject the fluid. 
 Yet these attributes, though combined in their action, are 
 independent in their origin. The venom does not breed 
 the sting; nor does the sting concoct the venom. [PI. 
 XXXII. fig. 5-] . . . 
 
 IV. The proboscis, v/ith which many insects are en- 
 dowed, comes next in order to be considered. [PI. XXXII. 
 fig. 6, 7, 8.] It is a tube attached to the head of the animal. 
 In the bee, it is composed of two pieces connected by a 
 joint; for if it were constantly extended, it would be too 
 much exposed to accidental injuries; therefore, in its in- 
 dolent state, it is doubled up by means of the joint, and 
 in that position lies secure under a scaly penthouse. In 
 many species of the butterfly, the proboscis, wh( n not in 
 use, is coiled up like a watch spring. In the same bee, 
 the proboscis serves the office of the mouth, the insect 
 having no other: and how much better adapted it is, than 
 a mouth would be, for collecting of the proper nourish- 
 ment of the animal, is sufficiently evident. The food of 
 the bee is the nectar of flowers; a drop of syrup, lodged 
 deep in the bottom of the corollm, in the recesses of the 
 petals, or down the neck of a monopetalous glove. Into 
 these cells the bee thrusts its long narrow pump, through 
 the cavity of which it sucks up this precious fluid, inacces- 
 sible to every other approach. It is observable also, that 
 the plant is not the worse for what the bee does to it. The 
 harmless plunderer rifles the sweets, but leaves the flower 
 uninjured. The ringlets of which the proboscis of the bee 
 is composed, the muscles by which it is extended and 
 contracted, form so many microscopical wonders. The 
 agility also with which it is moved, can hardly fail to eX' 
 
184 
 
 OF INSECTS. 
 
 cite admiration But it it enough for our purpose to ob- 
 serve in general, the suitableness of the structure to the 
 use, of the means to the end, and especially the wisdom 
 by which nature has departed from its most general anal- 
 ogy (for animals being furnished with mouths are such,) 
 when the purpose could be better answered by the devia- 
 tion. 
 
 In some insects, the proboscis, or tongue, or trunk, is 
 shut up in a sharp-pointed sheath, which sheath, being of 
 a much firmer texture than the proboscis itself, as well as 
 sharpened at the point, pierces the substance which con- 
 tains the food, and then opens within the wound, to allow 
 the enclosed tube, through which the juice is extracted, to 
 perform its office. Can any mechanism be plainer than 
 this is; or surpass this? 
 
 V. The metamorphosis of insects from grubs into moths 
 and flies, is an astonishing process. A hairy caterpillar 
 is transformed into a butterfly. Observe the change. We 
 have four beautiful wings, where there were none before; 
 a tubular proboscis, in the place of a mouth with jaws and 
 teeth; six long legs, instead of fourteen feet. In another 
 case, we see a white, smooth, soft worm, turned into a 
 black, hard, crustaceous beetle, with gauze wings. These, 
 as I said, are astonishing processes, and must require, as 
 it should seem, a proportionably artificial apparatus. The 
 hypothesis which appears to me most probable is, that, in 
 the grub, there exist at the same time three animals, one 
 within another, all nourished by the same digestion, and 
 by a communicating circulation; but in different stages of 
 maturity. The latest discoveries made by naturalists seem 
 to favour this supposition. The insect already equip- 
 ped with wings, is descried under the membranes, both 
 of the worm and nymph. In some species, the proboscis, 
 the antennae, the limbs and wings of the fly, have been 
 observed to be folded up within the body of the caterpillar; 
 and with such nicety as to occupy a small space only under 
 the two first wings. This being so, the outermost animal, 
 which, besides its own proper character, serves as an integu- 
 ment to the other two, being the farthest advanced, dies, 
 as we suppose, and drops off first. The second, the pupa 
 or chrysalis, then offers itself to observation. This also, 
 in its turn, dies; its dead and brittle husk falls to pieces, 
 and makes way for the appearance of the fly or moth. 
 Now, if this be the case, or indeed whatever explication 
 be adopted, we have a prospective contrivance of the most 
 curious kind; we have organizations three deep, yet a vas- 
 
OF INSECTS. 
 
 185 
 
 iilar system, which supplies nutrition, growth, and life, tc 
 a 1 of them together*. 
 
 VI. Almost all insects are oviparous. Nature keeps 
 her bu.terflies, moths, and caterpillars, locked up during 
 the winter in their egg state; and we have to admire the 
 various devices to which, if we may so speak, the same 
 nature hath resorted, for the secAirihj of the egg. Many ^ 
 insects enclose their eggs in a silken web; others cover 
 them with a coat of hair torn from their own bodies; some 
 glue them together; and others, like the moth of the silk- 
 worm, glue them to the leaves upon which they are depos- 
 ited, that tb3y may not be shaken off by the wind, or wash- 
 ed away by rain: some again make incisions into leaves, 
 and hide an egg in each incision; whilst some envelope 
 their eggs with a soft substance, which forms the first ali- 
 ment of the young animal: and some again make a hole in 
 the earth, and having stored it with a quantity of proper 
 food, deposit their eggs in it. In all which we are to ob- 
 serve, that the expedient depends, not so much upon the 
 address of the animal, as upon the physical resources of 
 his constitution. 
 
 The art also with which the young insect is coiled up in 
 the egg, presents, where it can be examined, a subject of 
 great curiosity. The insect, furnished with all the members 
 which it ought to have, is rolled up into a form which 
 seems to contract it into the least possible space; by which 
 contraction, notwithstanding the smallness of the egg, it has 
 room enough in its apartment, and to spare. This folding 
 of the limbs appears to me to indicate a special direction, 
 for, if it were merely the effect of compression, the col- 
 location of the parts would be more various than it is. In 
 the same species, I believe, it is always the same. 
 
 These observations belong to the whole insect tribe, or 
 to a great part of them. Other observations are limited 
 to fewer species; but not, pf^rhaps, less important or satis- 
 factory. 
 
 1. The organization in the abdomen of the silkworm, 
 or spider, whereby these insects form their thread, is as 
 incontestably mechanical as a wire-drawer’s mill. In the 
 body of the silkworm are two bags, remarkable for their 
 form, position, and use. [PI. XXXIII. fig. 1.] They wind 
 round the intestine; when drawn out, they are ten inches 
 in length, though the animal itself be only two. Within 
 these bags is collected a glue; and communicating with 
 the bags, are two paps or outlets, perforated, like a giater, 
 by a n amber of small holes. The glue or gum, being pass- 
 
186 
 
 OF INSECTS. 
 
 ed thro'jgh these minute apertures, form hairs of almost 
 imperceptible fineness; and these hairs, when joined, com- 
 pose the silk which we wind off from the cone, in which 
 the silkworm has wrapped itself up: in the spider, the web 
 is formed from this thread. In* both cases, the extremity of 
 the thread, by means of its adhesive quality, is first at- 
 tached by the animal to some external hold; and the end 
 being now fastened to a point, the insect, by turning round 
 its body, or by receding from that point, draws out tho 
 thread through the holes above described, by an operation, 
 as hath been observed, exactly similar to the drawing of 
 wire. The thread, like the wire, is formed by the hole 
 hrough which it passes. In one respect there is a dif- 
 ference. The wire is the metal unaltered, except in figure. 
 In the animal process, the nature of the substance is some- 
 what changed as well as the form; for, as it exists within 
 the insect, it is a soft clammy gum or glue. The thread 
 acquires, it is probable, its firmness and tenacity from the 
 action of the air upon its surface, in the moment of expo- 
 sure; and a thread so fine is almost all surface. This 
 property, however, of the paste is part of the contrivancf^ 
 [PI. XXXIII. fig. 2.] 
 
 The mechanism itself consists of the bags or reservoirs 
 into which the glue is collected, and of the external holes 
 communicating with these bags: and the action of the 
 machine is seen in the forming of a thread, as wire is form- 
 ed, by forcing the material already prepared through holes 
 of proper dimensions. The secretion is an act too subtile 
 for our discernment, except as we preceive it by the pro- 
 duce. But one thing answers to another; the secretory^ 
 glands to the quality and consistence required in the 
 secreted substance; the bag to its reception: the outlets 
 and orifices are constructed, not merely for relieving 
 the reservoirs of their burden, but for manufacturing the 
 contents into a form and texture, of great external use, or 
 rather indeed of future necessity, to the life and functions 
 of the insect. 
 
 II. Bees, under one character or other, have furnished 
 every naturalist with a set of observations. I shall in 
 this place confine myself to one; and that is, the relafior 
 which obtains between the wax and the honey. No per- 
 son who has inspected a bee-hive, can forbear remarking 
 how commodiously the honey is bestowed in the comb, and 
 amongst other advantages, how effectually the fermenta 
 tion of the honey is prevented by distributing it into smal) 
 ce Is. TTie fact is, that when the honey is separated from 
 
OF INSECTS. 
 
 187 
 
 the comb, and put into jars, it runs into fermentation, with 
 a much less degree of heat than what takes place in a 
 hive. This may be reckoned a nicety; but, independently 
 of any nicety in the matter, I would ask, what could the 
 bee do with the honey if it had not the wax.'^ how, at least, 
 could it store it up for winter? The wax, therefore, an- 
 swers a purpose with respect to the honey ; and the honey 
 constitutes that purpose with respect to the wax. This ia 
 the relation between them. But the two substances, 
 though together of the greatest use, and without each 
 other of little, come from a different origin. The bee finds 
 the honey, but makes the wax. The honey is lodged in 
 the nectaria of flowers, and probably undergoes little alter- 
 ation; is merely collected: whereas the wax is a ductile, te- 
 nacious paste, made out of a dry powder, not simply by 
 kneading it with a liquid, but by a digestive process in the 
 body of the bee. What account can be rendered of facts 
 so circumstanced, but that the animal, being intended to 
 feed upon honey, was, by a peculiar external configuration, 
 enabled to procure it? that, moreover, wanting the honey 
 when it could not be procured at all, it was farther endued 
 with the no less necessary faculty of constructing reposi- 
 tories for its preservation? which faculty, it is evident, must 
 depend primarily, upon the capacity of providing suitable 
 materials. Two distinct functions go to make up the 
 ability. First, the power in the bee, with respect to wax, 
 of loading the farina of flowers upon its thighs. Microsco- 
 pic observers speak of the spoon-shaped appendages with 
 which the thighs of bees are beset for this very purpose; 
 but, inasmuch as the art and will of the bee may be sup- 
 posed to be concerned in this operation, there is, secondly, 
 that which doth not rest in art or will — a digestive faculty 
 which converts the loose powder into a stiff substance. 
 This is a just account of the honey and the honey-comb , and 
 this account, through every part, carries a creative intelli- 
 gence along with it. 
 
 The sting also of the bee has this relation to the honey, 
 that it is necessary for the protection of a treasure which 
 invites so many robbers. 
 
 III. Our business is with mechanism. In the panorpa 
 tribe of insects, there is a forceps in the tail of the male 
 insect, with which he catches and holds the female. [PL 
 XXXIII. fig. 3.] Are a pair of pincers more mechanical 
 than this provision in its structure? or is any structure 
 more clear and certain in its design? 
 
188 
 
 OF INSECTS. 
 
 IV. St. Pierre tells us,* that in a fly with sis. feet, (I 
 do not remember that he describes the species,) the pair 
 next the head and the pair next the tail, have brushes at 
 their extremities, with which the fly dresses, as there may 
 be occasion, the anterior or the posterior part of its body; 
 but that the middle pair have no such brushes, the situation 
 of these legs not admitting of the brushes, if they were 
 there, being converted to the same use. This is a very ex- 
 act mechanical distinction. 
 
 V. If the reader, looking to our distributions of science; 
 wish to contemplate the chemistry, as well as the mechan- 
 ism of nature, the insect creation will afford him an ex- 
 ample. I refer to the light in the tail of a glow-worm. Two 
 points seem to be agreed upon by naturalists concerning it: 
 first, that it is phosphoric; secondly, that its use is to 
 attract the male insect. The only thing to be inquired 
 after, is the singularity, if any such there be, in the nat- 
 ural history of this animal, which should render a pro- 
 vision of this kind more necessary for it than for other 
 insects. That singularity seems to be the difference which 
 subsists between the male and the female ; which difference 
 is greater than what we find in any other species of animal 
 whatever. The glow-worm is a female caterpillar’, the 
 male of which is a fly; lively, comparatively small, dis- 
 similar to the female in appearance, probably also as distin- 
 guished from her in habits, pursuits, and manners, as he 
 is unlike in form and external constitution. [PI. XXXIII, 
 fig. 4, 5.] Here then is the adversity of the case. The 
 caterpillar cannot meet her companion in the air. The 
 winged rover disdains the ground. They might nevei 
 therefore be brought together, did not this radiant torch 
 direct the volatile mate to his sedentary female. 
 
 In this example, we also see the resources of art antici- 
 pated. One grand operation of chemistry is the making 
 of phosphorus: and it was thought an ingenious devise, 
 to make phosphoric matches supply the place of lighted 
 tapers. Now this very thing is done in the body of the 
 glow-worm. The phosphorus is not only made, but kin- 
 dled; and caused to emit a steady and genial beam, for 
 the purpose which is here stated, and which I believe to 
 be the true one. 
 
 VI. Nor is the last thb only instance that entomology 
 affords, in which our discoveries, or rather our projects, 
 tuin ou to be imitations of nature. Some years ago, a 
 
 * Vol. i. p. 342 
 
OF INSECx’S. 
 
 189 
 
 plan was s ggested, producing propulsion by reaction in 
 this way: By the force of a steam-engine, a stream of 
 water was to be shot out of the stern of a boat; the im- 
 Dulse of which stream upon the water in the river, was to 
 Dush the boat itself forward; it is, in truth, the principle 
 by which sky-rockets ascend in the air. Of the use or 
 practicability of the plan, I am not speaking; nor is it my 
 concern to praise its ingenuity: but it is certainly a cor 
 trivance. Now, if naturalists are to be believed, it is 
 exactly the device which nature has made use of, for the 
 motion of some species of aquatic insects. The larva of 
 the dragon-fly y according to Adams, swims by ejecting 
 water from its tail ; is driven forward by the reaction of 
 water in the pool upon the current issuing in a direction 
 backward from its body. [PI. XXXIII. fig. 6.] 
 
 VII. Again: Europe has lately been surprised by the 
 elevation of bodies in the air by means of a balloon. The 
 discovery consisted in finding out a manageable substance, 
 which was, bulk for bulk, lighter than air; and the appli- 
 cation of the discovery was, to make a body composed of 
 this substance bear up, along with its own weight, some 
 heavier body which was attached to it. This expedient, 
 so new to us, proves to be no other than what the author 
 of nature has employed in the gossamer spider. We fre- 
 quently see this spider's thread floating in the air, and 
 extended from hedge to hedge, across a road or brook of 
 four or five yards width. The animal which forms the 
 thread has no wings wherewith to fly from one extremity 
 to the other of this line; nor muscles to enable it to spring 
 or dart to so great a distance: yet its Creator hath laid 
 for it a path in the atmosphere; and after this manner. 
 Though the animal itself be heavier than air, the thread 
 which it spins from its bowels is specifically lighter. This 
 is its balloon. The spider, left to itself, would drop to the 
 ground; but being tied to its thread, both are supported. 
 We have here a very peculiar provision: and to a contem- 
 plative eye it is a gratifying spectacle, to see this insect waft- 
 ed on her thread, sustained by a levity not her own, and 
 traversing regions, which, if we examined only the body of 
 the animal, might seem to have been forbidden to its nature. 
 
 I must now crave the reader’s permission to introduce 
 into this place, for want of a better, an observation or two 
 upon the tribe of animals, whether belonging to land or 
 water, which are covered by shells. 
 
 I. The shells of snails are a wonderful, a mechanical, 
 
190 
 
 OF INSECTS. 
 
 and, if one might so speak concerning the works of nature, 
 an original contrivance. Other animals have their prope»: 
 retreats, their hybernacula also, or winter-quarters, but the 
 snail carries these about with him. He travels with his 
 tent; and this tent, though, as was necessary, both light 
 and thin, is completely impervious either to moisture or air. 
 The young snail comes out of its egg with the shell upon 
 its back; and the gradual enlargement which the shell 
 receives, is derived from the slime excreted by the animal’s 
 skin. Now the aptness of this excretion to the purpose, its 
 property of hardening into a shell, and the action, whatever 
 it be, of the animal, whereby it avails itself of its gift, and 
 of the constitution of its glands, (to say nothing of the work 
 being commenced before the animal is born,) are things 
 which can, with no probability, be referred to any other 
 cause than to express design; and that not on the part of 
 the animal alone, in which design, though it might build 
 the house, could not have supplied the material. The will 
 of the animal could not determine the quality of the ex- 
 cretion. Add to which, that the shell of a snail, with its 
 pillar and convolution, is a very artificial fabric; whilst a 
 snail, as it should seem, is the most numb and unprovided 
 of all artificers. In the midst of variety, there is likewise 
 a regularity, which would hardly be expected. In the 
 same species of snail, the number of turns is usually, if 
 not always, the same. The sealing up of the mouth of 
 the shell by the snail, is also well calculated for its warmth 
 and security; but the cerate is not of the same substance 
 with the shell. 
 
 II. Much of what has been observed of snails belongs 
 to shell-fish and their shells, particularly to those of the 
 univalve kind; with the addition of two remarks: one of 
 which is upon the great strength and hardness of most of 
 these shells. I do not know whether, the weight being 
 given, art can produce so strong a case as are some of these 
 shells. Which defensive strength suits well with the life 
 of an animal, that has often to sustain the dangers of a 
 stormy element, and a rocky bottom, as well as the attacks 
 of voracious fish. The other remark is, upon the property, 
 in the animal excretion, not only of congealing, but of con- 
 gealing, or, as a builder would call it, setting, in water, and 
 into a cretaceous substance, firm and hard. This property 
 is much more extraordinary, and, chemically speaking, 
 more specific, than that of hardening in the air; which 
 may be reckoned a kind of exsicce/.ion, like the drying ol 
 clay into bricks. 
 
OF INSECTS. 
 
 191 
 
 III. In the bivalve order of shell-:lsh, cockles, muscles, 
 oysters, Stc. what contrivance can be so simple or so clear, 
 as the insertion at the back, of a tough, tendinous substance, 
 that becomes at once the ligament which binds the two 
 shells together, and the hinge upon which they open and 
 shut. 
 
 IV. The shell of a lobster’s tail, in its articulations and 
 overlapping, represents the jointed part of a coat of mail; 
 or rather, which I believe to be the truth, a coat of mail is 
 an imitation of a lobster’s shell. The same end is to be 
 answered by both; the same properties, therefore, are re- 
 quired in both, namely, hardness and flexibility, a covering 
 which may guard the part without obstructing its motion. 
 For this double purpose, the art of man, expressly exercis- 
 ed upon the subject, has not been able to devise anything 
 better than what nature presents to his observation. Is not 
 this, therefore, mechanism, which the mechanic, having a 
 similar purpose in view, adopts } Is the structure of a coat 
 of mail to be referred to art? Is the same structure of the 
 lobster, conducing to the same use, to be referred to any- 
 thing less than art? 
 
 Some, who may acknowledge the imitation, and assent 
 to the inference which we draw from it in the instance be- 
 fore us, may be disposed, possibly, to ask, why such imita- 
 tions are not more frequent than they are, if it be true, as 
 we allege, that the same principle of intelligence, design, 
 and mechanical contrivance, was exerted in the formation 
 of natural bodies, as we employ in the making of the vari- 
 ous instruments by which our purposes are served? The 
 answers to this question are, first, that it seldom happens 
 that precisely the same purpose, and no other, is pursueo 
 in any work which we compare, of nature and of art; sec- 
 ondly, that it still more seldom happens, that we can imitate 
 nature, if we would. Our materials and our workmanship 
 are equally deficient. Springs and wires, and cork and 
 leather, produce a poor substitute for an arm or a hand. In 
 the example which we have selected, I mean a lobster’s 
 shell compared with a coat of mail, these difficulties stand 
 less in the way, than in almost any other that can be as- 
 signed: and the consequence is, as we have seen, that art 
 gladly borrows from nature her contrivance, and imitates 
 it closely. 
 
 But to return to insects. I think it is in this class of 
 animals above all others, especially when we take in the 
 
192 
 
 OF INSECTS. 
 
 nultitude of species which the microscope discovers, that 
 we are struck with what Cicero has called “the insatiable 
 variety of nature.’’ There are said to be six thousand 
 species of flies; seven hundred and sixty butterflies; each 
 different from all the rest, (St. Pierre.) The same writer 
 tells us, from his own observation, that thirty-seven species 
 of winged insects, with distinctions well expressed, visited 
 a single strawberry plant in the course of three weeks.* 
 Ray observed, within the compass of a mile or two of his 
 own house, two hundred kinds of butterflies, noctural and 
 diurnal. He likewise asserts, but I think without any 
 grounds of exact computation, that the number of species 
 of insects, reckoning all sorts of them, may not be short 
 of ten thousand.t And in this vast variety of animal forms 
 (for the observation is not confined to insects, though more 
 applicable perhaps to them than to any other class) we are 
 sometimes led to take notice of the different methods, or 
 rather of the studiously diversified methods, by which 
 one and the same purpose is attained. In the article of 
 breathing, for example, which was to be provided for in 
 some way or other, besides the ordinary varieties of lungs, 
 gills, and breathing-holes (for insects in general respire, 
 not by the mouth, [PI. XXXIII. fig. 7,] but through holes 
 in the sides,) the nymphae of gnats have an apparatus to 
 raise their backs to the top of the water, and so take breath 
 [PI. XXXIII. fig. 8.] The hydrocanthari do the like by 
 thrusting their tails out of the water. J The maggot of the 
 eruca labra [PI. XXXIII. fig. 9,] has a long tail, one part 
 sheathed within another, (but which it can draw out at 
 pleasure,) with a starry tufl at the end, by which tnft, 
 when expanded upon the surface, the insect both supports 
 itself in the water, and draws in the air which is necessary. 
 In the article of natural clothing, we have the skins of ani- 
 mals invested with scales, hair, feathers, mucus, froth; or 
 itself turned into a shell or crust: in the no less necessary 
 article of offence and defence, we have teeth, talons, beaks, 
 horns, stings, prickles, with (the most singular expedient 
 for the same purpose) the power of giving the electric 
 
 *Vol.i. p. 3. 
 
 t Wisdom of God, p. 23. The number of species of insects known 
 to entomologists, and preserved in cabinets, is at present not less than 
 forty thousand. This number, however, must probably form a small 
 proportion of the whole number which exist upon the earth . — See Kirly 
 and Spence's Entomology . — Ed. 
 
 t Dei ham, p. 7 
 
OF PLANTS. 
 
 193 
 
 shock, and, as is credibly related of some animals, of 
 driving away their pursuers by an intolerable fostor, or of 
 blackening the water through which they are pursued. f 
 The consideration of these appearances might induce us to 
 believe, that varietxj itself, distinct from every other reason, 
 was a motive in the mind of the Creator, or with the 
 agents of his will. 
 
 To this great variety in organized life, the Deity has 
 given, or perhaps there arises out of it, a corresponding 
 variety of anima^. appeiiles. For the final cause of this 
 we have not far to seek. Did all animals covet the same 
 element, retreat, or food, it is evident how much fewer 
 could be supplied and accommodated, than what at present 
 live conveniently together, and find a plentiful subsistence. 
 What one nature rejects, another delights in. Food which 
 is nauseous to one tribe of animals, becomes, by that very 
 property which makes it nauseous, an alluring dainty to 
 another tribe. Carrion is a treat to dogs, ravens, vultures, 
 fish. The exhalations of corrupted substances attract flies 
 by crowds. Maggots revel in putrefaction. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 OF PLANTS. 
 
 I THINK a designed and studied mechanism to be, in 
 general, more evident in animals than in plants; and it is 
 unnecessary to dwell upon a weaker argument, where a 
 
 The raja torpedo y gy?nnotus electricus, and some other fish, have 
 a curious apparatus of nerves, which in its effects may be compared 
 to an electrical battery. In the first named fish, the electrical organs 
 are situated between the head and the pectoral fins. When the integu- 
 ments are raised the organ appears, consisting of some hundred pentagonal 
 and hexagonal cells, filled with a glairy fluid. Minute blood-vessels arc 
 dispersed over it, and its nerves are of extraordinary size. When the 
 hand is applied to the electrical organs, a benumbing effect is instantly felt 
 in the fingers and the arm. When caught in a net, it has been known to 
 give a violent shock to the hands of the fisherman who ventures to seize 
 it. Phil, Trans, 1816, p. 120. Ibid. 1817, p. 32. — Paxton, 
 
 t The several species of sepice or cuttle fish have this faculty. 
 They possess a bag situated on, or near the liver, called the ink-bagy 
 from its containing a black fluid, the contents of which are discharged 
 by a muscular sheath compressing the body of the animal. By this 
 singular evacuation the creature renders the surrounding element so black 
 and bitter, when in danger of being attacked, that an enemy will not 
 pursue it. — Ib, 
 
 R 
 
J94 
 
 OF PLAJqiS. 
 
 stroDger is at hand. There are, however, c fe^r observa- 
 tions upon the vegetable kingdom, which lie bo directly in 
 our way, that it would be improper to pass by them with- 
 out notice. 
 
 The one great intention of nature in the structure of 
 plants, seems to be the perfecting of the seed; and, what 
 is part of the same intention, the prese. ving of it until it 
 be perfected. This intention shows itself, in the first place, 
 by the care which appears to be taken, to protect and ripen, 
 by every advantage which can be given to them of situa- 
 tion in the plant, those parts which most immediately con- 
 tribute to fructification, viz. the antherre, the stamina, ar i 
 the stigmata. These parts are usually lodged in the cen- 
 tre, the recesses, or the labyrinths of the flower; during 
 their tender and immature state, are shut up in the stalk, 
 or sheltered in the bud: as soon as they have acquired 
 firmness of texture sufficient to bear exposure, and are 
 ready to perform the important office which is assigned to 
 them, they are disclosed to the light and air, by the burst- 
 ing of the stem, or the expansion of the petals; after which, 
 they have, in many cases, by tbe very form of the ffowei 
 during its blow, the light and warmth reflected upon them 
 from the concave side of the cup. What is called also the 
 sleep * of plants, is the leaves or petals disposing themselves 
 
 * “ The periodical change in the direction of leaves, which has been 
 called the ‘Sleep of Plants,’ is undeniably connected with the stimulating 
 operation of light. It is established, that during the clear light of the 
 sun, the leaves become erect, and move their upper surface to the light, 
 whilst, on the contrary, during the absence of light, they either hang 
 downwards, and turn to the horizon, or they take an upright position, so 
 that the under surface of the leaves isjurned more outward. On account 
 of this particular position of what has been called ‘ Sleeping Plants,’ we 
 cainot properly ascribe this direction to sleep, because the leaves do 
 sometimes even raise themselves during this state with greater energy, 
 and press upon the stem or leaf-stalk, for the j)urpose of turning fbeij 
 lower surface outwards. This change is much rather, therefore, the con 
 sequence of the contest between the activity of the plant, and the grea 
 activity of nature. This change is the more evident, and the sleep oi 
 leaves the more striking, the finer and more compounded the organiza 
 lion of the leaves are. VVe hence most frequently observe it in the pin 
 nated leaves of leguminous plants, although also in some others, is ic 
 atriplex. 
 
 That an internal and self-dependent activity is to be taken into ac- 
 count in this sleep of plants, is plain from the fact that this sleep does 
 not equally follow from a short withdrawing of the I ght, but only frean 
 its complete and long-continued removal; as also from this other cir- 
 eamstance, that leaves fall asleep or awake at fixed liours, whether 
 the sky be serene or troubled, exactly as happens with regard to ani- 
 mals. Other stiniulu, too, and especially heat, have a groat influence 
 
OF PLANTS. 
 
 195 
 
 in such a manner as to shelter the young stems, buds, or 
 fruit. They turn up, or they fall down, according as this 
 purpose renders either change or position requisite. In 
 the growth of corn, whenever the plant begins to shoot, the 
 Iwo upper leaves of the stalk join together, embrace the 
 ear, and protect it till the pulp has acquired a certain de- 
 gree of consistency. In some water plants, the flowering 
 and fecundation are carried on within the stem, which af- 
 terwards opens to let loose the impregnated seed.* The 
 pea or papilionaceous tribe, enclose the parts of fructifi- 
 cation within a beautiful folding of the internal blossom, 
 sometimes called, from its shape, the boat or keel; itself 
 also protected under a penthouse formed by the external 
 petals.. This structure is very artificial; and what adds to 
 the value of it, though it may diminish the curiosity, very 
 general. It has also this farther advantage, (and it is an 
 advantage strictly mechanical,) that all the blossoms turn 
 their backs to the wind, whenever the gale blows strong 
 enough to endanger the delicate parts upon which the seed 
 depends. I have observed this a hundred times in a field 
 of peas in blossom. It is an aptitude which results from 
 the figure of the flower, and, as we have said, is strictly 
 mechanical; as much so as the turning of a weather-board 
 or tin cap upon the top of a chimney. Of the poppij^ and 
 of many ^milar species of flowers, the head, while it is 
 growing, hangs down, a rigid curvature in the upper part 
 of the stem giving to it that position ; and in that position 
 it is impenetrable by rain or moisture. When the head 
 has acquired its size, and is ready to open, the stalk erects 
 itself, for the purpose, as it should seem, of presenting the 
 flower, and with the flower, the instruments of fructifica- 
 tion, to the genial influence of the sun’s rays. This al- 
 ways struck me as a curious property ; and speciffcally as 
 well as originally, provided for in the constitution of the 
 plant, for, if the stem be only bent by the weight of the 
 head, how comes it to straighten itself when the head is 
 the heaviest.^ These instances show the attention of na- 
 ture to this principal object, the safety and maturation of 
 the parts upon which the seed depends. 
 
 In trees, especially in those which are natives of colder 
 climates, this point is taken up earlier. Many of these trees 
 (observe in particular the ash and the horse-chestnut) pro- 
 
 npon this phenomenon, because, in the cold, leaves awaken later, and 
 fall more easily asleep, notwithstanding the influence of light.” Vida 
 Elements of the Philosophy of Plants by Decandolle. — Paxton* 
 
 * Phil. Trans, par; ii. 1796; p. 502 
 
196 
 
 OF PLANTS. 
 
 duce the embryos of the leaves and flowers in one year, 
 and bring them to perfection the following. There is a 
 winter therefore to be gotten over. Now what we are to re- 
 mark is, how nature has prepared for the trials and sever- 
 ities of that season. These tender embryos are, in the 
 first place, wrapped up with a compactness which no art 
 can imitate; in which state they compose what we call the 
 bud This is not all. The bud itself is enclosed in scales; 
 which scales are formed from the remains of past leaves, 
 and the rudiments of future ones. Neither is this the 
 whole. In the boldest climates a third preservative is ad- 
 ded, by the bud having a coat of gum or resin, which, being 
 congealed, resists the strongest frosts. On the approach 
 of warm weather, thi:^ gum is softened, and ceases to be a 
 hinderance to the expansion* of the leaves and flowers. All 
 this care is part of that systefn of provisions, which has for 
 its object and consummation the production and perfecting 
 of the seeds. 
 
 The SEEDS themselves are packed up in a capsule^ a 
 vessel composed of coats, [PI. XXXIV. fig. 1 ,] which, 
 compared with the rest of the flower, are strong and tough. 
 From this vessel projects a tube, through which tube the 
 farina, or some subtile fecundating effluvium that issues 
 from it, is admitted to the seed. And here also occurs a 
 mechanical variety, accommodated to the different circum- 
 stances under which the same purpose is to be accomplish- 
 ed. In flowers which are erect, the pistil is shorter than 
 the stamina; [PI. XXXIV. fig. 2,] and the pollen, shed 
 from the anthcrse into the cup of the flower, is caught in 
 its descent by the head of the pistil, called the stigma. But 
 how is this managed when the flowers hang down, (as 
 does the crown imperial, for instance,) and in which posi- 
 tion the farina, in its fall, would be carried from the stig- 
 ma, and not towards it.^ The relative length of the parts 
 is now inverted. The pistil in these flowers is usually 
 longer instead of shorter than the stamina, [PI. XXXIV. 
 fig. 3,] tliat its protruding summit may receive the pollen 
 as it drops to the ground. In some cases (as in the n\geU 
 la,) [PI. XXXIV. fig. 4,] where the shafts of the pistils 
 or styles are disproportionably long, they bend down their 
 extremities upon the antheree, that the necessary approxi 
 mation may be effected.* 
 
 * Amongst the various means whicli nature has provided for the pur- 
 pose of assisting the impregnation of plants, that atlbrded by the agency 
 of insec ‘a is not on 3 of the least. In the spring and summer month 
 
OF PLANTS. 
 
 197 
 
 But (to pursue this great work in its progress) the im- 
 pregnation, to which all this machinery relates, being com- 
 pleted, the other parts of the flower fade and drop off, whilst 
 the gravid seed-vessel, on the contrary, proceeds to increase 
 its bulk, always to a great, and in some species (in the 
 ^ourd, for example, and melon,) to a surprising compara- 
 tive size; assuming in different plants an incalculable va- 
 riety of forms, but all evidently conducing to the security 
 of the seed. By virtue of this process, so necessary but 
 so diversified, we have the seed at length, in stone-fruits 
 
 numerous species of these lively little beings may be seen in almost 
 every expanded flower; and whether they are in search of honey, which 
 is contained in the nectaries of many flowers, or whatever may be the 
 object of their attraction, by being continually on the move, they, no 
 doubt, further the dispersion of the pollen, and thus, in a great measure, 
 contribute to the fertility of the plants they visit. 
 
 In many plants, as those which belong to the Linnaean class dicecia, 
 where the stamens and pistils are in separate flowers, and those flowers 
 situated on two separate plants of the same species, the operation of 
 insects, or the efficacy of winds, is indispensably necessary to the per- 
 fecting the fruit, by transporting the pollen of the one to the stigma of 
 the other. 
 
 Some plants, indeed, that have perfect, or united flowers, have the 
 anthers so situated that it is almost impossible the pollen can, of itself, 
 reach the stigma; in this case insects generally become the auxiliaries 
 to the fertilization of the seed. An instance of this may be seen in the 
 aristolochia clematitis. “According to Professor Willdenow, the flow- 
 er of this plant is so formed, that the anthers of themselves cannot im- 
 pregnate the stigma; but this important affair is devolved upon a par- 
 ticular species of tipula, ( T, 'pennicornis. ) The throat of the flower 
 is lined with dense hair, pointing downward so as to form a kind of fun- 
 nel, or entrance like that of some kinds of mouse-traps, through which 
 the insects may easily enter but not return: several creep in, and, un- 
 easy at their confinement, are constantly moving to and fro, and so de- 
 posit the pollen upon the stigma: but when the work intrusted to them is 
 completed, and impregnation has taken place, the hair which prevented 
 dheir escape shrinks, and adheres closely to the sides of the flower, and 
 these little go-betweens of Flora at length leave their prison. A writer, 
 however, in the Annual Medical Review (ii. 400,) doubts the accuracy of 
 this fact, on the ground that he could never find T. pennicornis, though 
 Ji. clematitis has produced fruit two years at Brompton.” Introduc- 
 tion to Entomology, hy Kirhy and Spence, vol. i. p. 298. 
 
 That the tipula pennicornis does enter the flowers of aristolochia 
 clematitis, as recorded by Professor Willdenow, I can confidently af- 
 firm, from having observed them in great plenty in the inflated base of 
 the corolla every year, for these last fifteen years, in the Oxford Botanic 
 Garden, where the plant generally forms fruit. The first time I found 
 this insect in the flowers of the above species of aristolochia, was on 
 the 12th of July, 1812, at Godstow, near Oxford, where the plant was 
 then growing in a wild state near the ruins of the nunnery. 
 
 For the ab^ve observations the editor is indebted to an exei.^eni coi- 
 anist, Mr W. Baxter.- 
 
198 
 
 OF PLANTS 
 
 and nuts, incased in a strong shell, the shell itself enclosed 
 in a pulp or husk, by Avhich the seed within is, or hath 
 been, fed; or, more generally, (as in grapes, oranges, and 
 the numerous kinds of berries,) plunged over head in a 
 glutinous sirup, contained within a sldn or bladder: at 
 other times (as in apples and pears) embedded in the heart 
 of a firm fleshy substance; or (as in strawberries) piicked 
 into the surface of a soft pulp. 
 
 These and many other varieties exist in what we call 
 fruits.^ In pulse, and grain, and grasses; in trees, aiiid 
 shrubs, and flowers; the variety of the seed-vessels is in- 
 computable. We have the seeds (as in the pea tribe) reg- 
 ularly disposed in parchment pods, which, though soft and 
 membranous, completely exclude the wet, even in the 
 heaviest rains! the pod also, not seldom (as in the bean) 
 lined with a fine down; at other times (as in the senna) 
 distended like a blown bladder: or we have the seed 
 enveloped in wool (as in the cotton plant,) lodged (as in 
 pines) between the hard and compact scales of a cone, or 
 barricadoed (as in the artichoke and thistle) with spikes 
 
 * From the conformation of fruits alone, one might be led, even with- 
 out experience, lo suppose, that part of this provision w’as destined for 
 ibe utilities of animals. As limited to the plant, the provision itself 
 seems to go beyond its object. The flesh of an apple, the pulp of an 
 orange, the meat of a plum, the fatness of the olive, appear to be 7nore 
 than sufficient for the nourishing of the seed or kernel. The event shows, 
 that this redundancy, if it be one, ministers to the support and gratifica- 
 tion of animal natures ; and when we observe a provision to be more 
 than sufficient for one purpose, yet wanted for another purpose, it is not 
 unfair to conclude, that both purposes were contemplated together. It 
 favors this view of the subject to remark, that fruits are not. (which 
 they might have been) ready altogether, but that they ripen in succes- 
 sion throughout a great part of the year; some in summer; some in au- 
 tumn: that some require the slow maturation of the winter, and supnly 
 the spring; also that the coldest fruits grow in the hottest places. Cu- 
 cumbers, pine-apples, melons, are the natural produce of warm climates, 
 and contribute greatly, by their coolness, to the refreshment of the inha- 
 bitants of those countries. 
 
 ** The eatable part of the cherry or peach first serves the purposes of 
 perfecting the seed or kernel, by means of vessels passing through the 
 stone, and which are very visible in a peach-stone. After the kernel is 
 perfected, the stone becomes hard, and the vessels cease their functions. 
 But the substance surrounding the stone is not then thrown away as use- 
 less. That which was before only an instrument for perfecting the ker- 
 nel now receives and retains to itself the whole of the sun’s influence, 
 and thereby becomes a grateful food to man. Also, what an evident 
 mark of design is the stone ])rotecting the kernel ! The intervention of 
 the stone prevents the second use liuin interfering with the first.” 
 
 Paxtm/u 
 
OF PLANTS. 
 
 199 
 
 and prickles; in mushrooms, placed under a penthouse; in 
 ferns, within slits in the back part of the leaf; or (which is 
 the most general organization of all) we find them covered 
 by strong, close tunicles, and attached to the stem accord- 
 ing to an order appropriated to each plant, as is seen in 
 the several kinds of grain, and of grasses. 
 
 In which enumeration, what we have first to notice is, 
 unity of purpose under variety of expedients. Nothing 
 can be more single than the design; more diversified than 
 the means. Pellicles, shells, pulps, pods, husks, skin, 
 scales, armed with thorns, are all employed in prosecuting 
 the same intention. Secondly; we may observe, that, in 
 all these cases, the purpose is fulfilled within a just and 
 limited degree. We can perceive, that ifthe seeds of plants 
 were more strongly guarded than they are, their greater 
 security would interfere with other uses. Many species 
 of animals would suffer, and many perish, if they could 
 not obtain access to them. The plant would overrun the 
 soil; or the seed be wasted for want of room to sow itself. 
 It is sometimes as necessary to destroy particular species 
 of plants, as it is at other times to encourage their growth. 
 Here, as in many cases, a balance is to be maintained be- 
 tween opposite uses. The provisions for the preservation 
 of seeds appear to be directed, chiefly, against the incon- 
 stancy of the elements, or the sweeping destruction of 
 inclement seasons. The depredation of animals, and the 
 injuries of accidental violence, are allowed for in the abun- 
 dance of the increase. The result is, that out of the many 
 thousand different plants which cover the earth, not a sin- 
 gle species, perhaps, has been lost since the creation. 
 
 When nature has perfected her seeds, her next care is 
 to disperse them. The seed cannot answer its purpose 
 while it remains confined in the capsule. After the seeds 
 therefore are ripened, the pericarpium opens to let them 
 out: and the opening is not like an accidental ^irsting, 
 but, for the most part, is according to a certain rule in each 
 plant. What I have always thought very extraordinary; 
 nuts and shells, which we can hardly crack with our teeth, 
 divide and make way for the little tender sprout which pro- 
 ceeds from the kernel. Handling the nut, I could hardly 
 conceive how the plantule was ever to get out of it There 
 are cases, it is said, in which the seed-vessel, by an elastic 
 jerk at the moment of its explosion, casts the seed to a 
 distance. We all however know, that many seeds (those 
 of the most composite flowers, as of the thistle, dandelion, 
 &c.) are endowed with what are not improperly called icings ^ 
 
200 
 
 OF PLANTS. 
 
 that is, downy appendages, by which they are enabled tc 
 float in the air, and are carried oftentimes by the wind to 
 great distances from tlie plant which produces them. It 
 is the swelling also of this downy tuft within the seed-vessel, 
 that seems to overcome the resistance of its coats, and to 
 open a passage for the seed to escape. 
 
 But the constitution of seeds is still more admirable than 
 either their preservation or their dispersion. In the body 
 of the seed of every species of plant, or nearly of every one, 
 provision is made for two grand purposes; first, for the 
 safety of the germ; secondly, for the temporary support of 
 the future plant. The sprout, as folded up in the seed, is 
 delicate and brittle beyond any other substance. It can- 
 not be touched without being broken. Yet, in beans, peas, 
 grass-seeds, grain, fruits, it is so fenced on all sides, so 
 shut up and protected, that, whilst the seed itself is rudely 
 handled, tossed into sacks, shovelled into heaps, the sacred 
 particle, the miniature plant, remains unhurt. It is won- 
 derful also, how long many kinds of seeds, by the help 
 of their integuments, and perhaps of their oils, stand out 
 against decay. A grain of mustard seed has been known 
 to lie in the earth for a hundred years; and, as soon as it 
 hath acquired a favorable situation, to shoot as vigorously 
 as if just gathered from the plant. Then, as to the second 
 point, the temporary support of the future plant, the matter 
 stands thus. In grain, and pulse, and kernels, and pippins, 
 the germ composes a very small part of the seed. The 
 rest consists of a nutritious substance, from which the 
 sprout draws its aliment for some considerable time after 
 it is put forth; viz. until the fibres, shot out from the other 
 end of the seed, are able to imbibe juices from the earth, 
 in a sufficient quantity for its demand. It is owing to this 
 constitution, that we see seeds sprout, and the sprouts 
 make a considerable progress without any earth at all. It 
 is an eepnomy also, in which we remark a close analogy 
 between the seeds of plants, and the eggs of animals. The 
 same point is provided for, in the same manner, in both. 
 In the egg, the residence of the living principle, the cica- 
 trix, forms a very minute part of the contents. The white, 
 and the white only, is expended in the formation of the 
 chicken. The yolk, very little altered, or diminished, is 
 wrapped up in the abdomen of the young bird when it 
 quits the shell, and serves for its nourishment, till it have 
 learned to pick its own food. This perfectly resembles the 
 first nutrition of a plant. In the plant, as well as in the 
 animal, tlir structure has every chaiacter of contrivance 
 
OF PLANTS. 
 
 1201 
 
 belonging to if.: in both, it breaks the transition from pre- 
 pared to unpre Dared aliment ; in both, it is prospective and 
 ' compensatory. In animals which suck, this intermediate 
 nourishment is supplied by a different source 
 
 In all subjects, the most common observations are the 
 best, when it is their truth and strength which have made 
 them common. There are, of this sort, two concerning 
 plants, which it falls within our plan to notice. The first 
 relates to what has already been touched upon, their ger- 
 mination. When a grain of corn is cast into the ground, 
 this is the change which takes place. From one end o. 
 the grain issues a green sprout; from the other, a number of 
 Wiiite fibrous threads. [PI. XXXIV. fig. 5.] Plow can this 
 be explained Why not sprouts from both ends ? Why not 
 fibrous threads from both ends To what is the difference 
 to be referred, but to design; to the different uses which 
 the parts are thereafter to serve; uses which discover 
 themselves in the sequel of the process? The sprout, or 
 plumule, struggles into the air; and becomes the plant, of 
 which, from the first, it contained the rudiments: the fibres 
 shoot into the earth ; and thereby both fix the plant to the 
 ground, and collect nourishment from the soil for its sup- 
 port.* Now, what is not a little remarkable, the parts 
 
 * “ The seedy the last production of vigorous vegetation, is wonder 
 fully diversified in form. Being of the highest importance to the re- 
 sources of nature, it is defended above all other parts of the plant, by soft, 
 pulpy substances, as in the esculent fruits, by thick membranes, as in the 
 leguminous vegetables, and by hard shells, or a thick epidermis, as in the 
 palms and grasses. 
 
 “ In every seed there is to be distinguished, first, the organ of nour^ 
 ishment; secondly, the nascent plant, or ihe plume; thirdly, the nascent 
 root, or the radicle, 
 
 “ In the common garden bean, the organ of nourishment is divided in- 
 to two lobes called cotyledons; the plume is the small white point be- 
 tween the upper part of the lobes; and the radicle is the small curved cone 
 at their base. 
 
 “ In wheat, and in many of the grasses, the organ of nourishment is a 
 single part, and these plants are called monocotyledonous. In other 
 cases It consists of more than two parts, when the plants are called polye^ 
 otyledonous. In the greater number of instances it is, however, simply 
 divided into two, and is dicotyledonous. 
 
 “ The matter of the seed, when examined in its common state, appears 
 dead and inert; it exhibits neither the forms nor the functions of life. 
 But let it be acted upon by moisture, heat, and air, and its organized 
 powers are soon distinr.ly developed. The cotyledons expand, the 
 membranes burst, the ridicle acquires new matter, descends into the 
 soil, and the plume rises towards the free air. By degrees, the organs 
 of nourishment of dicotyledonous plants become vascular, and are con 
 verted into seed leaves, and the perfect plant appears above the soil 
 
*202 
 
 OF PLANTS. 
 
 issuing from the seed take their respective directions, into 
 whatever position the seed itself happens to be cast. II 
 the seed be thrown into the wrongest possible position, 
 that is, if the ends point in the ground the reverse of what 
 they ought to do, everything, nevertheless, goes on right. 
 The sprout, after being pushed down a little way, makes 
 a bend, and turns upwards: the fibres, on the contrary, 
 after shooting at first upwards, turn down. Of this extraor- 
 dinary vegetable fact, an account has lately been attempted 
 to be given: ‘‘The plumule, (it is said,) is stimulated by 
 tlie air into action, and elongates itself when it is thus 
 most excited; the radicle is stimulated by moisture, and 
 elongates itself when it is thus most excited. Whence 
 one of these grows upward in quest of its adapted object, 
 and the other downward.” Were this account better 
 verified by experiment p than it is, it only shifts the con- 
 
 Nature has provided the elements of germination on every part of the 
 surface; water and pure air and heiit are universally active, and the 
 means for the preservation and multiplication of life, are at once simple 
 and grand.” Sir H. Davyds Elements of As-riculiural Chemistry , 
 .i. ed. p. 70. — Paxton. 
 
 * Darwin’s Phytologia, p. 144. 
 
 t “ Gravitation has a very important influence on the growth of plants; 
 and it is rendered probable, by the experiments of JMr. Knight, that they 
 owe the peculiar direction of their roots and branches almost entirely to 
 its force. 
 
 “ That gentleman fixed some seeds of the garden bean on the circum- 
 ference of a wheel, which in one instance was placed vertically, and in 
 the other horizor/ally, and made to revolve, by means of another wheel 
 worked by water, iii ^uch a manner, that the number of the revolutions 
 could be regulated; the beans were supplied with moisture, and were plac- 
 ed under circumstances favorable to germination. The great velocity 
 of motion given to the wheel was such, that it performed 250 revolutions 
 in a minute. It was found that in all cases the beans grew, and that the 
 direction of the roots and stems was influenced by the motion of the 
 wheel. When the centrifugal force was made superior to the force of 
 grav tation, which was supposed to be done when the vertical wheel per- 
 formed 150 revolutions in a minute, all the radicles, in whatever way 
 they were protruded from the position of the seeds, turned their points 
 outwards from the circumference of the wheel, and in their subsequent 
 growth receded nearly at right angles from its axis; the germens (plum- 
 ules) on tlie contrary, » dv the opposite direction, and in a few days their 
 points all met in the ce-.ve of the wheel. 
 
 “When the centrifugal force was made merely to modify the force of 
 gravitation in the horizontal wheel, where the greatest velocity of revolu- 
 tion was given, the radicles pointed downwards about ten d(‘grees below, 
 and the germens (plumules) as many degrees above the horizontal line of 
 the wheel’s motion; and the deviation from the perpendicular was less in 
 proportion, as the motion was less rapid. 
 
 “Tliese facts afford a rational solution of this curious problem, respeeV 
 
OF PLANTS. 
 
 202 
 
 trivance. It does not disprove the contrivance; it only re- 
 moves it a little farther back. Who, to use our authorh 
 own language, '' adapted the objects.^’’ Who gave such 
 a quality to these connate parts, as to be susceptible of dif 
 f event “ stimulation;” as to be “ excited ” each only by its 
 own element, and precisely by that which the success oi 
 the vegetation requires? I say, “which tiie success of the 
 vegetation requires:” for the toil of the husbandman v/ould 
 have been in vain; his laborious and expensive preparation 
 of the ground in vain; if the event must, after all, depend 
 upon the position in which the scattered seed was sown 
 Not one seed out of a hundred would fall in a right di 
 rection. 
 
 Our second observation is upon a general property cl 
 climbing plants, which is strictly mechanical. In these 
 plants, from each knot or joint, or as botanists call it, ax- 
 illa, of thi; plant, issue, close to each other, two shoots; 
 one bearing the flower and fruit; the other, drawn out into 
 a wire, a long, tapering, spiral tendril, that twists itself 
 round anything which lies within its reach. Considering, 
 th-at in this class two purposes are to be provided for, (anc 
 together,) fructification and support, the fruitage of the 
 plant, and the sustentation of the stalk, what means could 
 be used more effectual, or, as I have said, more mechanical, 
 than what this structure presents to our eyes? Why, or 
 hoWj without a view to this double purpose, do two shoots, 
 of such different and appropriate forms, spring from the 
 same joint, from contiguous points of the same stalk? It 
 never happens thus in robust plants, or in trees. “We 
 see not, (says Ray,) so much as one tree, or shrub, or 
 herb, that hath a firm and strong stem, and that is able to 
 mount up and stand alone without assistance, furnished 
 with these tendrils d* Make only so simple a comparison 
 
 mg which, different philosophers have given such different opinions; some 
 referring it to the nature of the sap, as De la Hire, others as Darwin, to 
 the living powers of the plant, and the stimulus of air upon the leaves, 
 and of moisture upon the roots. The effect is now shown to be connect- 
 ed with mephanical causes; and there seems no other power in nature to 
 which it can with propriety be referred but gravity, which acts universal- 
 ly, and which must tend to dispose the parts to take a uniform direction. 
 
 “ The direction of the radicles and germens (plumules) is such, that 
 both are supplied with food, ^u^d acted upon by those external agents wnich 
 are necessary for their developement and growth. The roots come in 
 contact with the fluids in the ground; the leaves are exposed to light 
 and air; and the same grand law which preserves the planets in their or- 
 bits is thus essential to the functions of vegetable life.” — Davy’s El. Agr 
 Chem. ii. Ed. p. 32. — Paxton. 
 
204 
 
 OF PLANTS. 
 
 as that between a pea and a bean. Why does the pea piu 
 forth tendrils, the bean not; but because the stalk of the 
 pea cannot support itself, the stalk of the bean can.^ We 
 may add also, as a circumstance not to be overlooked, that 
 in the pea tribe these clasps do not make their appearance 
 till they are wanted; till the plant has grown to a height 
 to stand in need of support. 
 
 This word ‘‘ support’’ suggests to us a reflection upon 
 the property of grasses, of corn, and canes. The hollow 
 stems of these classes of plants are set, at certain intervals, 
 with joints. These joints are not found in the trunks of 
 trees, or in the solid stalks of plants. There may be other 
 uses of these joints; but the fact is, and it appears to be 
 at least one purpose designed by them, that they corrobo- 
 rate the stern; which, by its length and hollowness, would 
 otherwise be too liable to break or bend. 
 
 Grasses are Nature’s care. With these she clothes the 
 earth; with these she sustains its inhabitants. Cattle feed 
 upon their leaves; birds upon their smaller seeds; men 
 upon the larger: for few readers need be told, that the 
 plants which produce our bread-corn belong to this class. 
 In those tribes, which are more generally considered as 
 grasses, their extraordinary means and powers of preserva 
 tion and increase, their hardness, their almost unconquer- 
 able disposition to spread, their faculties of reviviscence, 
 coincide with the intention of nature concerning them. 
 They thrive under a treatment by which other plants are de- 
 stroyed. The more their leaves are consumed, the more 
 their roots increase. The more they are trampled upon, 
 the thicker they grow. Many of the seemingly dry and 
 dead leaves of grasses revive, and renew their verdure, in 
 the spring. In lofty mountains, where the summer heats 
 are not sufficient to ripen the seeds, grasses abound, which 
 are viviparous, and consequently able to propagate them- 
 selves without seed. It is an observation, likewise, which 
 has often been made, that herbivorous animals attach them- 
 selves to the leaves of grasses; and, if at liberty in their 
 pastures to range and choose, leave untouched the straws 
 which support the flowers.* 
 
 The GENERAL properties of vegetable nature, or proper- 
 ties common to large portions of that kingdom, are almost 
 all which the compass of our argument allows to bring for- 
 ward. It is impossible to follow plants into their several 
 species. We may be allowed, however, to single out three 
 
 ♦ Willi. Bot An-, vol. i. d. 28. ed. 2d. 
 
OF PLANTS. 
 
 205 
 
 or four of these species as worthy of a particular notice, 
 either by some singular mechanism, or by some peculiar 
 provision, or by both. 
 
 I. In Dr. Darwin’s Botanic Garden (1. 395, note,) is the 
 following account of the vallisneria, as it has been observ- 
 ed in the river Rhone. — [PI. XXXV. fig. 1, 2, 3.] “ Thev 
 have roots at the bottom of the Rhone. The flowers of 
 the female plant float on the surface of the water, and are 
 furnished with an elasticy spiral stalky which extends or 
 contracts as the water rises or falls; this rise or fall, from 
 the torrents which flow into the river, often amounting 
 to many feet in a few hours. The flowers of the male ])lani 
 are produced under water; and as soon as the f^undat- 
 ing farina is mature, they separate themselves from the 
 plant, rise to the surface, and are wafted by the air, or 
 borne by the currents, to the female flowers.” Our atten- 
 tion in this narrative will be directed to two particulars; 
 first to the mechanism, the ‘‘elastic spiral stalk,” which 
 lengthens or contracts itself according as the water rises or 
 falls; secondly, to the provision which is made for bring- 
 ing the male flower, which is produced under water, to the 
 female flower which floats upon the surface. 
 
 II. My second example I take from Withering. (Ar- 
 rang. vol. ii. p. 209. ed. 3.) “ The cuscuta Europcea is a par- 
 asitical plant. [Plate XXXVI.] The seed opens and puts 
 forth a little spiral hodijy which does not seek the earth to 
 take root, but climbs in a spiral direction, from right to left, 
 ap other plants, from which, by means of vessels, it draws 
 its nourishment.” The “little spiral body” proceeding from 
 the seed, is to be compared with the fibres which seeds 
 send out in ordinary cases: and the comparison ought 
 to regard both the form of the threads and the direction 
 They are straight; this is spiral. They shoot downwards; 
 this points upwards. In the rule, and in the exception, we 
 equally perceive design. 
 
 III. A better known parasitical plant is the evergreen 
 shrub, called the mistletoe. What we have to remark in it, 
 is a singular instance of compensation. No art has yet 
 made these plants take root in the earth. Here therefore 
 might seem to be a mortal defect in their constitution. Let 
 us examine how this defect is made up to them. The seeds 
 are endued with an adhesive quality, so tenacious, that, if 
 they be rubbed upon the smooth bark of almost any tree, 
 they will stick to it. And then what follows Roots spring 
 mg from these seeds, insinuate their fibers into the woody 
 substance of the tree; and the event is, that a mistletoe 
 
206 
 
 OF PLANTS. 
 
 plant is produced next winter;* of no other p'iant do the 
 roots refuse to shoot in the ground; of no other plant do 
 the seeds possess this adhesive, generative qnality, when 
 applied to the bark of trees. 
 
 IV. Another instance of the compensatory system is in 
 the autumnal crocus, or meadow saffron, (colchicum aiitiiin- 
 nale.) [PI. XXXVII.] I have pitied this poor plant a 
 thousand times. Its blossom rises out of the ground in the 
 most forlorn condition possible; without a sheath, a fence, 
 a calyx, or even a leaf to protect it; and that, not in the 
 spring, not to be visjted by summer suns, but under all the 
 disadvantages of the declining year. When we come, how- 
 ever, t» look more closely into the structure of this plant, 
 we find that, instead of its being neglected, nature has 
 gone out of her course to provide for its security, and to 
 make up to it for all its defects. The seed-vessel, which in 
 other plants is situated within the cup of the flower, or just 
 beneath it, in this plant lies buried ten or twelve inches 
 under ground within the bulbous root. The tube of the 
 flower, which is seldom more than a few tenths of an inch 
 long, in this plant extends down to the root. The stiles 
 in all cases reach the seed-vessel; but it is in this, by an 
 elongation unknown to any other plant. All these singu- 
 larities contribute to one end. As this plant blossoms late 
 in the year, and probably would not have time to ripen its 
 seeds before the access of winter, which would destroy 
 them. Providence has contrived its structure such, that this 
 important office may be performed at a depth in the earth 
 out of reach of the usual effects of frost.”]* That is to say, 
 in the autumn nothing is done above ground but the busi- 
 ness of impregnation; which is an affair between the an- 
 therse and the stigmata, and is probably soon over. The 
 maturation of the impregnated seed, which in other plants 
 proceeds within a capsule, exposed together with the rest 
 of the flower to the open air, is here carried on, and during 
 the whole winter, within the heart, as we may say, of the 
 earth, that is ‘‘out of the reach of the usual effects of 
 frost.” But then a new difficulty presents itself. Seeds, 
 though perfected, are known not to vegetate at this depth 
 in the earth. Our seeds, therefore, though so safely lodged, 
 would, after all, be lost to the purpose for which all seeds 
 are intended. Lest this should be the case, “ a second 
 admirable provision is made to raise them above the surface 
 when they are perfected, and to sow tliem at a proper dis- 
 
 * Withering^ Dot. Arr. vol. i. p. 203, ed. 2d. 
 
 t Withering’s Botanical Arrangement, p. 360. 
 
OF PLANTS. 
 
 207 
 
 tance;’^ viz. the germ grows up in the spring, upon a fruit 
 stalk, accompanied with leaves. The seeds now, in com- 
 mon with those of other plants, have the benefit of the sum- 
 mer, and are sown upon the surface. The order of vege- 
 tation externally is this: — The plant produces its flowers in 
 September; its leaves and fruits in the spring following. 
 
 V. I give the account of the dioncea muscipula, [Plate 
 XXXVIII.] an extraordinary American plant, as some late 
 authors have related it: but whether we be yet enough ac- 
 quainted witu the plant, to bring every part of this account 
 to the test ot repeated and familiar observation, I am unable 
 to say. Its leaves are jointed, and furnished with two rows 
 of strong prickles; their surfaces covered with a number of 
 minute glands, which secrete a sweet liquor that allures 
 the approach of flies. When these parts are touched by 
 the legs of flies, the two lobes of the leaf instantly spring 
 up, the rows of prickles lock themselves fast together, and 
 squeeze the unwary animal to death.’’* Here, under a 
 new model, we recognise the ancient plan of nature, viz. 
 the relation of parts and provisions to one another, to a 
 common office, and to the utility of the organized body to 
 which they belong. The attracting sirup, the rows of 
 strong prickles, their position so as to interlock the joints 
 of the leaves; and what is more than the rest, that sin- 
 gular irritability of their surfaces, by which they close at 
 a touch; all bear a contributory part in producing an ef- 
 fect, connected either with the defence, or with the nu- 
 trition of the plant. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 THE ELEMENTS. 
 
 When we come to the elements, we take leave of our 
 mechanics; because we come to those things, of the or- 
 ganization of which, if they be organized, we are confess- 
 edly ignorant. This ignorance is implied by their name. 
 To say the truth, our investigations are stopped long 
 before we arrive at this point. But then it is for our 
 comfort to find, that a knowledge of the constitution of the 
 elements is not necessary for us. For instance, as Addison 
 has well :)bserved, we know water sufficiently, when we 
 
 * Smellie’s Phil, of Nat. His. vc ' l p. 5. 
 
208 
 
 THE ELEMENTS. 
 
 know how to boil, how to freeze, how fo evaporate, how-to 
 make it fresh, how to make it run or spout out in what 
 quantity and direction we please, without knowing what 
 water is.” The observation of this excellent writer has 
 more propriety in it now, than it had at the time it was 
 made: for the constitution, and the constituent parts of 
 water, appear in some measure to have been lately discov- 
 ered; yet it does not, I think, appear, that we can make 
 any better or greater use of water since the discovery, than 
 we did before it. 
 
 We can never think of the elements, without reflecting 
 upon the number of distinct uses which are consolidated 
 in the same substance. The air supplies the lungs, sup- 
 ports fire, conveys sound, reflects light, diffuses smells, 
 gives rain, wafts ships, bears up birds. ’E^ vdarog ra navxa\ 
 water, besides maintaining its own inhabitants, is the uni- 
 versal nourisher of plants, and through them of terrestrial 
 animals; is the basis of their juices and fluids; dilutes 
 their food; quenches their thirst; floats their burdens. 
 Fire warms, dissolves, enlightens; is the great promoter 
 of vegetation and life, if not necessary to the support of 
 both. 
 
 We might enlarge, to almost any length we pleased, up- 
 on each of these uses; but it appears to me almost suffi- 
 cient to state them. The few remarks which I judge it 
 necessary to add, are as follow; 
 
 I. Air is essentially different from earth. There ap- 
 pears to be no necessity for an atmosphere’s investing our 
 globe; yet it does invest it: and we see how many, how 
 various, and how important are the purposes which it 
 answers to every order of animated, not to say of organ- 
 ized beings, which are placed upon the terrestrial surface. 
 I think that every one of these uses will be understood 
 upon the first mention of them, except it be that of reflect^ 
 mg light, which may be explained thus: — If I had the pow 
 er of seeing only by means of rays coming directly from 
 the sun, whenever I turned my back upon the luminary, 
 I should find myself in darkness. If I had the power of 
 seeing hy reflected light, yet by means only of light 
 reflected from solid masses, these masses would shine, 
 indeed, and glisten, but it would be in the dark. The 
 hernia,# nere, the sky, the world, could only be illuminated, 
 as it IS illuminated, by the light of the sun being from all 
 sides, and in every direction, reflected to the eye by parti- 
 cles, as n imcrous, as thickly scattered, and as widely 
 diffused, a? aie those of the air 
 
THE ELEMENTS. 
 
 209 
 
 Another general quality of the atmosphere is the power 
 if evaporating fluids. The adjustment of this quality to 
 )ar use is seen in its action upon the sea. In the sea, 
 water and salt are mixed together most intimately; yet 
 the atmosphere raises the water, and leaves the salt. Pure 
 and fresh as drops of rain descend, they are collected from 
 brine. If evaporation be solution, (which seems to be 
 probable,) then the air dissolves the water, and not the salt. 
 Upon whatever it be founded, the distinction is critical, so 
 much so, that when we attempt to imitate the process by 
 art, we must regulate our distillation with great care and 
 nicety, or, together with the water, we get the bitterness, 
 or, at least, the distastefulness, of the marine substance: 
 and, after all, it is owing to this original elective power in 
 the air, that we can effect the separation which we wish, 
 by any art or means whatever. 
 
 By evaporation, water is carried up into the air; by the 
 converse of evaporation, it falls down upon the earth. And 
 how does it fall? Not by the clouds being all at once re- 
 converted into water, and descending like a sheet; not in 
 rushing down in columns from a spout; but in moderate 
 drops, as from a colander. Our watering-pots are made to 
 imitate showers of rain. Yet, a ^priori, I should have 
 thought either of the two former methods more likely to 
 have taken place than the last. 
 
 By respiration, flame, putrefaction, air is rendered unfit 
 for the support of animal life. By the constant operation 
 of these corrupting principles, the whole atmosphere, if 
 there were no restoring causes, would come at length to be 
 deprived of its necessary degree of purity Some of these 
 causes seem to have been discovered, and their efficacy 
 ascertained by experiment. And so far as the discovery 
 has proceeded, it opens to us a beautiful and a wonderful 
 economy. Vegetation proves to be one of them. A sprig 
 of mint corked up with a small portion of foul air placed 
 hi the light, renders it again capable of supporting life or 
 flame. Here, therefore, is a constant circulation of bene- 
 fits maintained between the two great provinces of organ- 
 ized nature. The plant purifies what the animal has 
 poisoned; in return, the contaminated air is more than 
 ordinarily nutritious to the plant. Agitation with water 
 turns out to be another of these restoratives. The foulest 
 air, shaken in a bottle with water for a sufficient length of 
 limey, recovers a great degree of its purity. Here then 
 again, allowing for the scale upon which nature works, we 
 see the salutary effects of storms and tempests. The yesty 
 
210 
 
 THE ELEMENTS 
 
 waves which confound the heaven and the sea, are doin^ 
 the very thing which was done in the bottle. Nothing can 
 oe of greater importance to the living creation, than the 
 saliftrity of their atmosphere. It ought to reconcile us, 
 therefore, to these agitations of the elements, of which we 
 sometimes deplore the consequences, to know, that they 
 tend powerfully to restore to the air that purity, which so 
 many causes are constantly impairing. 
 
 II. In water, what ought not a little to be admired, are 
 those negative qualities which constitute its purity. Had 
 it been vinous, or oleaginous, or acid; had the sea been 
 filled, or the rivers flowed, with wine or milk; fish, con 
 stitJted as they are, must have died; plants, constituted 
 as they are, would have withered; the lives of animals 
 w^hich feed upon plants, must have perished. Its very m- 
 sipidity, which is one of those negative qualities, renders 
 it the best of all menstrua. Having no taste of its own, 
 it becomes the sincere vehicle of every other. Had there 
 oeen a taste in water, be it what it might, it would have 
 infected everything we ate or drank, with an importunate 
 repetition of the same flavor. 
 
 Another thing in this element, not less to be admired, 
 is the constant round which it travels; and by which, with 
 out suffering either adulteration or waste, it is continually 
 offering itself to the wants of the habitable globe. From 
 the sea are exhaled those vapors which form the clouds; 
 these clouds descend in showers, which, penetrating into 
 ".he crevices of the hills, supply springs; which springs 
 flow in little streams into the valleys; and there, uniting, 
 become rivers; which rivers, in return, feed the ocean. So 
 there is an incessant circulation of the same fluid; and not 
 one drop probably more or less now than there was at the 
 creation. A particle of water takes its departure from the 
 surface of the sea, in order to fulfil certain important ofli 
 ces to the earth; and, having executed the service whic 
 was assigned to it, returns to the bosom Alfiich it left. 
 
 Some have thought, that we have too mireh water upoi 
 the globe, the sea occupying above three quarters of its 
 whole surface. But the expanse of ocean, immense as it 
 is, may be no more than sufficient to fertilize the earth. 
 Or, independently of this reason, I know not why the sea 
 may not have as good a right to its place as the land. It 
 may proportionably support as many inhabitants; minister 
 to as large an aggregate of enjoyment. The land only af- 
 fords a habitable surface ; the se : is habitable to a great 
 
THE ELEMENTS. 
 
 211 
 
 III. Of fire, we have said that it dissolves. The onl^ 
 idea probably which this term raised in the reader's mind, 
 was that of fire melting metals, resins, and some other 
 substances, fluxing ores, running glass, and assisting us in 
 mai.y of our operations, chemical or culinary. Now these 
 are only uses of an occasional kind, and give us a very 
 imperfect notion of what fire does for us. The grand im- 
 portance of this dissolving power, the great office indeed of 
 fire in the economy of nature, is keeping things in a state 
 of solution, that is to say, in a state of fluidity. Were it 
 not for the presence of heat, or of a certain degree of it, al. 
 fluids would be frozen. The ocean itself would be a quar- 
 ly of ice ; universal nature stifl’ and dead. 
 
 We see, therefore, that the elements bear not only a 
 strict relation to the constitution of organized bodies, but 
 a relation to each other. Water could not perform its of- 
 fice to the earth without air; nor exist, as water, without fire. 
 
 IV. Of light, (whether we regard it as of the same 
 substance with fire, or as a different substance,) it is alto- 
 gether superfluous to expatiate upon the use. No man dis- 
 putes it. The observations, therefore, which I shall offer, 
 respect that little which we seem to know of its constitution. 
 
 Light travels from the sun at the rate of twelve million 
 of miles in a minute. Urged by such a velocity, with 
 what force must its particles drive against, (I will not say 
 the eye, the tenderest of animal substances, but) every 
 substance, animate or inanimate, which stands in its way! 
 It might seem to be a force sufficient to shatter to atoms 
 the hardest bodies. 
 
 How then is this effect, the consequence of such pro- 
 digious velocity, guarded against.^ By a proportionable 
 minuteness of the particles of which light is compoKjcd. It is 
 impossible for the human mind to imagine to itself any- 
 thing so small as a particle of light. But this extreme ex- 
 ility, though difficult to conceive, it is easy to prove. A drop 
 of tallow, expended in the wick of a farthing candle, shall 
 send forth rays sufficient to fill a hemisphere of a mile di- 
 ameter; and to fill it so full of these rays, that an aperture 
 not larger than the pupil of an eye, wherever it be placed 
 within the hemisphere, shall be sure to receive some of 
 them. What floods of light are continually poured from 
 the sun, we cannot estimate; but the immensity of the 
 sphere which is filled with its particles, even if it reached 
 no farther than the orbit of the earth, we can in some sort 
 compute; and we have reason to believe, that throughout 
 th’s whole region, the particles of light lie, in latitude at 
 
212 
 
 A«5TR0N0MY. 
 
 least, near to one another. The spissitude of th^ sun’s 
 rays at the earth is such, that the number which falls upon 
 a burning glass of an inch diameter, is sufficient, when 
 concentrated, to set wood on fire. 
 
 The tenuity and the velocity of particles of light, as as- 
 certained by separate observations, may be said to be pro- 
 portioned to each other; both surpassing our utmost stretch 
 of comprehension; but proportioned. And it is this pro- 
 portion alone which converts a tremendous element into a 
 welcome visiter. 
 
 It has been observed to me by a learned friend, as hav- 
 ing often struck his mind, that if light had been made by 
 a common artist, it would have been of one uniform color; 
 whereas, by its present composition, we have that variety 
 •of colors which is of such infinite use to us for the dis 
 tinguishing of objects; which adds so much to the beauty of 
 the earth, and augments the stock of our innocent pleasures. 
 
 With which may be joined another reflection, viz. that, 
 considering light as compounded of rays of seven different 
 colors, (of which there can be no doubt, because it can 
 be resolved into these rays by simply passing it through a 
 prism,) the constituent parts must be well mixed and blend- 
 ed together, to produce a fluid so clear and colorless as 
 a beam of light is, when received from the sun. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 ASTRONOMY.* 
 
 My opinion of astronomy has always been, that it is noi 
 ihe best medium through which to prove the agency of an 
 intelligent Creator; but that, this being proved, it shows, 
 beyond all other sciences, the magnificence of his opera 
 tions. The mind, which is once convinced, it raises to 
 sublimer view’s of the Deity than any other subject affords; 
 but it is not so well adapted as some other subjects are to 
 the purpose of argument. We are destitute of the means 
 of examining the constitution of the heavenly bodies. The 
 very simplicity of their appearance is against them. We 
 
 * For the articles in this chapter marked with an asterisk, I am indebtei 
 to some obliging communicatioas received (through the hands of the Lor(? 
 Dishop of Elphin) from the Rev. J. Briiikle*' I\ D. Andrew’s Profeesm 
 of Astronomy in the University of Dublin. 
 
ASTRONOMY 
 
 213 
 
 »ee nothing but bright points, luminous circles, or the 
 phases of spheres reflecting the light which falls upon them. 
 Now we deduce design from relation, aptitude, and cor- 
 respondence of parts. Some degree therefore of com- 
 plexity is necessary to render a subject fit for this species 
 of argument. But the Jieavenly bodies do not, except per- 
 haps in the instance of Saturn’s ring, present themselves Uj 
 our observation as compounded of parts at all. This, 
 which may be a perfection in them, is a disadvantage to us, 
 as inquirers after their nature. They do not come within 
 our mechanics. 
 
 And what we say of their forms, is true of their motions 
 Their motions are carried on without any sensible interme- 
 diate apparatus; whereby we are cut off from one principal 
 ground of aigumentation — analogy. We have nothing 
 wherewith to compare them; no invention, no discovery, 
 no operation or resource of art, which, in this respect, 
 resembles them. Even those things which are made to im- 
 itate and represent them, such as orreries, planetaria, celes- 
 tial globes. Sac. bear no affinity to them, in the cause and 
 principle by which their motions are actuated. I can as- 
 sign for this difference a reason of utility, viz. a reason why 
 though the action of terrestrial bodies upon each other be, 
 in almost all cases, through the intervention of solid or 
 fluid substances, yet central attraction does not operate in 
 this manner. It was necessary that the intervals between 
 ^ the planetary orbs should be devoid of any inert matter 
 either fluid or solid, because such an intervening substance 
 would, by its resistance, destroy those very motions which 
 attraction is employed to preserve. This may be a final 
 cause of the difference; but still the difference destroys 
 the analogy 
 
 Our ignorance, moreover, of the sensitive natures by 
 which other planets are inhabited, necessarily keeps from 
 us the knowledge of numberless utilities, relations, and 
 subserviencies, which we perceive upon our own globe. 
 
 After all ; the real subject of admiration is, that we um 
 derstand so much of astronomy as we do. That an animal 
 confined to the surface of one of the planets; bearing a 
 
 * The moon has no perceptible atmosphere: and as no effects have 
 been observed like those which would be produced by vapors or exhala- 
 tions fro-xi its surface, it is possible that there are no fluids upon it. 
 There is no reason, however, from these circumstances, for denying the 
 existen.ce of sensitive beings upon it, although they must be very dif- 
 ferently constituted froir. ourselves to whof '2 air and water are essentially 
 necessary. — Paxton, 
 
214 
 
 ASTRONOMY. 
 
 less proportion to it than the smallest microscopic insect^ 
 does to the plant it lives upon; that this little, busy, in- 
 quisitive creature, by the use of senses which were given 
 to it for its domestic neces'^ities, and by means of the as- 
 sistance of those senses which it has had the art to procure, 
 should have been enabled to observe the whole system of 
 worlds to which its own belongs; the changes of place 
 of the immense globes which compose it ; and with such 
 accuracy, as to mark out, beforehand, the situation in the 
 heavens in which they will be found at any future point of 
 ime, and that these bodies, after sailing through regions 
 if void and trackless space, should arrive at the place where 
 they were expected, not within a minute, but within a few 
 seconds of a minute, of the time prefixed and predicted: all 
 this is wonderful, whether we refer our admiration to the 
 constancy of the heavenly motions themselves, or to the 
 perspicacity and precision with which they have been no- 
 ticed by mankind. Nor is this the whole, nor indeed the 
 chief part of what astronomy teaches. By bringing reason 
 to bear upon observation, (the acutest reasoning upon the 
 exactest observation) the astronomer has been able, out 
 of the confusion (for such it is) under which the motions 
 of the heavenly bodies present themselves to the eye of 
 a mere gazer upon the skies, to elicit their order and their 
 real paths. 
 
 Our knowledge, therefore, of astronomy is admirable, 
 though imperfect; and, amidst the confessed desiderata and 
 desideranda which impede our investigation of the wisdom 
 of the Deity, in these the grandest of his works, there are 
 to be found, in the phenomena, ascertained circumstances 
 and laws, sufficient to indicate an intellectual agency in 
 three of its principal operations, viz. in choosing, in deter- 
 mining, in regulating: in choosing, out of a boundless va- 
 riety of suppositions which were equally possible, that 
 which is beneficial; in determining, what, left to itself, had 
 a thousand chances against conveniency, for one in its 
 favor; in regidating subjects, as to quantity and degree, 
 which, by their nature, were unlimited with respect to 
 
 * Ilooke describes a minute animalcule, which he discovered with a mi- 
 croscope, upon a vine. From his data an estimate may he made of its 
 bulk; hut it is not so easy to fix upon any delerrninato quantity for tho 
 size of the plant. However, to put the case strongly, let the hulk of it 
 he taken a* equal to tliat of a cylinder one inch in diameter and a mile in 
 length. Such a cylinder would contain above 345 cubic feet, and yet it 
 wpuld he many million times less when compared with the animalcule, 
 than the earth is when compared w ith the hulk of a man. — Paxton. 
 
ASTRONOMY. 
 
 215 
 
 either. It will be our business to offer, under each of these 
 heads, a few instances, such as best admit of a popular ex- 
 plication. 
 
 I. Amongst proofs of choice, one is, fixing the source 
 of light and heat in the centre of the system. The sun is 
 ignited and luminous; the planets which move round him, 
 cold and dark. There seems to be no antecedent neces- 
 sity for this order. The sun might have been an opaque 
 mass; some one, or two, or more, or any, or all the planets, 
 globes of fire. There is nothing in the nature of the heav- 
 enly bodies, which requires that those which aie stationa- 
 ry should be on fire, that those which move should be cold; 
 for, in fact, comets are bodies on fire,"^ or at least capable 
 of the most intense heat, yet revolve round a centre; nor 
 does this order obtain between the primary planets ana 
 their secondaries, which are all opaque. When we con- 
 sider, therefore, that the sun is one; that the p*anets 
 going round it are at least seven ;| that it is indifferent to 
 their nature, which are luminous and which are opaque, 
 and also, in what order, with respect to each other, these 
 two kinds of bodies are disposed; we may judge of the im- 
 probability of the present arrangement taking place by 
 chance. 
 
 If, by way of accounting for the state in which we find 
 the solar system, it be alleged (and this is one amongst the 
 guesses of those who reject an intelligent Creator) that the 
 planets themselves are only cooled or cooling masses, and 
 were once, like the sun, many thousand times hotter than 
 red-hot iron; then it follows, that the sun also himself 
 must be in his progress towards growing cold; which puts 
 an end to the possibility of his having existed, as he is, 
 
 * It may be reasonably doubted whether comets are ever absolutely 
 “ on fire,” and yet some of them, from their near approach to the sun, 
 must certainly be “ capable of intense heat.” If we conceive the earth’s 
 distance from the sun to be divided into 1000 parts, the comet of 16S0 
 was, at one time, not more distant than six of those parts from the sun. 
 From hence Sir I, Newton calculated that it was exposed to a heat which 
 was 2000 times greater than that of a red-hot iron. — Paxton. 
 
 t The seven planets here alluded to are Mercury, Venus, the Earth, 
 Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, and the Georgium Sidus : we now know that there 
 are four more, Ceres, Pallas, Juno, and Vesta; the first of these was discov- 
 ered in 1801, the second was observed in March, 1802, the third was not 
 discovered till 1804, nor the last till 1807. Now Dr. Paley’s dedication 
 is dated July, 1802; it is very possible, therefore that this 22d chapter 
 was written before he had heard of Pallas, and even while it was yet 
 doubtful whether Ceres was a comet or a planet. This will explain the 
 reason for his having qualified the expression, and having said “ at least 
 seven,” 
 
216 
 
 ASTRONOMY. 
 
 from eternity. This consequence arises out of the hypoth 
 esis with still more certainty, if we make a part of it, whal 
 the philosophers who mantain it have usually taught, that 
 the planets were originally masses of matter, struck off in 
 a state of fusion from the body of the sun by the percus- 
 sion of a comet, or by a shock from some other cause, with 
 which we are not acquainted: for, if these masses, partak- 
 ing of the nature and substance of the sun's body, have in 
 process of time lost their heat, that body itself, in time 
 likewise, no matter in how much longer time, must lose its 
 heat also, and therefore be incapable of an eternal dura- 
 tion in the state in which we see it, either for the time to 
 come, or the time past. 
 
 The preference of the present to any other mode of dis- 
 tributing luminous and opaque bodies, I take to be evident. 
 It requires more astronomy than I am able to lay before 
 the reader, to show, in its particulars, what would be the 
 effect to the system, of a dark body at the centre, and of 
 one of the planets being luminous; but I think it manifest, 
 without either plates or calculation, first, that supposing 
 the necessary proportion of magnitude between the central 
 and the revolving bodies to be preserved, the ignited planet 
 would not be sufficient to illuminate and warm the rest of 
 the system; secondly, that its light and heat would be im- 
 parted to the other planets much more irregularly than 
 light and heat are now received from the sun. 
 
 (*) II. Another thing, in which a choice appears to be 
 exercised, and in which, amongst the possibilities out of 
 which the choice was to be made, the number of those 
 which were wrong bore an infinite proportion to the num- 
 ber of those which were right, is in what geometricians 
 call the axis of rotation. This matter I will endeavour 
 to explain. The earth, it is well known, is not an exact 
 globe, but an oblate spheroid, something like an orange. 
 Now the axes of rotation, or tlie diameters upon which such 
 a body may be made to turn round, are as many as can be 
 drawn through its centre to opposite points upon its whole 
 surface: but of these axes none are permanent, except 
 either its shortest«diameter, i. e. that which passes through 
 the heart of the orange from the place where the stalk is 
 inserted into it, and which is but one; or its longest diame- 
 ters, at right angles with the former, which must all ter- 
 minate in the single circumference which goes round the 
 thickest part of the orange. The shortest diameter is 
 that upon which in fact the earth turns; and it is, as the 
 reader sees, what it ought to be, a permanent axis; where- 
 
ASTRONOMY. 
 
 217 
 
 as, had blind chance, had a casual impulse, had a stroke or 
 push at random, set the earth a-spinning, the odds were in- 
 fin ^te, but that they had sent it round upon a wrong axis 
 And what would have been the consequence? The differ- 
 ence between a permanent axis and another axis is this.^ 
 When a spheroid in a state of rotatory motion gets upon a per- 
 manent axis, it keeps there; it remains steady and faithful to 
 its position; its poles preserve their direction with respect 
 to the plane and to the centre of its orbit: but whilst it 
 turns upon an axis which is not permanent, (and the num- 
 ber of those we have seen infinitely exceeds the number 
 of the other,) it is always liable to shift and vacillate from 
 one axis to another, with a corresponding change in the 
 inclination of its poles. Therefore, if a planet once set off 
 revolving upon any other than its shortest, or one of its long- 
 est axis, the poles on its surface would keep perpetually 
 changing, and it never would attain a permanent axis of 
 rotation. The effect of this unfixedness and instability 
 would be, that the equatorial parts of the earth might be- 
 come the polar, or the polar the equatorial; to the utter de- 
 struction of plants and animals, which are not capable of 
 interchanging their situations, but are respectively adapted 
 to their own. As to ourselves, instead of rejoicing in our 
 temperate zone, and annually preparing for the moderate 
 vicissitude, or rather the agreeable succession of seasons 
 which we experience and expect, we might come to be 
 locked up in the ice and darkness of the arctic circle, with 
 bodies neither inured to its [rigors, nor provided with shel- 
 ter or defence against them. Nor would it be much bet- 
 ter, if the trepidation of our pole, taking an opposite course, 
 should place us under the heats of a vertical sun. But if 
 it would fare so ill with the human inhabitant, who can 
 live under greater varieties of latitude than any other aiii- 
 mal; still more noxious would this translation of climate 
 have proved to life in the rest of the creation ; and most 
 perhaps of all, in plants. The habitable earth, and its 
 beautiful variety, might have been destroyed by a simple 
 mischance in the axis of rotation.* 
 
 * The earth being an oblate spheroid, we may suppose it to be cut by 
 a plane passing through A B, Fig. 3, Plate XXXIX, whicn may represent 
 its axis, and the common section of this plane with the spheroid will be 
 an ellipse like A f) B E ; of this ellipse A B will be an axis ; and, from 
 the property of the curve, it will also be the shortest line w'hich can 
 be drawn through the centre C. If now the diameter D E be drawn at 
 right angles to A B, it will be the longest line which can be drawn in the 
 ellipse, and it will represent a diameter of the equatcr. As the plane 
 
 T 
 
ASTRONOMY. 
 
 ei8 
 
 III. All this, however, proceeds upon a supposition ol 
 the earth having been formed at first an oblate spheroid 
 There is another supposition ; and perhaps our limited in - 
 formation will not enable us to decide between them. The 
 second supposition is, that the earth, being a mixed mass 
 somewhat fluid, took, as it might do, its present form, by 
 the joint action of the mutual gravitation of its parts and 
 its rotatory motion. This, as we have said, is a point in 
 the history of the earth which our observations are not 
 sufficient to determine. For a very small depth below the 
 surface (but extremely small, less, perhaps, than an eight- 
 thousandthl part, compared with the depth of the centre) 
 we find vestiges of ancient fluidity. But this fluidity must 
 have gone down many hundred times farther than we can 
 penetrate, to enable the earth to take its present oblate 
 form; and whether any traces of this kind exist to that 
 depth, we are ignorant. Calculations were made a few 
 years ago, of the mean density of the earth, by comparing 
 the force of its attraction with the force of attraction of a 
 rock of granite, the bulk of which could be ascertained: 
 and the upshot of the calculation was, that the earth upon 
 an average, through its whole sphere, has twice fhe density 
 of granite, or about five times that of water. Therefore it 
 " cannot be a hollow shell, as some have formerly supposed; 
 nor can its internal parts be occupied by central fire, or by 
 water. The solid parts must greatly exceed the fluid parts; 
 and the probability is, that it is a solid mass throughout, 
 composed of substances more ponderous the deeper we go. 
 Nevertheless, we may conceive the present face of the 
 earth to have originated from the revolution of a sphere, 
 covered by a surface of a compound mixture; the fluid and 
 solid parts separating, as the surface becomes quiescent. 
 Here then comes in the moderating hand of the Creator. 
 If the water had exceeded its present proportion, even but 
 by a trifling quantity compared with the whole globe, ail 
 
 passing through A B is not confined to one situation more than anothci, 
 D E may represent any “ one of the longest axes of the spheroid,” and 
 will, as well is A B, always be a “ permanent axis of rotation.” But 
 if any other c ameter, as G II, is taken, the earth could not continue to 
 revolve permi. lently about it. — Paxton. 
 
 t The “ deep St. John,” one of the deepest mines in the Hartz, was 
 found by M. Deluc to sink 1359 feet. This was in 1778, and it may, 
 since that time, have been carried lower, but probably not to the depth 
 of the mine of Valenciana in New Spain, the bottom of which, according 
 to Humboldt, is 1681 feet below the surface. Now the diameter of the 
 earth being about 7912 miles, “ the eight-thousandth part of the depth o 
 the centre” must be 2611 feet, or nearly half a mile. — Ibid, 
 
ASTRONOMY. 
 
 219 
 
 the land would have oeen covered: had there been much 
 less than there is, there would not have been enough to 
 lertilize the continent.* Had the exsiccation been pro- 
 gressive, such as we may suppose to have been produced 
 by an evaporating heat, how came it to stop at the point at 
 which we see it.^ Why did it not stop sooner; why at all? 
 The mandate of the Deity Avill account for this; nothing 
 else will. 
 
 IV. Of centripetal forces. By virtue of the simplest 
 law that can be imagined, viz. that a body continues in 
 the state in which it is, whether of motion or rest; and if in 
 motion, goes on in the line in which it was proceeding, 
 and with the same velocity, unless there be some cause for 
 change: by virtue, I say, of this law, it comes to pass 
 (what may appear to be a strange consequence) that cases 
 arise, in which attraction, incessantly drawing a body to- 
 wards a centre, never brings, nor ever will bring, the body 
 to that centre, but keep it in eternal circulation round it. 
 If it were possible to fire off a cannon ball with a velocity 
 of five miles in a second, and the resistance of the air could 
 be taken away, the cannon ball would forever wheel round 
 the earth, instead of falling down upon it.f This is the 
 principle which sustains the heavenly motions. The Deity, 
 having appointed this law to matter, (than which, as we 
 have said before, no law could be more simple,) has turned 
 it to a wonderful account in constructing planetary systems. 
 
 The actuating cause in these systems, is an attraction, 
 which varies reciprocally as the square of the distance; 
 that is, at double the distance, has a quarter of the force; 
 at half the distance four times the strength; and so on. 
 Now, concerning this law of variation, we have three 
 th‘ngs to observe: First; that attraction, for anything we 
 Know about it, was just as capable of one law of variation 
 
 * Nearly three quarters of the earth’s surface are covered by the sea. 
 Now evaporation is proportionate to the surface of the fluid, and conse- 
 quently a less expanse of waters would not have aiTorded a sufficient sup- 
 ply of rain, which does not now fall upon the whole, in greater quantities 
 than are required “ to fertilize the earth.” — Paxton. 
 
 t If a body be projected horizontally from a station A, Fig. 6, Plate 
 XXXIX, which is at a certain height, its weight or the force of gravity 
 will draw it towards the earth. It may be supposed to come down, 
 for example, at B. But from the tendency which the body has to con 
 tinue in the state of motion which is communicated to it, it will be carri 
 ed farther before it falls, if it is projected with a greater force. Hence, 
 if this force be increased it may be made to reach C ; by a greater increase, 
 it may be carried to D; or even round to A, from whence it originally 
 set out. — Ibid. 
 
220 
 
 ASTRONOMY 
 
 as of another: Secondly; that out of an infinite number A 
 possible laws, those which were adniissible for the purpose 
 of supporting the heavenly motions, lay within certain nar- 
 row limits.* Thirdly; that of the admissible laws, or those 
 which come within the limits prescribed, the law that actu 
 ally prevails is the most beneficial. So far as these propo- 
 sitions can be made out, we may be said, I think, to prove 
 choice and regulation; choice, out of boundless variety; 
 and regulation, of that which, by its own nature, was, in 
 respect of the property regulated, indifferent and inde- 
 finite. 
 
 First then, attraction, for anything we know about it, 
 was originally indifferent to all laws of variation depend- 
 ing upon change of distance, i. e. just as susceptible of one 
 law as of another. It might have been the same at all 
 distances; it might have increased as the distance increas- 
 ed: or it might have diminished with the increase of .the 
 distance, yet in ten thousand different proportions from 
 the present; it might have followed no stated law at all. 
 If attraction be what Cotes, with many other Newtonians, 
 have thought it to be, a primordial property of matter, not 
 dependent upon, or traceable to, any other material cause; 
 then, by the very nature and definition of a primordial 
 property, it stood indifferent to all laws. If it be the agen- 
 cy of something immaterial, then also, for anything we 
 know of it, it was indifferent to ail laws. If the revolu- 
 tion of bodies round a centre depend upon vortices, nei- 
 ther are these limited to one law more than another. 
 
 There is, I know, an account given of attraction, which 
 should seem, in its very cause, to assign to* it the law 
 which we find it to observe ; and which, therefore, makes 
 that law, a law, not of choice, but of necessity: and it is 
 the account, which ascribes attraction to an emanation 
 from the attracting body. It is probable, that the influence 
 of such an emanation will be proportioned to the spissitude 
 of the rays of which it is composed; which spissitude, 
 supposing the rays to issue in right lines on all sides from 
 a point, will be reciprocally as the square of the distance.* 
 
 * Let the light of a candle fall upon a square object like A B C D, Fig. 
 4, Plate XXXIX, and if a screen be placed parallel to the object and at 
 double the distance, the shadow F. F G II, received upon it, will be I*>ur 
 times the size of the object itself. For the rays passing in straight lines 
 by the angles A, B, C, J), the sides F F, F CJ, (ji II, II F., must be each 
 double of A B, B C, C i), J) A: therefore the shadow may be divided 
 into four squares each equal in size to the object. At three times the dis- 
 tance from the candle, the sides of the shadow would each be three times 
 a.s large as the sides of the object, and its area would, therefore, contain 
 
ASTRONOMY. 
 
 22 \ 
 
 The mathematics of this solution we do not call in question 
 the question with us is, whether there be any sufficient 
 reason to believe, that attraction is produced by an eman- 
 ation. For my part, I am totally at a loss to comprehend 
 now particles streaming from a centre should draw a bodv 
 towards it. The impulse, if impulse it be, is all the other 
 way. Nor shall we find less difficulty in conceiving a con- 
 flux of particles, incessantly flowing to a centre, and car- 
 rying down all bodies along with it, that centre also 
 itself being in a state of rapid motion through absolute 
 space: for by what source is the stream fed, or what be- 
 comes of the accumulation? Add to which, that it seems 
 to imply a contrariety of properties, to suppose an ethereal 
 fluid to act, but not to resist; powerful enough to carry 
 down bodies with great force towards a centre, yet, in- 
 consistently with the nature of inert matter, powerless and 
 perfectly yielding with respect to the motions which result 
 ffom the projectile impulse. By calculations drawn from 
 ancient notices of eclipses of the moon, we can prove that, 
 if such a fluid exist at all, its resistance has had no sensi- 
 ble effect upon the moon’s motion for two thousand five 
 hundred years. The truth is, that, except this one 
 circumstance of the variation of the attracting force at 
 different distances agreeing with the variation of the 
 spissitude, there is no reason whatever to support the 
 hypothesis of an emanation; and, as it seems to me, 
 almost insuperable reasons against it. 
 
 (*) II. Our second proposition is, that whilst the pos- 
 sible laws of variation were infinite, the admissible laws, 
 or the laws compatible with the preservation of the system, 
 lie within narrow limits. If the attracting force had va- 
 ried according to any direct law of the distance, let it have 
 been what it would, great destruction and confusion would 
 have taken place. The direct simple proportion of the 
 distance would, it is true, have produced an ellipse, but 
 the perturbing forces would have acted with so much ad- 
 vantage, as to be continually changing the dimensions of 
 the ellipse, in a manner inconsistent with our terrestrial 
 
 nine times the space. For the same reason if the distance be increased 
 four, five, or six times, the area of the shadow will contain sixteen, twenty- 
 five, or thirty-six squares, each equal to the object. Now the quantity 
 of light which falls upon the object would, if it had not been intercepted, 
 have spread over that part of the screen, which is occupied by the shad- 
 ow; and as the surface is increased, over which a certain quantity of rays 
 IS spread, in the same ratio their spissitude or density will be diminished; 
 consequently this- spissitude will be reciprocally as the squares of the dis- 
 tances — Paxton, * 
 
ASTRONOMY. 
 
 22^2 
 
 creation For instance; if the planet Saturn, so large and 
 so remote, had attracted the earth, both in proportion to 
 the quantity of matter contained in it, which it does; ctnd 
 also in any proportion to its distance; i. e. if it had pulled 
 the harder for being the farther off, (instead of the reverse 
 of it,) it would have dragged out of its course the globe 
 which we inhabit, and have perplexed its motions, to a de- 
 gree incompatible with our security, our enjoyments, and 
 probably our existence. Of the inverse laws, if the cen- 
 tripetal force had changed as the cube of the distance, or 
 in any higher proportion, that is (for I speak to the un 
 learned,) if, at double the distance, the attractive force had 
 been diminished to an eighth part, or to less than that, the 
 consequence would have been, that the planets, if they 
 once began to approach the sun, would have fallen into his 
 body; if they once, though by ever so little, increased 
 their distance from the centre, would forever have receded 
 from it. The laws, therefore, of attraction, by which a 
 system of revolving bodies could be upholden in their mo- 
 tions, lie within narrow limits, compared with the possible 
 laws. I much underrate the re^^ric.ion, when I say that, 
 in a scale of a mile, they are confined to an inch. All 
 direct ratios of the distance are excluded, on account of 
 danger from perturbing forces; all reciprocal ratios, except 
 what lie beneath the cube of the distance, by the demon- 
 strable consequence, that every the least change of distance 
 would, under the operation of such laws, have been fatal to 
 the repose and order of the system. We do not know, 
 that is, we seldom reflect, how interested we are in this 
 matter. Small irregularities may be endured; but changes 
 within these limits being allowed for, the permanency of 
 our ellipse is a question of life and death to our whole sen- 
 sitive world. 
 
 (*) III. That the subsisting law of attraction falls 
 within the limits which utility requires, when these limits 
 bear so small a proportion to the range of possibilities upon 
 which chance might equally have cast it, is not, with any 
 appearance of reason, to be accounted for by any othei 
 cause than a regulation proceeding from a designing mind. 
 But our next proposition carries the matter somewhat I’ar- 
 ther. We say, in the third place, that, out of the different 
 laws which lie within the limits of admissible laws, the 
 best is made choice of; that there are advantages in this 
 particular law which cannot be demonstrated to belong to 
 any other law; and, concerning some of which, it can be 
 demonstrated that they do not belong to^any othei 
 
ASTRONOMY 
 
 223 
 
 1. Whilst this law prevails between each particle 
 of matter, the united attraction of a sphere, composed of 
 that matter, observes the same law. This property of the 
 law is necessary, to render it applicable to a system com- 
 posed of spheres, but it is a property which belongs to no 
 other law of attraction that is admissible. The law of va- 
 riation of the united attraction is m no other case the same 
 as the law of attraction of each particle, one case except- 
 ed, and that is of the attraction varying directly as the dis- 
 tance;^ the inconveniency of which law, in other respects, 
 we have already noticed. 
 
 We may follow this regulation somewhat farther, and still 
 more strikingly perceive that it proceeded from a designing 
 mind. A law both admissible and convenient was requisite. 
 In what way is the law of the attracting globes obtained.^ 
 Astronomical observations and terrestrial experiments 
 show, that the attraction of the globes of the system is made 
 up of the attraction of their parts; the attraction of each 
 globe being compounded of the attractions of its parts. Now, 
 the admissible and convenient law which exists, could not 
 be obtained in a system of bodies gravitating by the united 
 gravitation of their parts, unless each particle of matter 
 were attracted by a force varying by one particular law, 
 viz. varying inversely as the square of the distance; for, if 
 the action of the particles be according to any other law 
 whatever, the admissible and convenient law which is adopt- 
 ed could not be obtained. Here then are clearly shown reg- 
 ulation and design. A law both admissible and convenient 
 was to be obtained: the mode chosen for obtaining that law 
 was by making each particle of matter act. After this choice 
 was made, then farther attention was to be given to each 
 particle of matter, and one, and one only particular law of 
 action to be assigned to it. No other law would have an- 
 swered the purpose intended. 
 
 (^) 2. All systems must be liable to perturbations. And 
 therefore, to guard against these perturbations, or rather to 
 guard against their running to destructive lengths, is p(3r- 
 haps the strongest evidence of care and foresight that can 
 be g'ven. Now we are able to demonstrate of our law of 
 
 * Let A, Fig. 5, Plate XXXIX, represent a sphere composed of par- 
 ticks, which mutually attract each other with a force, which varies re- 
 c'procally as the squares of the distances ; their united attraction, on a 
 similar particle P without the sphere, will be according to the same law* 
 that is, the particle will be attracted towards the sphere with a force, 
 which will also vary reciprocally as the square of C P, its distance from 
 the centre of the sphere. — Paxton. 
 
224 
 
 ASTRONOMY. 
 
 attraction, what can be demonstrated of no other, and what 
 qualifies the dangers which arise from cross but unavoidable 
 influences, that the action of the parts of our system upon 
 one another will not cause permanently increasing irregu- 
 larities, but merely periodical or vibratory ones; that is, 
 they wfll come to a limit, and then go back again. This we 
 can demonstrate only of a system, in which the following 
 properties concur, viz. that the force shall be inversely as 
 the square of the distance;^ the masses of the revolving bo- 
 dies small, compared with that of the body at the centre; the 
 orbits not much inclined to one another; and their eccen- 
 tricity little. Tn such a system the grand points are secure. 
 The mean distances and periodic times, upon which depend 
 our temperature and the regularity of our year, are constant. 
 The eccentricities, it is true, will still vary,^but so slowly, 
 and to so small an extent, as to produce no mconveniency 
 from fluctuation of temperature and season. The same as 
 to the obliquity of the planes of the orbits. For instance, 
 the inclination of the ecliptic to the equator will never 
 change above two degrees, (out of ninety,) and that will 
 require many thousand years in performing. 
 
 It has been rightly also remarked, that if the great 
 planets, Jupiter and Saturn, had moved in lower spheres, 
 their influences would have had much more effect, as to 
 disturbing the planetary motions, than they now have. 
 While they revolve at so great distances from the rest, they 
 act almost equally on the sun and on the inferior planets; 
 which has nearly the same consequence as not acting at all 
 upon either. 
 
 If it be said that the planets might have been sent round 
 the sun in exact circles, in which case, no change of dis- 
 tance from the centre taking place, the law of variation of 
 the attracting power would have never come in question, 
 one law would have served as well as another; an answer 
 to the scheme may be drawn from the consideration of these 
 same perturbing forces. The system retaining in otlier 
 respects its present constitution, though the planets had 
 been at first sent round in exact circular orbits, they could 
 not have kept them: and if the law of attraction had not 
 been what it is, or, at least, if the prevailing law had trans- 
 gressed the limits above assigned, every evagation would 
 have been fatal: the planet once drawn, as drawn it neces- 
 sarily must have been, out of its course, would have wan- 
 dered in endless error. 
 
 (*) V. What we have seen in the law of the centripeta* 
 force, viz. a choice guided by views of utility, and a choice 
 
ASTRONOMY 
 
 223 
 
 of one aw out of thousands which mignt equall}^ have 
 taken p ace, we see no less in the figures of the planetary 
 orbits. It was not enough to fix the law of the centripetal 
 force, though by the wisest choice; for even under that 
 law, it was still competent to the planets to have moved in 
 paths possessing so great a degree of eccentricity, as, in 
 the course of every revolution, to be brought very near to 
 the sun, and carried away to immense distances from him. 
 The comets actually move in orbits of this sort; and had 
 the planets done so, instead of going round in orbits near 
 ly circular, the change from one extremity of temperature 
 to another must, in ours at least, have destroyed every ani* 
 mal and plant upon its surface. Now, the distance from 
 the centre at which a planet sets off, and the absolute 
 force of attraction at that distance, being fixed, the figure 
 of his orbit, its being a circle, or nearer to, or farther off 
 from a circle, viz. a rounder or a longer oval, depends 
 upon two things, the velocity with which, and the direction 
 in which, the planet is projected. And these, in order to 
 produce a right result, must be both brought within certain 
 narrow limits. One, and only one, velocity united with 
 one, and only one, direction, will produce a perfect circle. 
 And the velocity must be near to this velocity, and the di- 
 rection also near to this direction, to produce orbits, such 
 as the planetary orbits are, nearly circular ; that is, ellipses 
 with small eccentricities. The velocity and the direction 
 must both be right. If the velocity be wrong, no direction 
 will cure the error; if the direction be in any considerable 
 degree oblique, no velocity will produce the orbit required. 
 Take for example the attraction of gravity at the surface of 
 the earth. The force of that attraction being what it is, out 
 of all the degrees of velocity, swift and slow, with which a 
 ball might be shot off, none would answer the purpose of 
 which we are speaking, but what was nearly that of five 
 miles in a second.* If it were less than that, the body 
 
 * The moon describes in one second of time nearly two-thirds of a 
 mile in its orbit round the earth: and if its distance were dimhiished it 
 might still continue to revolve nearly in a circle round the same centre, 
 if its velocity were increased so as to compensate for the greater attrac- 
 tion, which would now draw it constantly out of the rectilinear direc 
 tion, in which it would otherwise move- This distance nay be supposed 
 to be diminished till the moon is brought near to the earth’s surface, and 
 t would, under these circumstances, still continue to complete us revolu- 
 tion, if its velocity were increased to about five miles in a second. Now 
 for the descriptijn of such a revolution, there is no difference between 
 the moon and any other material substance at the same distance; for they 
 would boc 1 be drawn down through the same space in the same time by 
 
226 
 
 ASTRONOMY. 
 
 won d not get round at all, but would come to the ground^ 
 if it were in any considerable degree more than that, the 
 body would take one of those eccentric courses, those long 
 ellipses of which we have noticed the inconveniency.* If 
 the velocity reached the rate of seven miles in a second, 
 or went beyond that, the ball would fly off from the earth, 
 and never be heard of more. In like manner with respect 
 to the direction; out of the innumerable angles in which 
 he ba'l might be sent off, (I mean angles formed with a 
 line drawn to the centre,) none would serve but what was 
 nearly a right one; out of the various directions in which 
 the cannon might be pointed, upwards and downwards, 
 every one would fail, but what was exactly or nearly hori- 
 
 the force of attraction towards the earth’s centre; and therefore a cannon 
 ball projected parallel to the horizon with this velocity would (if there 
 were no resistance from the air or other accidental circumstance) com- 
 plete its circular revolution, and come back to the place from which it 
 had set out, in a few minutes less than an hour and a half, which is 
 equivalent to the velocity of about five miles in a second. — Paxton. 
 
 The ball is supposed to be fired from a place not far from the earth’s 
 surface, it can therefore be easily conceived that if its direction is much 
 depressed below the horizon, it must be soon brought down to the ground; 
 but it is not equally obvious that an elevation of any magnitude would 
 ikewise prevent its completing its revolution round the earth. Abstract- 
 ing from the air’s resistance, and of course omitting the supposition of a 
 projectile force sufficient to carry the ball off into infinite space, it will 
 move in the curve of an ellipse, of which one of the foci is situated in 
 the centre of the earth. Now a body moving uninterruptedly in an 
 ellipse must return in time to the same point from which it set out. The 
 body therefore which, when projected from A, Fig. 6, PI. XXXIX, 
 comes down to the earth at C, would have continued its course along 
 the dotted line and returned to A, if the mass of matter in the earth had 
 Deen collected together at its centre, so as not to interfere with the mo- 
 tion of the projectile. Let us now conceive the body to be projected 
 back from C, with the velocity which it had acquired in its fall, and 
 with the direction in which it reached the earth, it would then pass 
 through A, and come down on the other side of A I, in just the same 
 curve, in which it had fallen from A to C. The same would apply to 
 bodies projected upwards from 15 or D; and if the velocities of projec- 
 tion were less or greater than what would have been acquired in filling 
 from A, the bodies would still turn, but at some less or more distant 
 point. The longest diameter, however, of the ellipsis in which they 
 move must always pass through the earth’s centre, and if the bodies rise 
 on one side of this diameter they must fall down on the other. Now it 
 will be seen that the curves at 15, C, and I), make the angles AT51, AFI, 
 ADI less, as the body is supposed to go farther and farther befoie it falls, 
 and that the curves, in which tire hotly can complete a revolution near 
 the suifice, will in all its parts be nearly parallel to it. Hence tie can- 
 aon ball fired upwards will come back again to the ground and not be 
 able completely to go round the eaith upon any other supposition except 
 ng that of its being fired in nearly an horizontal direction. — Paxton, 
 
ASTRONOMY. 
 
 227 
 
 zontal. The same thing holds true o he y)lanets; of out 
 own among the rest. We are entitled, therefore, to ask, 
 and to urge the question. Why did .the projectile velocity 
 and projectile direction of the earth happen to be near- 
 ly those which would retain it in a circular form? Why 
 not one of the infinite number of velocities, one of the 
 infinite number of directions, which would have made it 
 approach much nearer to, or recede much farther from, the 
 aim ? 
 
 The planets going round, all in the same direction, and 
 all nearly in the same plane, afforded to Buffon a ground 
 for asserting, that they had all been shivered from the sun 
 by the same stroke of a comet, and by that stroke project- 
 ed into their present orbits. Now, besides that this is to 
 attribute to chance the fortunate concurrence of velocity 
 and direction which we have been here noticing, the hy- 
 pothesis, as I apprehend, is inconsistent with the physical 
 ^ws by which the heavenly motions are governed. If the 
 planets were struck off from the surface of the sun, they 
 would return to the sun again. Nor will this difficulty be 
 got rid of, by supposing that the same violent blow which 
 shattered the sun’s surface, and separated large fragments 
 from it, pushed the sun himself out of his place; for the 
 consequence of this would be, that the sun and system 
 of shattered fragments would have a progressive motion, 
 which indeed may possibly be the case with our system; 
 but then each fragment would, in every revolution, return 
 to the surface of the sun again. The hypothesis is also 
 contradicted by the vast difference which subsists between 
 the diameters of the planetary orbits. The distance of 
 Saturn from the sun (to say nothing of the Georgium Sidus' 
 is nearly twenty-five times that of Mercury; a disparity 
 which it seems impossible to reconcile withBuffon’s scheme 
 Bodies starting from the same place, with whatever differ- 
 ence of direction or velocity they could set off, could not 
 Aave been found, at these different distances from the cen- 
 tre, still retaining their nearly circular orbits. They must 
 have been carried to their proper distances before they 
 were projected.* 
 
 * “ If we suppose the matter of the system to be accumulated in the 
 centre by its gravity, no mechanical principles, with the assistance of 
 this power of gravity could separate the vast mass into such parts as the 
 sun and planets; and after carrying them to their different distances, pro- 
 ject them in their several directions, preserving still the equality of action 
 and reaction, or the state of the centre of gravity of the system. Such 
 an exquisite structure of things could only arise from the contrivance and 
 
228 
 
 ASTRONOMY. 
 
 To conclude: In astronomy, the great thing is to raise 
 the imagination to the subject, and that oftentimes in oppo- 
 sition to the impression made upon the senses. An allu- 
 sion, for example, must be gotten over, arising from the 
 distance at which we view the heavenly bodies, viz. the 
 apparent slowness of their motions. The moon shall take 
 some hours in getting half a yard from a star which it 
 touched. A motion so deliberate, we may think easily gui- 
 ded. But what is the fact? The moon, in fact, is, all this 
 while, driving through the heavens, at the rate of consid- 
 erably more than two thousand miles in an hour; which is 
 more than double of that with which a ball is shot off from 
 the mouth of a cannon. Yet is this prodigious rapidity as 
 much under government, as if the planet proceeded ever 
 so slowly, or were conducted in its course inch by inch. 
 It is also difficult to bring the imagination to conceive (what 
 yet, to ^udge tolerably of the matter, it is necessary to con- 
 ceive) how loosCj if we may so express it, the heavenly 
 bodies are. Enormous globes, held by nothing, confined 
 by nothing, are turned into free and boundless space, each 
 to seek its course by the virtue of an invisible principle; 
 but a principle, one, common, and the same in all; and as- 
 certainable. To preserve such bodies from being lost, from 
 running together in heaps, from hindering and distracting 
 one another’s motions, in a degree inconsistent with any 
 continuing order; t. e. to cause them to form planetary sys- 
 tems, systems that, when formed, can be upheld, and more 
 especially, systems accommodated to the organized and 
 sensitive natures which the planets sustain, as we know to 
 be the case, where alone we can know what the case is, 
 upon our earth: all this requires an intelligent interposi- 
 tion, because it can be demonstrated concerning it, that it 
 requires an adjustment of force, distance, direction, and ve- 
 locity, out of the reach of chance to have produced; an 
 adjustment, in its view to utility, similar to that which we 
 see in ten thousand subjects of nature which are nearer to 
 us, but in power, and in extent of space through which 
 that power is exerted, stupendous. 
 
 But many of the heavenly bodies, as the sun and fixed 
 stars, are stationary. Their rest must be the effect of an 
 
 powerful influences of an intelligent, free, and most potent agent. The 
 eamo powers, therefore, which at present govern the material universe, 
 and conduct its various motions, are vert/ different from those which 
 were necessary to have produced it from nothing, or to have disposed it 
 in the admirable form in which it now proceeds . ** — Maclaut in' s Ac- 
 tount of J\''ewton's Phil. p. 407, ed. 3. 
 
OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY. 
 
 229 
 
 absence or of an equilibrium of attractions. It proven also, 
 that a projectile impulse was originally given to some of the 
 heavenly bodies, and not to others. But farther; if attrac- 
 tion act at all distances, there can be only one quiescent 
 centre of gravity in the universe: and all bodies whatever 
 must be approaching this centre, or revolving round it. 
 According to the first of these suppositions, if the duration 
 of the world had been long enough to allow of it, all its 
 parts, all the great bodies of which it is composed, must 
 have been gathered together in a heap round this point. 
 No changes, however, which have been observed, afford us 
 the smallest reason for believing, that either the one su*" 
 position or the other is true: and then it will follow, that 
 attraction itself is controlled or suspended by a superior 
 agent : that there is a power above the highest of the pow- 
 ers of material nature; a will which restrains and circum- 
 scribes the operations of the most extensive.* 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 OP THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY. 
 
 Contrivance, if established, appears to me to prove 
 everything which we wish to prove. Amongst other things, 
 it proves the personality of the Deity, as distinguished from 
 what is sometimes called nature, sometimes called a prin- 
 
 * It must here, however, be stated, that many astronomers deny that 
 any of the heavenly bodies are absolutely stationary. Some of the 
 brightest of the fixed stars have certainly small motions; and of the rest 
 the distance is too great, and the intervals of our observation too short, 
 to enable us to pronounce with certainty that they may not have the same. 
 The motions in the fixed stars which have been observed, are considered 
 e’ldier as proper to each of them, or as compounded of the motion of our 
 sj'stem, and of motions proper to each star. By a comparison of these 
 motions, a motion in our system is supposed to be discovered. By con- 
 tinuing this anology to other, and to all systems, it is possible to suppose 
 that attraction is unlimited, and that the whole material universe is revolv- 
 ing round some fixed point within its containing sphere or space. — Foley* 
 
 The milky way is known to derive its appearance from a congeries of 
 very small stars, but there are luminous spots in the heaven, which cannot 
 be separated into distinct stars by the most powerful telescopes; these 
 have been observed in some instances to alter their form, which Sir W. 
 Herschell attributed to the mutual attraction of the luirinous particles 
 which composed them. 
 
 U 
 
230 
 
 OF THE PERSON A.LITY OF THE DEITY. 
 
 ciple: which terms, in the mouths of those who use them 
 philosophically, seem to be intended to admit and to express 
 an efficacy, but to exclude and to deny a personal agent. 
 Now that which can contrive, which can design, must be 
 a person. These capacities constitute personality, for they 
 imply consciousness and thought. They require that which 
 can perceive an end or purpose; as well as the power of 
 providing means, and of directing them to their end."^’ 
 They require a centre in which perceptions unite, and from 
 which volitions flow; which is mind. The acts of a mind 
 prove the existence of a mind; and in whatever a mind 
 resides, is a person. The seat of intellect is a person 
 We have no authority to limit the properties of mind to 
 any particular corporeal form, or to any particular circum- 
 scription of space. These properties subsist in created 
 nature under a great variety of sensible forms. Also every 
 animated being has its sensoriiim; that is, a certain portion 
 of space, within which perception and volition are exerted. 
 This sphere may be enlarged to an indefinite extent; 
 may comprehend the universe; and, being so imagined, 
 may serve to furnish us with as good a notion as we are 
 capable of forming, of the immensity of the Divine Nature, 
 i. e, of a Being, infinite, as well in essence as in power 
 yet nevertheless a person. 
 
 ‘‘ No man hath seen God at anytime.” And this, I be 
 lieve, makes the great difficulty. Now it is a difficulty 
 which chiefly arises from our not duly estimating the state 
 of our faculties. The Deity, it is true, is the object of 
 none of our senses: but reflect what limited capacities an 
 imal senses are. Many animals seem to have but one 
 sense, or perhaps two at the most; touch and taste. Ought 
 such an animal to conclude against the existence of odors, 
 sounds, and colors? To another species is given the 
 sense of smelling. This is an advance in the knowledge 
 of the powers and properties of nature: but, if this favored 
 animal should infer from its superiority over the class 
 last described, that it perceived everything which was per- 
 ceptible in nature, it is known to us, though perhaps not 
 
 Some of the fixed stars appear double, and even multiple when highly 
 magnified. The same great astronomer, whom we have just mentioned, 
 was induced to believe tliat these were separate systems, and his son, 
 assisted by Mr. South, has established that some of them have undoubt- 
 edly a revolution round a common centre of gravity analogous to the 
 motions of the sun and planets. — Paxton. 
 
 * JPhestley’s Letters to a Philosopliical Unbeliever, p. 153, ed. 2. 
 
OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY. 
 
 231 
 
 suspected by the animal itself, that it proceeded upon a 
 false and presumptuous estimate of its faculties. To an 
 other is added the sense of hearing; which lets in a class 
 of sensations entirely unconceived hy the animal before 
 spoken of; not only distinct, hut remote from any which it 
 had ever experienced, and greatly superior to them. Yet 
 this last animal has no more ground for believing that its 
 senses comprehend all things, and all properties of things 
 which exist, than might have been claimed by the tribes of 
 animals beneath it; for we know that it is still possible to 
 possess another sense, that of sight, which shall disclose 
 to the percipient a new world. This fifth sense makes the 
 animal w’hat the human animal is: but to infer, that possi- 
 bility stops here; that either this fifth sense is the last 
 sense, or that the five comprehend all existence, is just as 
 unwarrantable a conclusion, as that which might have 
 been made by any of the different species which possessed 
 fewer, or even by that, if such there be, which possessed 
 only one. The conclusion of the one-sense animal, and 
 the conclusion of the five-sense animal, stand upon the 
 same authority. There may be more and other senses 
 than those which we have. There may be senses suited 
 to the perception of the powers, properties, and substance 
 of spirits. These may belong to higher orders of rationa. 
 agents: for there is not the smallest reason for supposing 
 that we are the highest, or that the scale of creation stops 
 with us. 
 
 The great energies of nature are known to us only b^ 
 their effects. The substances which produce them, are as 
 much concealed from our senses as the divine essence it- 
 self. Gravitation, though constantly present, though con- 
 stantly exerting its influence, though everywhere around 
 us, near us, and within us; though diffused throughout 
 all space, and penetrating the texture of all bodies with 
 which we are acquainted, depends, if upon a fluid, upon a 
 fluid which, though both powerful and universal in its 
 operation, is no object of sense to us; if upon any other 
 kind of substance or action, upon a substance and action 
 from which we receive no distinguishable impressions. Is 
 it tlien to be wondered at, that it should, in some measure, 
 be the same with the Divine Nature.^ 
 
 Of this, however, we are certain, that whatever the Deity 
 be, neither the universe, nor any part of it which we see, 
 can be He. The universe itself is merely a collective 
 name: its parts are all which are real; or which are things. 
 Now inert matter is out of the question and organized 
 
232 
 
 iSJ THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY. 
 
 substances include marks of contrivance. But whatevei 
 includes marks of contrivance, whatever, in its constitution, 
 testilies design, necessarily carries us to something beyond 
 itself, to some other being, to a designer prior to, and out 
 of itself No animal, for instance, can have contrived its 
 own limbs and senses; can have been the author to itself 
 of the design with which they were constructed. That 
 supposition involves all the absurdity of self-creation, {. e, 
 of acting without existing. Nothing can be God, which is 
 ordered by a wisdom and a will which itself is void of, 
 which is indebted for any of its properties to contrivance 
 ab extra. The not having that in his nature which requires 
 the exertion of another prior being (which property is 
 sometimes called self-sufficiency, and sometimes self-com- 
 prehension,) appertains to the Deity, as his essential dis- 
 tinction, and removes his nature from that of all things 
 which we see. Which consideration contains the answer 
 to a question that has sometimes been asked, namely: Why, 
 since something or other must have existed from eternity, 
 may not the present universe be that something.^ The 
 contrivance perceived in it proves that to be impossible. 
 Nothing contrived can, in a strict and proper sense, be 
 eternal, forasmuch as the contriver must have existed before 
 the contrivance. 
 
 Wherever we see marks of contrivance, we are led for 
 its cause to an intelligent author. And this transition of 
 the understanding is founded upon uniform experience. 
 We see intelligence constantly contriving; that is, we see 
 intelligence constantly producing- effects, marked and dis- 
 tinguished by certain properties; not certain particular 
 properties, but by a kind and class of properties, such as 
 relation to an end, relation of parts to one another, and to 
 a common purpose. We see, wherever we are witnesses 
 to the actual formation of things, nothing except intelli- 
 gence producing effects so marked and distinguished. Fur- 
 nished with this experience, we view the producticns of 
 nature. We observe them also marked and distinguished 
 in the same manner. We wish to account for their origin. 
 Our experience suggests a cause perfectly adequate to this 
 account. No experience, no single instance or example, 
 can be offered in favor of any other. In this cause, there- 
 fore, we ought to rest; in this cause the common sense of 
 mankind has, in fact, rested, because it agrees with that 
 which in all cases is the foundation of knowledge, — the 
 undeviating course of their experience. The reasoning is 
 the same as that by which we conclude any ancient ap- 
 
OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY. 233 
 
 -r> 
 
 r earances to have been the effects of volcanoes or inunda- 
 tions, namely, because they resemble tlie effects which lire 
 and water produce before our eyes; and because we have 
 never known these effects to result from any other opera- 
 tion. And this resemblance may subsist in so many cir- 
 cumstances, as not to leave us under the smallest doubt 
 in forming our opinion. Men are not deceived by this 
 reasoning: for whenever it happens, as it sometimes does 
 happen, that the truth comes to be known by direct infor- 
 mation, it turns out to be what was expected. In like 
 manner, and upon the same foundation (which in truth is 
 that of experience) we conclude that the works of nature 
 proceeded from intelligence and design, because, in the 
 properties of relation to a purpose, subserviency to a use, 
 they resemble what intelligence and design are constantly 
 producing, and what nothing except intelligence and de- 
 sign ever produce at all. Of every argument, which 
 would raise a question as to the safety of this reasoning, 
 it may be observed, that if such argument be listened to, 
 it leads to the inference, not only that the present order 
 of nature is insufficient to prove the existence of an intelli- 
 gent Creator, but that no imaginable order would be suf- 
 ficient to prove it; that no contrivance, were it ever so me- 
 chanical, ever so precise, ever so clear, ever so perfectly 
 like those which we ourselves employ, would support this 
 conclusion. A doctrine to which, I conceive, no sound 
 mind can assent. 
 
 The force, however, of the reasoning is sometimes sunk 
 by our taking up with mere names. We have already no- 
 ticed,^ and we must here notice again, the misapplication 
 of the term “ law,’’ and the mistake concerning the idea 
 which that term expresses in physics, whenever such idea 
 IS made to take the place of power, and still more of an in- 
 tedigent power, and, as such, to be assigned for the cause 
 of anything, or of any property of anything, that exists. 
 This is what we are secretly apt to do, when we speak of or- 
 ganized bodies (plants for instance, or animals,) owing their 
 production, their form, their growth, their qualities, their 
 beauty, their use, to any law or laws of nature; and when 
 we are contented to sit down with that answer to our inqui- 
 ries concerning them. I say once more, that it is a per- 
 version of language to assign any law as the efficient oper- 
 ative cause of anything. A law presupposes an agent, for 
 it is only th^ mode according to which an agent proceeds; 
 
 Chap. I. sec. vii. 
 
234 OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY. 
 
 r 
 
 it implies a power, for it is the order according to which 
 that power acts. Without this agent, without this po»ver, 
 which are both distinct from itself, the ‘Maw’’ does noth- 
 ing — is nothing. 
 
 What has been said concerning “law,” holds true of 
 mechanism. Mechanism is not itself power. Mechanism, 
 without power, can do nothing. Let a watch be contrived 
 and constructed ever so ingeniously; be its parts ever so 
 many, ever so complicated, ever so finely wrought, or arti- 
 ficially put together, it cannot go without a weight or spring, 
 %. e. without a force independent of, and ulterior to, its me- 
 chanism. The spring acting at the centre, will produce 
 different motions and different results, according to the 
 variety of the intermediate mechanism. One and the self- 
 same spring, acting in one and the same manner, viz. by 
 simply expanding itself, may be the cause of a hundred dif- 
 ferent, and all useful, movements, if a hundred different and 
 well-devised sets of wheels be placed between it and the 
 final eflect; e. g, may point out the hour of the day, the 
 day of the month, the age of the moon, the position of the 
 planets, the cycle of the years, and many other serviceable 
 notices: and these movements may fulfil their purposes 
 with more or less perfection, according as the mechanism 
 is better or worse contrived, or better or worse executed, 
 or in a better or worse state of repair ; but in all cases, it 
 is necessary that the spring act at the centre. The course 
 of our reasoning upon such a subject would be this: by 
 inspecting the watch, even when standing still, we get a 
 proof of contrivance, and of a contriving mind having been 
 employed about it. In the form and obvious relation of its 
 parts, we see enough to convince us of this. If we pull 
 the works in pieces, for the purpose of a closer examination, 
 we are still more fully convinced. But when we see the 
 watch going, we see proof of another point, viz. that there 
 is a power somewhere and somehow or other, applied to 
 it; a power in action; — that there is more in the subject 
 han the mere wheels of the machine; — that there is a 
 secret spring, or a gravitating plummet; — in a word, that 
 there is force and energy, as well as mechanism. 
 
 So then, the watch in motion establishes to the observer 
 two conclusions: One; that thought, contrivance, and de- 
 sign, have been employed in the forming, proportioning, 
 and arranging of its parts; and that whoever or wherever 
 he be, or were, such a contriver there is, or was: The other; 
 that force or power, distinct from mechanism, is at this 
 uveseiit tiin^ acting upon it. If I saw a hand-mill, even at 
 
OF THE PERSONAI.1TY OF THE DEITY. 
 
 235 
 
 rest, I should see contrivance; but if I saw it grinding, I 
 should be assured that a hand was at the windlass, though 
 in another room. It is the same in nature. In the works 
 of nature we trace mechanism; and this alone proves 
 contrivance: but living, active, moving, productive nature, 
 proves also the exertion of a power at the centre; for, 
 wherever the power resides may be denominated the centre. 
 
 The intervention and disposition of what are called 
 
 second causes fall under the same observation. Tliis 
 disposition is or is not mechanism, according as we can or 
 cannot trace it by our senses and means of examination 
 
 That is all the difference there is ; and it is a difference 
 which respects our faculties, not the things themselves. 
 Now, where the order of second causes is mechanical, what 
 is here said of mechanism strictly applies to it. But it 
 would be always mechanism (natural chemistry, for in- 
 stance, would be mechanism) if our senses were acute 
 enough to descry it. Neither mechanism, therefore, in 
 the works of nature, nor the intervention of what are call- 
 ed second causes, (for I think that they are the same 
 thing,) excuses the necessity of an agent distinct from both. 
 
 If, in tracing these causes, it be said, that we find cer- 
 tain general properties of matter which have nothing in 
 them that bespeaks intelligence, I answer, that still the 
 managing of these properties, the pointing and directing 
 them to the uses which we see made of them, demands in- 
 telligence in the highest degree. For example: suppose 
 animal secretions to be elective attraction, and that such 
 and such attractions universally belong to such and such 
 substances; in all which there is no intellect concerned; 
 still the choice and collocation of these substances, the fix- 
 ing upon right substances, and disposing them in righ\ 
 places, must be an act of intelligence. What mischief 
 would follow, were there a single transposition of the se- 
 cretory organs; a single mistake in arranging the glands 
 which compose them! 
 
 There may be many second causes, and many courses 
 of second causes, one behind another, between what we 
 observe of nature and the Deity; but there must be in- 
 telligence somewhere; there must be more in nature than 
 what we see; and, amongst the things unseen, there must 
 be an intelligent, designing author. The philosopher be- 
 holds with astonishment the production of things around 
 him. Unconscious particles of matter take their stations, 
 and several ly range themselves in an order, so as to become 
 collectively plants or animals, i e. organized bodies, with 
 
236 
 
 OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY. 
 
 parts bearing strict and evident relation to one another, 
 and to the utility of the whole: and it should seem that 
 these particles could not move in any other way than as 
 they do; for they testify not the smallest sign of choice, or 
 liberty, cr discretion. There may be particular intelligent 
 beings g aiding these motions in each case; or they may 
 be the result of trains of mechanical dispositions, fixed 
 beforehand by an intelligent appointment, and kept in ac- 
 tion by a power at the centre. But, in either case, there 
 must be intelligence. 
 
 The minds of most men are fond of what they call a 
 principle, and of the appearance of simplicity, in account- 
 ing for phenomena. Yet this principle, this simplicity, 
 resides merely in the name; which name, after all, com- 
 prises, perhaps, under it a diversified, multifarious, or pro- 
 gressive operation, distinguishable into parts. The power 
 in organized bodies, of producing bodies like themselves, 
 is one of these principles. Give a philosopher this, and 
 he can get on. But he does not reflect, what this mode of 
 production, this principle (if such he choose to call it) re- 
 quires; how much it presupposes; what an apparatus of in- 
 struments, some of which are strictly mechanical, is neces- 
 sary to its success; what a train it includes of operations and 
 changes, one succeeding another, one related to another, 
 one ministering to another ; all advancing, by intermediate, 
 and frequently, by sensible steps, to their ultimate result* 
 Yet, because the whole of this complicated action is wrap- 
 ped up in a single term, generation^ we are to set it down 
 as an elementary principle; and to suppose, that when we 
 have resolved the things which we see into this principle, 
 we have sufficiently accounted for their origin, without the 
 necessity of a designing, intelligent Creator. The truth is, 
 generation is not a principle, but a process. We might 
 as well call the casting of metals a principle; we might, so 
 far as appears to me, as well call spinning and weaving 
 principles: and then, referring the texture of cloths, the 
 fabric of muslins and calicoes, the patterns of diapers and 
 damasks, to these, as principles, pretend to dispense with 
 intention, thought, and contrivance, on the part of the ar- 
 tist; or to dispense, indeed, with the necessity of any artist 
 at all, either in the manufacturing of the article, or in the 
 fabrication of the machinery by which the manufacture 
 was carried on. 
 
 And after all, how, or in what sense, is it true, that ani- 
 mals produce their like? A butterfly, with a broboscis in- 
 itead of a mouth, with four wings and six legs, produces a 
 
OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY 
 
 237 
 
 hairy caterpillar, with jaws and teeth, and fourteen feet 
 4 frog produces a tadpole. A black beetle, with gauze 
 wings, and a crusty covering, produces a white, smooth, 
 soft worm; an ephemeron fly, a cod-bait maggot. These, 
 by a progress through different stages of life, and action, 
 and enjoyment, (and in each state provided with imple- 
 merts and organs appropriated to the temporary nature 
 which they bear,) arrive at last at the form and fashion of 
 the parent animal. But all this is process, not principle; 
 and proves, moreover, that the property of animated bodies, 
 of producing their like, belongs to them, not as a primordial 
 property, not by any blind necessity in the nature of things, 
 but as the effect of economy, wisdom, and design; because 
 the property itself assumes diversities, and submits to devi- 
 ations dictated by intelligible utilities, and serving distinct 
 purposes of animal happiness. 
 
 The opinion, which would consider generation” as a 
 principle in nature; and which would assign this principle 
 as a cause, or endeavour to satisfy our minds with such a 
 cause, of the existence of organized bodies, is confuted, in 
 my judgment, not only by every mark of contrivance dis- 
 coverable in those bodies, for which it gives us no contriver, 
 offers no account whatever; but also by the farther consid- 
 eration, that things generated possess a clear relation to 
 things not generated. If it were merely one part of a gen- 
 erated body bearing a relation to another part of the same 
 body, as the mouth of an animal to the throat, the throat 
 to the stomach, the stomach to the intestines, those to the 
 recruiting of the blood, and by means of the blood, to the 
 nourishment of the whole frame; or if it were only one 
 generated body bearing a relation to another generated 
 body, as the sexes of the same species to each other, 
 animals 3f prey to their prey, herbivorous and granivo- 
 rous animals to the plants or seeds upon which they feed, 
 it might be contended, that the whole of this correspon- 
 dency was attributable to generation, the common origin 
 from which these substances proceeded. But what shall 
 we say to agreements which exist between things generat- 
 ed and things not generated'^ Can it be doubted, was it 
 ever doubted, but that the lungs of animals bear a relation 
 to tlie air, as a permanently elastic fluid? They act in it 
 and by it, they cannot act without it. Now, if generation 
 produced the animal, it did not produce the air; yet their 
 properties correspond. The eye is made for light, and light 
 for the eye. The eye would be of no use without light, 
 and light perhaps of little without eyes; yet one is produc- 
 
23B 
 
 OP THE PERSONAL TY OP THE DEITY. 
 
 cd by generation; the other not. The ear depends upon 
 undulations of lir. Here are two sets of motions: first, of 
 .he pulses of the air; secondly, of the drum, bones, and 
 nerves of the ear: sets of motions bearing an evident re- 
 ference to each other: yet the one, and the apparatus for 
 the one, produced by the intervention of generation; the 
 , other altogether independent of it. 
 
 If it be said, that the air, the light, the elements, the 
 world itself, is generated; I answer, that I do not compre- 
 hend he proposition. If the term mean anything similar 
 io wnat it means when applied to plants or animals, the 
 proposition is certainly without proof; and, I think, draws 
 as near to absurdity as any proposition can do, which does 
 not include a contradiction in its terms. I am at a loss to 
 conceive, how the formation of the world can be compared 
 to the generation of an animal. If the term generatiori 
 signify something quite different from what it signifies on 
 ordinary occasions, it may, by the same latitude, signify 
 anything. In which case, a word or phrase taken from the 
 language of Otaheite, would convey as much theory con- 
 cerning the origin of the universe, as it does to talk of its 
 being generated. 
 
 We know a cause (intelligence) adequate to the appear- 
 ances which we wish to account for; we have this cause 
 continually producing similar appearances; yet, rejecting 
 this cause, the sufficiency of which we know, and the ac- 
 tion of which is constantly before our eyes, we are invited 
 to resort to suppositions destitute of a single fact for their 
 support, and confirmed by no analogy with wdiich we are 
 acquainted. Were it necessary to inquire into the motives 
 of men’s opinions, I mean their motives separate from their 
 arguments, I should almost suspect, that, because the proof 
 of a Deity drawn from the constitution of nature is not only 
 popular but vulgar, (which may arise from the cogency of 
 the proof, and be indeed its highest recommendation,) 
 and because it is a species almost of puerility to take up 
 with it; for these reasons, minds, which are habitually in 
 search of invention and originality, feel a resistless inclina- 
 tion to strike off into other solutions and other expositions. 
 The truth is, that many minds are not so indisposed to any- 
 thing which can be offered to them, as they are to the 
 flatness of being content with common reasons; and, what 
 is most to be lamented, minds conscious of superiority are 
 the most liable to this repugnancy. 
 
 The ‘‘ suppositions” here alluded to, all agree in one 
 characte;: they all endeavour to dispense with the necessi- 
 
OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY. 
 
 239 
 
 ty in nature, of a particular personal intelligence; that 
 is to say, with the exertion of an intending, contriving 
 mind, m the structure and formation of the organized con- 
 stitution which the world contains. They would resolve 
 ail productions into unconscious energies, of a like kind, in 
 that respect, with attraction, magnetism, electricity, &c. 
 without anything farther. 
 
 Ill this the old system of atheism and the new agree 
 And I much doubt, whether the new schemes have advanc- 
 ed anything upon the old, or done more than changed the 
 terms of the nomenclature. For instance, I could never 
 see the difference between the antiquated system of atoms, 
 and Buffon's organic molecules. This philosopher, having 
 made a planet by knocking off from the sun apiece of melt- 
 ed glass, in consequence of the stroke of a comet; and hav- 
 ing set it in motion by the same stroke, both round its own 
 axis and the sun, finds his next difficulty to be, how to 
 bring plants and animals upon it. In order to solve this 
 difficulty, we are to suppose the universe replenished with 
 particles endowed with life, but without organization or 
 senses of their own; and endowed also with a tendency to 
 marshal themselves into organized forms. The concourse 
 of these particles, by virtue of this tendency, but without 
 intelligence, will, or direction, (for I do not find that any 
 of these qualities are ascribed to them,) has produced the 
 living forms which we now see. 
 
 Very few of the conjectures which philosophers hazard 
 upon these subjects, have more of pretension in therr than 
 the challenging you to show the direct impossibility of the 
 hypothesis. In the present example, there seemed to be 
 a positive objection to the whole scheme upon the very 
 face of it; which was that, if the case were as here repre- 
 sented, new combinations ought to be perpetually taking 
 place; new plants and animals, or organized bodies which 
 vvere neither, ought to be starting up before our eyes every 
 day. For this, however, our philosopher has an answer 
 Whilst so many forms of plants and animals are already in 
 existence, and, consequently, so many “internal moulds,'' 
 as he calls them, are prepared and at hand, the organic 
 particles run into these moulds, and are employed in supply- 
 ing an accession of substance to them, as well for their 
 growth, as for their propagation. By which means things 
 keep their ancient course. But, says the same philoso- 
 pher, should any general loss or destruction of the pre- 
 sent constitution of organized bodies take place, the parti- 
 cles, for want of “moulds" into which they might enter^. 
 
440 
 
 OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY. 
 
 would run into different combinations, and replenish the 
 waste with new species of organized substances. 
 
 Is there any history to countenance this notion.^ Is it 
 known, that any destruction has been so repaired? any 
 desert thus repeopled? 
 
 So far as I remember, the only natural appearance men- 
 tioned by our author, by way of fact whereon to build his 
 hypothesis, the only support on which it rests, is the forma- 
 tion of worms in the intestines of animals, which is here 
 ascribed to the coalition of superabundant organic parti- 
 cles, floating about in the first passages; and which have 
 combined themselves into these simple animal forms, for 
 want of internal moulds, or of vacancies in those moulds, 
 into which they might be received. The thing referred to, 
 is rather a species of facts, than a single fact; as some 
 other cases may, with equal reason, be included under it. 
 But to make it a fact at all, or in any sort applicable to 
 the question, we must begin with asserting an equivocal 
 generation, contrary to analogy, and without necessity: 
 contrary to an analogy, which accompanies us to the very 
 limits of our knowledge or inquiries; for wherever, either 
 in plants or animals, we are able to examine the subject, 
 we find procreation from a parent form: without necessity; 
 for I apprehend that it is seldom difficult to suggest me- 
 thods, by which the eggs, or spawn, or yet invisible rudi- 
 ments of these vermin, may have obtained a passage into 
 the cavities in which they are found.* Add to this, that 
 their constancy to their species, which, I believe, is as regu- 
 lar in these as in the other vermes, decides the question 
 against our philosopher, if in truth any question remained 
 apon the subject. 
 
 Lastly; these wonder-working instruments, these ‘Tn- 
 ernal moulds,” what are they after all? what, when exam- 
 ined, but a name without signification; unintelligible, if not 
 jelf-contradictory ; at the best, differing in nothing from the 
 
 essential forms” of the Greek philosophy? One short 
 sentence of Buffon’s work exhibits his scheme as follows: 
 “ Wh^n this nutritious and prolific matter, which is diffus- 
 ed throughout all nature, passes through the internal mould 
 of an animal or vegetable, and finds a proper matrix, or re- 
 ceptacle, it gives rise to an animal or vegetable of the same 
 species.” l3oes any reader annex a meaning to the expres- 
 
 * I trust I may be excused for not citing, as another fact which is to 
 confirm the hypothesis, a grave assertion of this writer, that the brandi- 
 es of trees upon which the stag feeds, break out again. in his horni 
 t3uch facts merit no discussion. 
 
OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY. 
 
 241 
 
 Bion, ‘‘internal mould,” in this sentence? Ought it then 
 to be said that though we have little notion of an internal 
 mould, we have not much more of a designing mind? The 
 very contrary of this assertion is the truth. When we 
 speak of an artificer or an architect, we talk of what is com- 
 prehensible to our understanding, and familiar to our expe- 
 rience. We use no other terms, than what refer us for their 
 meaning to our consciousness and observation; what express 
 tlic constant objects of both; whereas names, like that we 
 have mentioned; refer us to nothing; excite no idea: convey 
 a sound to the ear, but I think do no more. 
 
 Another system, which has lately been brvmght forward, 
 and with much ingenuity, is that of appetencies. The prin- 
 ciple, and the short account of the theory, is this: Pieces 
 of soft, ductile matter, being endued with propensities or 
 appetencies for particular actions, would, by continual en- 
 deavours, carried on through a long series of generations, 
 work themselves gradually into suitable forms; and at 
 length acquire, though perhaps by obscure and almost im- 
 perceptible improvements, an organization fitted to the ac- 
 tion which their respective propensities led them to exert. 
 A piece of animated matter, for example, that was endued 
 with a propensity to fly, though ever so shapeless, though 
 no other we will suppose than a round ball, to begin with, 
 would, in a course of ages, if not in a million of years, 
 perhaps in a hundred millions of years, (for our theorists, 
 having eternity to dispose of, are never sparing in time,) ac- 
 quire The same tendency to locomotion in an 
 
 aquatic animal, or rather in an animated lump which might 
 happen to be surrounded by water, would end in the pro- 
 duction fins; in a living substance, confined to the solid 
 earth, would put out legs and feet; or, if it took a different 
 turn, would break the body into ringlets, and conclude by 
 craivling upon the ground. 
 
 Although I have introduced the mention of this theory 
 into this place, I am unwilling to give to it the name of an 
 atheistic scheme, for two reasons: first, because, so far as 
 I am able to understand it, the original propensities, and 
 the numberless varieties of them (so different, in this re- 
 spect, from the laws of mechanical nature, wd ich are few 
 and simple,) are, in the plan itself, attributed to the ordina- 
 tion and appointment of an intelligent and designing Crea- 
 tor; secondly, because, likewise, that large postulatum, 
 which is a 1 along assumed and presupposed, the faculty 
 in living bodies of producing other bodies organized like 
 themselves, seems to be referred to the same cause; at 
 
 W 
 
242 
 
 OF THE PEKbONAL JTY OF THE DEITY. 
 
 least IS not attempted to be accounted for by any other. In 
 one important respect, however, the theory before us coin- 
 cides with atheistic systems, viz. in that, in the formation 
 of plants and animals, in the structure and use of their parts, 
 it does away final causes. Instead of the parts of a plant 
 or animal, or the particular structure of the parts, having 
 il>een intended for the action or the use to which we see 
 them applied, according to this theory, they have themselves 
 grown out of that action, sprung from that use. The the- 
 ory therefore dispenses with that which we insist upon, the 
 necessity, in each particular case, of an intelligent, design- 
 ing mind, for the contriving and determining of the forms 
 which organized bodies bear. Give our philosopher these 
 appetencies; give him a portion of living irritable matter 
 (a nerve, or the clipping of a nerve) to work upon; give 
 also to his incipient or progressive forms, the power, in 
 every stage of their alteration, of propagating their like; 
 and, if he is to be believed, he could replenish the world 
 with all the vegetable and animal productions which we at 
 present see in it. 
 
 The scheme under consideration is open to the same ob- 
 jection with other conjectures of a similar tendency, viz. a 
 total defect of evidence. No changes, like those which the 
 theory requires, have ever been observed. All the changes 
 in Ovid’s Metamorphoses might have been effected by these 
 appetencies, if the theory were true: yet not an example, 
 nor the pretence of an example, is offered of a single 
 change being known to have taken place. Nor is the or- 
 der of generation obedient to the principle upon which this 
 theory is built. The marnmse * of the male have not van- 
 ished by inusitation; nec ciirtorum, per multa scccula Ju^ 
 decorum propagini deest prczputium. It is easy to say, and 
 it has been said, that the alterative process is too slow to 
 be perceived; that it has been carried on through tracts of 
 immeasurable time; and that the present order of things is 
 the result of a gradation, of which no human records can 
 trace the steps. It is easy to say this; and yet it is still 
 true, that the hypothesis remains destitute of evidence. 
 
 The analogies which have been alleged, are of the fol- 
 lowing kind. The hunch of a camel is said to be no other 
 than the effect of carrying burdens; a service in which 
 
 * I confess myself totally at a loss to guess at the reason, either final 
 or efficient, for this part of the animal frame, unless there be some foun- 
 dation for an opinion, of which I draw tlie hint from a paper of Sir Kve- 
 rard Home’s, (Phil. Transac. 1799, p. 2,) viz. that the niammie of the 
 *bRtns may bo f'rmed before the sex is determined. 
 
OP THE PERSONALITY OP THE DEITY. 
 
 ihe species has been employed from the most ar cient times 
 of the world The first race, by the daily loading of the 
 back, would probably find a small grumous tumour to be 
 formed in the flesh of that part. The next progeny would 
 bring this tumour into the world with them. The life to 
 which they were destined would increase it. The cause 
 which first generated the tubercle being continued, it would 
 go on, through every succession, to augment its size, till it 
 attained the form and the bulk under which it now appears. 
 This may serve for one instance: another, and that also of 
 the passive sort, is taken from certain species of birds. 
 Birds of the crane kind, as the crane itself, the heion, bit- 
 tern, stoik, have, in general, their thighs bare of feathers. 
 This privation is accounted for from the habit of wading in 
 water, a;\d from the effect of that element to check the 
 growth (if feathers upon these parts; in consequence of 
 which, Ihe health and vegetation of the feathers declined 
 through each generation of the animal; the tender down, 
 exposed to cold and wetness, became weak, and thin, and 
 rare, till the deterioration ended in the result which we see, 
 of absolute nakedness. I will mention a third instance, 
 because it is drawn from an active hab.t, as the two last 
 were from passive habits; and that is the pouch of the pe- 
 lican. The description, which naturalists give of this organ, 
 is as follows: ‘‘From the lower edges of the under chap 
 hangs a bag, reaching from the whole length of the bill to 
 the neck, which is said to be capable of containing fifteen 
 quarts of water. This bag the bird has a power of wrink- 
 ling up into the hollow of the under chap. When the bag 
 is empty, it is not seen; but when the bird has fished with 
 success, it is incredible to what an extent it is often dilated. 
 The first thing the pelican does in fishing, is to fill the bag; 
 and then it returns to digest its burden at leisure. The 
 bird preys upon large fishes, and hides them by dozens in 
 its pouch. When the bill is opened to its widest extent, a 
 person may run his head into the bird’s mouth, and conceal 
 it in this monstrous pouch, thus adapted for very singular 
 purposes.”* Now this extraordinary conformation is noth 
 ing more, say our philosophers, than the result of habit; 
 not of the habit or effort of a single pelican, or of a single 
 race of pelicans, but of a habit perpetuated through a long 
 series of generations. The pelican soon found the con- 
 veniency of reserving in its mouth, when its appetite was 
 glutted, the remainder of its prey, which is fish. The fill- 
 
 * Goldsmith, vol. vi. p. 52 
 
244 
 
 OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY. 
 
 ness produced by this attempt, of course stretched fhe 
 skin which lies between the under chaps, as being the 
 most yielding part of the mouth. Every distension in- 
 creased the cavity. The original bird, and many genera- 
 tions which succeeded him, might find dithculty enough in 
 making the pouch answer this purpose: but future pelicans, 
 entering upon life with a pouch derived from their progen- 
 itors, of considerable capacity, would more readily accel- 
 erate its advance to perfection, by frequently pressing 
 down the sack with the weight of fish which it might now 
 be made to contain. 
 
 These, or of this kind, are the analogies relied upon. 
 Now, in the first place, the instances themselves are unau- 
 thenticated by testimony; and, in theory, to say the least 
 of them, open to great objections. Who ever read of ca- 
 mels without bunches, or with bunches less than those with 
 which they are at present usually formed.^ A bunch, not 
 unlike the camefs, is found between the shoulders of the 
 buffalo; of the origin of which it is impossible to give the 
 account which is here given. In the second example ; WTy 
 should the application of water, which appears to promote 
 and thicken the growth of feathers upon the bodies and 
 breasts of geese and swans, and other water-fowls, have 
 divested of this covering the thighs of cranes? The third 
 instance, which appears to me as plausible as any that can 
 be produced, has this against it, that it is a singularity re- 
 stricted to the species; whereas, if it had its commence- 
 ment in the cause and manner which have been assigned, 
 the like conformation might be expected to take place in 
 other birds which feed upon fish. How comes it to pass, 
 that the pelican alone was the inventress, and her descen- 
 dants the only inheritors, of this curious resource? 
 
 But it is the less necessary to controvert the instances 
 themselves, as it is a straining of analogy beyond all lim- 
 its of reason and credibility, to assert that birds, and beasts, 
 and fish, with all their variety and complexity of organiza- 
 tion, have been brought into their forms, and distinguished 
 into their several kinds and natures, by the same process 
 (even if that process could be demonstrated, or had it ever 
 been actually noticed) as might seem to serve for the grad- 
 ual generation of a camel’s bunch, or a pelican’s pouch. 
 
 The solution, when applied to the works of nature geii- 
 eralljij is contradicted by many of the phenomena, and to- 
 tally inadequate to others. The lifj^amenls or strictures, by 
 which the tendons are tied down at the angles of the joints, 
 ■joul : by no possibility, be formed by the motion or exer 
 
OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY. 
 
 245 
 
 cise of the tendons themselves; by any appetency exciting 
 these parts into action; or by any tendency arising there- 
 from. The tendency is all the other way; the conahis m 
 constant opposition to them. Length of time does not help 
 the case at all, but the reverse. The valves also in the 
 blood-vessels, could never be formed in the manner which 
 our theorist proposes. The blood, in its right and natural 
 course, has no tendency to form them. When obstruct- 
 ed or refluent, it has the contrary. These parts could 
 not grow out of their use, though they had eternity to 
 grow in. 
 
 The senses of animals appear to me altogether incapable 
 of receiving the explanation of their origin which this theo- 
 ry affords. Including under the word “ sense” the organ 
 and the perception, we have no account of either. How 
 will our philosopher get at vision, or make an eye? How 
 should the blind animal effect sight, of which blind animals, 
 we know, have neither conception nor desire? Affecting 
 it, by what operation of its will, by what endeavour to see, 
 could it so determine the fluids of its body, as to inchoate 
 the formation of an eye; or suppose the eye formed, would 
 the perception follow? The same of the other senses 
 And this objection holds its force, ascribe what you will to 
 the hand of time, to the power of habit, to changes too slow’ 
 to be observed by man, or brought within any comparison 
 which he is able to make of past things with the present: 
 concede what you please to these arbitrary and unattested 
 suppositions, how will they help you? Here is no incep- 
 tion. No laws, no course, no powers of nature which pre- 
 vail at present, nor any analogous to these, could give com- 
 mencement to a new sense. And it is in vain to inquire 
 how that might proceed, which could never begin, 
 
 I think the senses to be the most inconsistent with the 
 hypothesis before us, of any part of the animal frame. But 
 other parts are sufficiently so. The solution does not 
 apply to the parts of animals which have little in them of 
 motion. If we could suppose joints and muscles to be grad 
 ually formed by action and exercise, what action or exercise 
 could form a skull, or fill it with brains? No effort of the 
 animal could determine the clothing of its skin. What co- 
 natus could give prickles to the porcupine or hedgehog, or 
 to the sheep its fleece? 
 
 In the last place: What do these appetencies mean when 
 applied to plants? I am not able to give a signification tc 
 the term, which can be transferred from animals to plants, 
 or which is common to both Yet a no less successful or- 
 
 w* 
 
OF THE NATURAL ATTRIBUTES. 
 
 ganization is found in plants, than what obtains in animals 
 A solution is v/anted for one as well as the .other. 
 
 Upon the whole; after all the schemes and struggles of a 
 reluctant -Dhilosophy, the necessary resort is to a Deity 
 The marks of design are too strong to be gotten over 
 Design must have had a designer. That designer mus 
 have been a person. That person is God. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 of the natural attributes of the deity. 
 
 It is an immense conclusion, that there is a God; a 
 perceiving, intelligent, designing Being; at the head of cre- 
 ation, and from whose will it proceeded. The aftribuies of 
 such a Being, suppose his reality to be proved, must be 
 adequate to the magnitude, extent, and multiplicity of his 
 operations: which are not only vast beyond comparison with 
 those performed by any other power, but, so far as respects 
 our conceptions of them, infinite, because they are unlimit- 
 ed on all sides. 
 
 Yet the contemplation of a nature so exalted, however 
 surely we arrive at the proof of its existence, overwhelms 
 our faculties. The mind feels its powers sink under the 
 subject. One consequence of which is, that from painful 
 abstraction the thoughts seek relief in sensible images. 
 Whence may be deduced the ancient, and almost univer- 
 sal propensity to idolatrous substitutions. They are the 
 resources of a laboring imagination. False religions usu- 
 ally fall in with the natural propensity; true religions, or 
 such as have derived themselves from the true, resist it. 
 
 It is one of the advantages of the revelations which we 
 acknowledge, that whilst they reject idolatry with its many 
 pernicious accompaniments, they introduce the Deity to 
 human appr 3hension, under an idea more personal, more 
 determinate, more within its compass, than the theology 
 >f nature can do. And this they do by representing him 
 » xclusively under the relation in which he stands to our- 
 selves; and, for the most part, under some precise charac- 
 ter, resulting from that relation, or from the history of his 
 providences. Which method suits the span of our intellects 
 much better than the universality which enters into the 
 idea of God, as deduced from the views of nature. When, 
 therefore, these representations are well founded in point 
 
OF THE DEITY. 
 
 241 
 
 of authority, (for all depends upon that,) they afford aeon 
 descension to the state of our faculties, of which, they who 
 have most reflected upon the subject, will be the first to 
 acknowledge the want and the value. 
 
 INevertheless, if we be careful to imitate the documents 
 of our religion, by confining our explanations to what con- 
 cerns ourselves, and do not affect more precision in our 
 ideas than the subject allows of, the several terms which 
 are employed to denote the attributes of the Deity, may be 
 made, even in natural religion, to bear a sense consistent 
 with truth and reason, and not surpassing our compre- 
 hension. 
 
 These terms are, omnipotence, omniscience, omnipres- 
 ence, eternity, self-existence, necessary existence, spiritu- 
 ality. 
 
 ‘‘Omnipotence,’^ “omniscience,” “infinite” power, 
 “ infinite” knowledge, Vive superlatives ; expressing our con- 
 ception of these attributes in the strongest and most elevated 
 *erms which language supplies. We ascribe power to the 
 Deity under the name of ‘ ‘ omnipotence,” the strict and cor- 
 rect conclusion being, that a power which could create such 
 a world as this is, must be, beyond all comparison, greater 
 than any which we experience in ourselves, than any which 
 we observe in other visible agents ; greater also than any 
 which we can want, for our individual protection and pres- 
 ervation, in the Being upon whom we depend. It is a 
 power, likewise, to which we are not authorised, by our 
 observation or knowledge, to assign any limits of space 
 or duration. , 
 
 Very much of the same sort of remark is applicable to 
 the term, “omniscience,” infinite knowledge, or infinite 
 wisdom. In strictness of language, there is a difference 
 between knowledge and wisdom; wisdom always suppos- 
 ing action, and action directed by it. With respect to the 
 first, viz. knowledge, the Creator must know, intimately, 
 the constitution and properties of the things which he cre- 
 ated; which seems also to imply a foreknowledge of their 
 action upon one another, and of their changes; at least, so 
 far as the same result from trains of physical and necessary 
 causes. His omniscience also, as far as respects things 
 present, ’s deducible from his nature, as an intelligent be- 
 ing, joined with the extent, or rather the universality, of 
 his operations. Where he acts, he is; and where he is, 
 ne perceives. The wisdom of the Deity, as testified in the 
 works of creation, surpasses all idea we have of wisdom, 
 drawn from the highest intellectual operations of the highest 
 
248 
 
 OF THE NATURAL ATTRIBUTES, kc. 
 
 
 class of intelligent beings with whom we are acquainted, 
 and, which ‘s of the chief importance to us, whatever be its 
 compass or extent, which i^ is evidently impossible that we 
 should be able to determine, it must be adequate to the 
 conduct of that order of things under which we live. And 
 this is enough. It is of very inferior consequence, by what 
 terms we express our notion, or rather our admiration, of 
 this attribute. The terms, which the piety and the usage 
 of language have rendered habitual to us, may he as pro- 
 per as any other. We can trace this attribute much beyond 
 what is necessary for any conclusion to which w^e have 
 occasion to apply it. The degree of knowledge and power, 
 requisite for the formation of created nature, cannot, with 
 respect to us, be distinguished from infinite. 
 
 The divine ‘‘ omnipresence’’ stands, in natural theology, 
 upon this foundation: — In every part and place of the uni- 
 verse, with which we are acquainted, we perceive the exer- 
 tion of a power, which we believe, mediately or immediate- 
 ly, to proceed from the Deity. For instance: in what part 
 or point of space, that has ever been explored, do we not 
 discover attraction.^ In what regions do we not find light 
 In what accessible portion of our globe do we not meet 
 with gravity, magnetism, electricity? together with the 
 properties also and powers of organized substances, of veg- 
 etable or of animated nature? Nay, farther, we may ask, 
 what kingdom is there of nature, what corner of space, in 
 which there is anything that can be examined by us, where 
 we do not fall upon contrivance and design? The only re- 
 flection perhaps which arises in our minds from this view 
 of the world around us is, that the laws of nature every- 
 where prevail; that they are uniform and universal. But 
 what do we mean by the laws of nature, or by any law? 
 Effects are produced by power, not by laws. A law cannot 
 execute itself A law refers us to an agent. Now an 
 agency so general, as that we cannut discover its absence, 
 or assign the place in. which some effect of its continued 
 energy is not found, may, in popular language at least, 
 and, perhaps, without much deviation from philosophical 
 strictness, be called universal: and, with not quite the 
 same, but with no inconsiderable propriety, the person, or 
 Being, in whom that power resides, or from whom it is de- 
 rived, may be taken to be omnipresent. He who upholds 
 all things by his power, may be said to be everywhere 
 present. 
 
 Thi^ is called a virtual presence. There is also what 
 rnetapnysicians denominate an essential ubiquity; and 
 
THE UIVITY OF THE DEITY. 
 
 249 
 
 which ider. the language of Scripture seems to favor: but 
 the former, I think, goes as far as natural theology carries 
 us. 
 
 ^‘ Eteriiity’" is a negative idea, clothed with a positive 
 name. It supposes, in that to which it is applied, a present 
 existence; and is the negation of a beginning or an end of 
 that existence. As applied to the Deity, it has not been 
 controverted by those who acknowledge a Deity at all. 
 Most assuredly, there never was a time in which nothing 
 existed, because that condition must have continued. The 
 universal blank must have remained; nothing could rise 
 up out of it; nothing could ever have existed since: noth- 
 ing could exist now. In strictness, however, we have no 
 concern with duration prior to that of the visible world. 
 [Jpon this article, therefore, of theology, it is sufficient to 
 know, that the contriver necessarily existed before the 
 contrivance. 
 
 Self-existence” is another negative idea, viz. the nega- 
 .lon of a preceding cause, as of a progenitor, a maker, an 
 author, a creator. 
 
 “Necessary” existence means demonstrable existence. 
 
 “Spirituality” expresses an idea, made up of a negative 
 part, and of a positive part. The negative part consists in 
 th3 exclusion of some of the known properties of matter, 
 especially of solidity, of the vis inerticVj and of gravitation. 
 The positive part comprises perception, thought, will, 
 Dower, action; by which last term is meant, the origination 
 of motion; the quality, perhaps, in which resides the essen- 
 tial superiority of spirit over matter, “ which cannot move, 
 unless it be moved; and cannot but move, when impelled 
 by another.”* I apprehend that there can be no difficulty 
 in applying to the Deity both parts of this idea. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 THE UNITY OF THE DEITY. 
 
 Of the “ Unity of the Deity,” the proof is, the unxformi^ 
 iy of plan observable in the universe. The universe itself 
 is a system; each part either depending upon other parts, 
 or being connected with other parts by some common law 
 of motion, or by the presence of some common substance 
 
 * Bishop Wilkin’s Principles of Nat Rel. p. 106. 
 
250 
 
 THE UNITY OF THE DEITY. 
 
 One principle of gravitation causes a stone to drop towards 
 the earth, and the moon to wheel round it. One law of at- 
 traction carries all the different planets about the sun. This 
 philosophers demonstrate. There are also other points of 
 agreement amongst them, which may be considered as 
 marks of the identity of their origin, and of their intelli- 
 gent Author. In all are found the conveniency and stability 
 derived from gravitation. They all experience vicissi- 
 tudes of days and nights, and changes of season. They all, 
 at least Jupiter, Mars, and Venus, have the same advanta- 
 ges from their atmosphere as we have. In all the planets, 
 the axes of rotation are permanent. Nothing is more prob- 
 able, than that the same attracting influence, acting accord- 
 ing to the same rule, reaches to the fixed stars: but, if this 
 be only probable, another thing is certain, viz. that the 
 same element of light does. The light from a fixed star 
 affects our eyes in the same manner, is refracted and reflect- 
 ed according to the same laws, as the light of a candle 
 The velocity of the light of the fixed stars is also the same 
 as the velocity of the light of the sun, reflected from the 
 satellites of Jupiter. The heat of the sun, in kind, differs 
 nothing from the heat of a coal fire. 
 
 In our own globe, the case is clearer. New countries 
 are continually discovered, but the old laws of nature are 
 always found in them: new plants perhaps, or animals, but 
 always in company with plants and animals which wo 
 already know: and always possessing many of the same 
 general properties. We never get among such original, or 
 totally different, modes of existence, as to indicate, that we 
 are come into the province of a different Creator, or under 
 the directior. of a different will. In truth, the same order 
 of things attends us wherever we go. The elements act 
 upon one another, electricity operates, the tides rise and 
 fall, the magnetic needle elects its position in one region 
 of the earth and sea as well as in another. One atmos- 
 phere invests all parts of the globe, and connects all; one 
 sun illuminates; one moon exerts its specific attraction upon 
 all parts. If there be a variety in natural effects, as, e. g. 
 in the tides of different seas, that very variety is the result 
 of the same cause, acting under different circumstances. 
 In many cases this is proved; in all, is probable. 
 
 The inspection and comparison of /ir/ng forms, add to 
 this argument examples without number. Of all large ter- 
 restrial animals, the structure is very much alike; their 
 senses nearly the same ; their natural functions and pas- 
 siong neadv the same; their viscera nearly the same, both 
 
THE UNITY OF THE DEITY 
 
 251 
 
 in substance, shape, and office: digestion, nutrition, cir 
 culation, secretion, go on, in a similar manner, in all. TJia 
 great circulating fluid is the same; for, I thinK, no differ 
 ence has been discovered in the properties of blood, from 
 whatever animal it be drawn. The experiment of trar. sfu 
 sion proves, that the blood of one animal will serve for an- 
 other, The skeletons also of the larger terrestrial animals, 
 show particular varieties, but still under a great general 
 affinity The resemblance is somewhat less, yet sufficiently 
 evident, between quadrupeds and birds. They are all alike 
 in five respects, for one in which they differ. 
 
 In fish, which belong to another department, as it weie, 
 of nature, the points of comparison become fewer. But we 
 never lose sight of our analogy, e. g. we still meet with a 
 stomach, a liver, a spine; with bile and blood; with 
 teeth; with eyes, — (which eyes are only slightly varied from 
 our own, and which variation, in truth, demonstrates, not 
 an interruption, but a continuance of the same exquisite 
 plan; for it is the adaptation of the organ to the element, 
 viz. to the different refraction of light passing into the eye 
 out of a denser medium.) The provinces, also, themselves 
 of water and earth, are connected by the species of ani- 
 mals which inhabit both; and also by a large tribe of aquat- 
 ic animals, which closely resemble the terrestrial in their 
 internal structure; I mean the cetaceous tribe, which have 
 hot blood, respiring lungs, bowels, and other essential 
 parts, like those of land animals. This similitude, surely, 
 bespeaks the same creation and the same Creator. 
 
 Insects and shell-fish appear to me to differ from other 
 classes of animals the most widely of any. Yet even here, 
 beside many points of particular resemblance, there exists 
 a general relation of a peculiar kind. It is the relation of 
 inversion; the law of contrariety: namely, that whereas, 
 in other animals, the bones, to which the muscles are at- 
 tached, lie ivithin the body; in insects and shell-fish they 
 lie on the outside of it. The shell of a lobster performs to 
 the animal the office of a bone, by furnishing to the ten- 
 dons that fixed basis or immovable fulcrum, without which, 
 mechanically, they could not act. The crust of an insect 
 IS its shell, and answers the like purpose. The shell also 
 of an oyster stands in the place of a bone; the bases of the 
 muscles being fixed to it, in the same manner as, in other 
 animals, they are fixed to the bones. All which (under 
 wonderful varieties, indeed, and adaptations of form) con- 
 liesses an imb rtion, a remembrance, a carrying on, of the 
 ^ame plan 
 
*252 
 
 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 
 
 The observations here made are equally applicable to 
 plants; but, I think, unnecessary to be pursued. 
 
 It is a very striking circumstance, and alone sufficient to 
 prove all which we contend for, that in this part likewise 
 of organized nature, we perceive a continuation of the sex- 
 ual system. 
 
 Certain however it is, that the whol6 argument for the 
 divine unity, goes no farther than to a unity of counsel. 
 
 It may likewise be acknowledged, that no arguments 
 which we are in possession of, exclude the ministry of sub- 
 ordinate agents. If such there be, they act under a pre- 
 siding, a controlling will; because they act according to 
 certain general restrictions, by certain common rules, and, 
 tis it should seem, upon a general plan: but still such 
 agents, and different ranks, and classes, and degrees of 
 them, may be employed. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 
 
 The proof of the divine 2 ;oodness rests upon two proposi- 
 tions, each, as we contend, capable of being made out by 
 observations drawn from the appearances of nature. 
 
 The first is, “that in a va.st plurality of instances in 
 which contrivance is perceived, the design of the contri- 
 vance is beneficial.*^ 
 
 The second, “that the Deity has superadded pleasure 
 to animal sensations, beyond what was necessary for any 
 other purpose, or when the purpose, so far as it was neces- 
 sary, might hav^e been effected by the operation of pain.” 
 
 First, “ in a vast plurality of instances in which contri- 
 vance is perceived, the design of the contrivance is bcne^ 
 ficiaV* 
 
 No productions of nature display contrivance so mani- 
 festly as the parts of animals; and the parts of animals have 
 all of them, I believe, a real, and, with very few exceptions, 
 all of them a known and intelligible, subserviency to the 
 use of the animal. Now, when the multitude of animals is 
 considered, the number of parts in each, tlieir figure and 
 fitness, the faculties depending upon them, the variety of 
 species, the complexity of structure, the success, in so 
 many cases, and felicity of the result, we can never reflect, 
 without the profoundest adoration, upon the character of 
 
THE GOODNESS 01 THE DEITY. 
 
 253 
 
 that Being from whom all these things have proceeded: we 
 cannot help acknowledging, what an exertion of benevo- 
 lence creation was; of a benevolence how minute in its 
 care, how vast in its comprehension! 
 
 When we appeal to the parts and faculties of animals, 
 and to the limbs and senses of animals in particular, we * 
 state, I conceive, the proper medium of proof for the con- 
 clusion which we wish to establish. I will not say that 
 the insensible parts of nature are made solely for the sensi- 
 tive parts; but this I say, that, when we consider the be- 
 nevolence oftbe Deity, we can only consider it in relation 
 to sensitive being. ^Without this reference, or referred to 
 anything else, the attribute has no object; the term has 
 no meaning. Dead matter is nothing. The parts, there- 
 fore, especially the limbs and senses of animals, although 
 they constitute, in mass and quantity, a small portion of the 
 material creation, yet, since they alone are instruments of 
 perception, they compose what may be called the whole of 
 visible nature, estimated with a view to the disposition of 
 its Author. Consequently, it is in these that we are to seek 
 his character. It is by these that we are to prove, that the 
 world was made with a benevolent design. 
 
 Nor is the design abortive It is a happy world after all. 
 The air, the earth, the water, teem with delighted exist- 
 ence. In a spring noon, or a summer evening, on which- 
 ever side I turn my eyes, myriads of happy beings crowd 
 upon my view. “The insect youth are on the wing.’* 
 Swarms of new-born flies are trying their pinions in the 
 air. Their sportive motions, their wanton mazes, their 
 gratuitous activity, their continual change of place without 
 use or purpose, testify their joy, and the exultation which 
 they feel in their lately discovered faculties. A bee amongst 
 the flowers in spring, is one of the most cheerful objects that 
 can be looked upon. Its life appears to be all enjoyment ; 
 so busy, and so pleased: yet it is only a specimen of insect 
 life, with which, by reason of the animal being half domesti- 
 cated, we happen to be better acquainted than we are with 
 that of others. The whole winged insect tribe, it is proba- 
 ble, are equally intent upon their proper employments, and, 
 under every variety of constitution, gratified, and perhaps 
 equally gratified, by the offices which the Author of their 
 nature has assigned to them. But the atmosphere is not 
 the only scene of enjoyment for the insect race. Plants 
 are covered with aphides, greedily sucking their juices, 
 and constan'^ly, as it should seem, in the act of sucking, ft 
 
 X 
 
554 
 
 THE GOODNESS OE THE DEITY. 
 
 cannot be doubted but that this is a state of gratiication 
 What else should fix them so close to the operation, and 
 so long? Other species are running about, with an alacr’ty 
 in their motions, which carries with it every mark of plea- 
 sure. Large patches of ground are sometimes ha^f covered 
 with these brisk and sprightly natures. If w e look to what 
 the umters produce, shoals of the fry of fish frequent the 
 margins of rivers, of lakes, and of the sea itself These 
 are so happy, that they know not what to do with themselves 
 Their attitudes, their vivacity, their leaps out of the water, 
 their frolics in it, (which I have noticed a thousand times 
 with equal attention and amusement, )» all conduce to show 
 their excess of spirits, and are simply the effects of that 
 excess. Walking by the seaside, in a calm evening, upon 
 a sandy shore, and with an ebbing tide, I have frequently 
 remarked the appearance of a dark cloud, or rather, very 
 thick mist, hanging over the edge of the water, to the 
 height, perhaps, of half a yard, and of the breadth of two 
 or three yards, stretching along the coast as far as the eye 
 could reach, and always retiring with the water. When 
 this cloud came to be examined, it proved to be nothing 
 else than so much space, filled with young shmmps, in the 
 act of bounding into the air from the shallow margin of the 
 water, or from the wet sand. If any motion of a mute ani- 
 mal could express delight, it was this: if they had meant 
 to make signs of their happiness, they could not have done 
 it more intelligibly. Suppose then, what I have no doubt 
 of, each individual of this number to be in a state of posi- 
 tive enjoyment; what a sum, collectively, of gratification 
 and pleasure have we here before our view! 
 
 The young of all animals appear to me to receive pleas- 
 ure simply from the exercise of their limbs and bodily fac- 
 ulties, without reference to any end to be attained, or any 
 use to be answered by the exertion. A child, without 
 knowing anything of the use of language, is in a high de- 
 gree delighted with being able to speak. Its incessant 
 repetition of the few articulate sounds, or perhaps of the 
 single word which it has learned to pronounce, proves this 
 point clearly. Nor is it less pleased with its first success- 
 ful endeavours to walk, or rather to run, (which precedes 
 walking,) although entirely ignorant of the importance of 
 the attainment to its future life, and even without apply- 
 ing it to any present purpose. A child is delighted with 
 speaking, without having anything to say; and with walk- 
 ing, without knowing where to go. And, prior to both 
 thest>, I am disposed to believe, that the waking hours oi 
 
THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITS. 
 
 255 
 
 infancy are agreeably taken np with the exercise of vision, 
 or perliap more properly speaking, with learning to see^ 
 But it is not for youth alone that the great l^arent of 
 creation hath provided. Happiness is found with the 
 purring cat, no less than with the playful kitten; in the 
 armed chair of d)zing age, as well as in either the sprightli- 
 ness of the dance, or the animation of the chase. To novel 
 ty, to acuteness of sensation, to hope, to ardor of pursuit, 
 succeeds what is, in no inconsiderable degree, an equiva- 
 lent for them all, * ‘ perception of ease.” Herein is the exact 
 dilference between the young and the old. The young are 
 not happy, but when enjoying pleasure ; the old are happy, 
 when free fronr pain. And this constitution suits with the 
 degrees of animal power which they respectively possess. 
 The vigor of youth was to be stimulated to action by 
 impatience of rest; whilst, to the imbecility of age, quiet- 
 ness and repose become positive gratifications. In one im- 
 portant respect the advantage is with the old. A state of 
 ease is, generally speaking, more attainable than a state of 
 pleasure. A constitution, therefore, which can enjoy ease, 
 is preferable to that which can taste only pleasure. The 
 same perception of ease oftentimes renders old age a 
 condition of great comfort; especially when riding at its 
 anchor after a busy or tempestuous life. It is well describ- 
 ed by Rousseau, to be the interval of repose and enjoy- 
 ment, between the hurry and the end of life. How far the 
 same cause extends to other animal natures cannot be judg- 
 ed of with certainty. The appearance of satisfaction, with 
 which most animals, as their activity subsides, seek and 
 enjoy rest, affords reason to believe, that this source of. 
 gratification is appointed to advanced life, under all, or 
 most, of its various forms. In the species with which we 
 are best acquainted, namely, our own, I am far, even as an 
 observer of human life, from thinking that youth is its hap- 
 piest season, much less the only happy one: as a Christian, 
 I am willing to believe that there is a great deal of truth in 
 the following representation given by a very pious writer, 
 as well as an excellent man.* “ To the intelligent and 
 virtuous, old age presents a scene of tranquil enjoyments, 
 of obedient appetite, of well-regulated affections, of ma- 
 turity in knowledge, and of calm preparation for immor- 
 tality. In this serene and dignified state, placed as it were 
 on the confines of two worlds, the mind of a good man 
 reviews what is past wdth the complacency of an approving 
 conscience; and looks forward with humble confidence in 
 
 * Father’s instructions; by Dr. Perci^al of Manchester, p. 317. 
 
256 
 
 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 
 
 the mercy of God, and with devout aspirations tawards hia 
 eternal and ever increasing favor.’’ 
 
 What is seen in different stages of the same life, is still 
 m)re exemplified in the lives of different animals. Animal 
 enjoyments are infinitely diversified. The modes of life to 
 which the organization of different animals respectively de- 
 termines them, are not only of various but of opposite kinds. 
 Yet each is happy in its own. For instance; animals of 
 prey live much alone; animals of a milder constitution, in 
 society. Yet the herring, which lives in shoals, and the 
 sheep, which live in flocks, are not more happy in a crowd, 
 or more contented amongst their companions, than is the 
 pike, or the lion, with the deep solitudes of the pool, or the 
 forest. 
 
 But it will be said, that the instances which we have heie 
 brought forward, whether of vivacity or repose, or of appa- 
 rent enjoyment derived from either, are picked and favor- 
 able instances. We answer, first, that they are instances, 
 nevertheless, which comprise large provinces of sensitive 
 existence; that every case which we have described, is the 
 case of millions. At this moment, in every given moment 
 of time, how many myriads of animals are eating their 
 food, gratifying their appetites, ruminating in their holes, 
 accomplishing their wishes, pursuing their pleasures, taking 
 their pastimes! In each individual, how many things must 
 go right for it to be at ease; yet how large a proportion out 
 of every species is so in every assignable instant! Sec- 
 ondly, we contend, in the terms of our original proposition, 
 that throughout the whole of life, as it is diffused in nature, 
 and as far as we are acquainted with it, looking to the 
 average of sensations, the plurality and the prepoiiderancy 
 is in favor of happiness by a vast excess. In our own 
 species, in which perhaps the assertion may be more ques- 
 tionable than in any other, the prepollency of good over 
 evil, of health, for example, and ease, over pain and dis- 
 tress, is evinced by the very notice which calamities excite 
 What inquiries does the sickness of our friends produce! 
 What conversation their misfortunes! This shows that the 
 common course of things is in favor of happiness; that 
 happiness is the rule, misery the exception. Were the 
 order reversed, our attention would be called to examples 
 of health and competency, instead of disease and want. 
 
 One gre,at cause of our insensibility to the goodness of 
 the Creator, is tlie very extensiveness of his bounty. We 
 piize but little \vhat we share only in common with the rest, 
 or w’th the generality of our species. When we hear of 
 
THfi GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 
 
 257 
 
 olessings, we think forthwith of successes, of prosperous 
 tortunes. of honors, riches, preferments, i. e. of those ad- 
 vantages and superiorities over others, which we happen 
 either to possess, or to be in pursuit of, or to covet. Tlie 
 common benefits of our nature entirely escape us. Yet 
 these are the great things. These constitute what most 
 properly ought to be accounted blessings of Providence; 
 what alone, if we might so speak, are worthy of its care. 
 Nightly rest and daily bread, the ordinary use of our limbs, 
 and senses, and understandings, are gifts which admit of no 
 comparison with any other. Yet, because almost every 
 man we meet with possesses these, we leave them out of 
 our enumeration. They raise no sentiment: they move no 
 gratitude. Now herein is our judgment perverted by our 
 selfishness. A blessing ought in truth to be the more sat- 
 isfactory, the bounty at least of the donor is rendered more 
 conspicuous, by its very diffusion, its commonness, its cheap- 
 ness; by its falling to the lot, and forming the happiness, 
 of the great bulk and body of our species, as well as of our- 
 selves. Nay, even when we do not possess it, it ought to 
 be matter of thankfulness that others do. But we have a 
 different way of thinking. W e court distinction. That 
 is not the worst; we see nothing but what has distinc- 
 tion to recommend it. This necessarily contracts our 
 views of the Creator’s beneficence within a narrow com- 
 pass; and most unjustly. It is in those things which are so 
 common as to be no distinction, that the amplitude of the 
 divine benignity is perceived. 
 
 But pain, no doubt, and privations exist, in numerous 
 instances, and to a degree, which, collectively, would be 
 very great, if they were compared with any other thing than 
 with the mass of animal fruition. For the application, 
 herefore, of our proposition to that mixed state of things 
 which these exceptions induce, two rules are necessary, and 
 both, I think, just and fair rules. One is, that we regard 
 those effects alone which are accompanied with pi'oofs of 
 intention: The other, that when we cannot resolve all ap- 
 pearances into benevolence of design, we make the few 
 give place to the many; the little to the great; that we take 
 our judgment from a large and decided preponderancy, if 
 there be one. 
 
 I crave leave to transcribe into this place, what I have 
 said upon this subject in my Moral Philosophy: — 
 
 “ When God created the human species, either he wish- 
 ed their happiness, or he wished their misery, or he was 
 indifferent and ur concerned about either. 
 
 X* 
 
258 
 
 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 
 
 If he had wished our misery, he might have made sure 
 of liis purpose, by forming our senses to be so many sores 
 and pains to us, as they are now instruments of gratification 
 and enjoyment: or by placing us amidst objects so ill 
 suited to our perceptions, as to have continually offended 
 us, instead of ministering to our refreshment and delight. 
 He might have made, for example, everything we tasted, 
 bitter; everything we saw, loathsome; everything we 
 touched, a sting; every smell, a stench; and every sound, 
 a discord 
 
 ‘‘ If he had been indifferent about our happiness or mis- 
 ery, we must impute to our good fortune (as all design by 
 this supposition is excluded) both the capacity of our sense^^ 
 to receive pleasure, and the supply of external objects fitted 
 to produce it. 
 
 “ But either of these, and still more both of them, be- 
 ing too much to be attributed to accident, nothing remains 
 but the first supposition, that God, when he created the 
 numan species, wished their happiness; and made for them 
 the provision which he has made, with that view and for 
 that purpose. 
 
 ‘‘ The same argument may be proposed in different terms; 
 thus: Contrivance proves design: and the predominant 
 tendency of the contrivance indicates the disposition of the 
 designer. The world abounds with contrivances: and all 
 the contrivances which we are acquainted with, are direct- 
 ed to beneficial purposes. Evil, no doubt, exists; but is 
 never, that we can perceive, the object of contrivance. 
 Teeth are contrived to eat, not to ache; their aching now 
 and then is incidental to the contrivance, perhaps insepara- 
 ble from it: or even, if you will, let it be called a defect in 
 the contrivance; but it is not the object of it. This is a 
 distinction which well deserves to be attended to. In de- 
 scribing implements of husbandry, you would hardly say of 
 the sickle, that it is made to cut the reaper’s hand; though, 
 from the construction of the instrument, and the manner 
 of using it, this mischief often follows. But if you had oc- 
 casion to describe instruments of torture or execution: this 
 engine, you would say, is to extend the sinews; this to dis- 
 •ocate the joints; this to break the bones; this to scorch 
 the so cs of the feet. Here pain and misery are the very 
 objects of the contrivance. Now, nothing of this sort is 
 to be found in the works of nature. We never discover a 
 train of contrivance to bring about an evil purpose. No 
 anatomist ever discovered a system of organization calcu- 
 lated to produce pain and disease; oi, in explaining the 
 
THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 
 
 25 ^ 
 
 parts of the human body, ever said, this is to irritate^ 
 this to inflame; this duct is to convey the gravel to the 
 kidneys; this gland to secrete the humour winch forms the 
 gout: if by chance he come at a part of which he knows 
 not the use, the most he can say is, that it is useless; no 
 one ever suspects that it is put there to incommode, to an- 
 noy, or to torment.’’ 
 
 The TWO CASES which appear to me to have the most of 
 difficulty in them, as forming the most of the appearance of 
 excep ion to the representation here given, are those of veiir 
 omoiis animals, and of animals upon one another 
 
 These properties of animals, wherever they are found, must, 
 I think, be referred to design; because there is, in all cases 
 of the first, and in most cases of the second, an express and 
 distinct organization provided for the producing of them. 
 Under the first head, the fangs of vipers, the stings of wasps 
 and scorpions, are as clearly intended for their purpose, as 
 any animal structure is for any purpose the most incontest- 
 abiy beneficial. And the same thing must, under the se- 
 cond head, be acknowledged of the talons and beaks of 
 birds, of the tusks, teeth, and claws of beasts of prey, of the 
 shark’s mouth, of the spider’s web, and of numberless wea- 
 pons of offence belonging to different tribes of voracious 
 insects. We cannot, therefore, avoid the difficulty by say- 
 ing, that the effect was not intended. The only question 
 open to us is, whether it be ultimately evil. From the con- 
 fessed and felt imperfection of our knowledge, we ought to 
 presume, that there may be consequences of this economy 
 which are hidden from us: from the benevolence' which 
 pervades the general designs of nature, we ought also to 
 presume, that these consequences, if they could enter into 
 our calculation, would turn the balance on the favorable 
 side. Both these I contend to be reasonable presumptions. 
 Not reasonable presumptions, if these two cases were the 
 only cases which nature presented to our ouservation; but 
 reasonable presumptions under the reflection, that the cas- 
 es in question are combined with a multitude of intentions, 
 all proceeding from the same author, and all, except these, 
 directed to ends of undisputed utility. Of the vindications, 
 however, of this economy, which we are able to assign, 
 such as most extenuate the difficulty, are the following. 
 
 With respect to venomous bites and stings, it may be ob- 
 served, — 
 
 1. That the animal itself being regarded, the faculty 
 complained of is good: being conducive, in all cases, to 
 the defence of the animal; in some cases, to the subduing 
 
260 
 
 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 
 
 of its I rey ; and in some, probably, to the killing of it, when 
 caught, by a mortal wound, inflicted in the passage to the 
 stomach, which may be no less merciful to the victim than 
 salutai;y to the devourer. In the viper, for instance, the 
 poisonous fang may do that which, in other animals of 
 prey, is done by the crush of the teeth. Frogs and mice 
 might be swallowed alive without it. 
 
 2. But it will bo said, that this provision, when it ccmes 
 to the case of bites, deadly even to human bodies and to 
 those of large quadrupeds, is greatly overdone; that it might 
 have fulfilled its uge, and yet have been much less delete- 
 rious than it is. Now I believe the case of bites, which 
 produce death in large animals (of stings I think there are 
 none,) to be very few. The experiments of the Abbe Fon- 
 tana, which were numerous, go strongly to the proof of this 
 point. He found that it required the action of five exaspe- 
 rated vipers to kill a dog of a moderate size; but that, to 
 the killing of a mouse or a frog, a single bite was sufficient; 
 which agrees with the use which we assign to the Taculty. 
 The Abbe seemed to be of opinion, that the bite even of 
 the rattlesnake would not usually be mortal; allowing, how- 
 ever, that in certain particularly unfortunate cases, as when 
 the puncture had touched some very tender part, pricked a 
 principal nerve for instance, or, as it is said, some more 
 considerable lymphatic vessel, death might speedily ensue. 
 
 3. It has been, I think, very justly remarked, concerning 
 serpents, that, whilst only a few species possess the veno- 
 mous property, that property guards the whole tribe. The 
 most innocuous snake is avoided with as much care as a 
 viper. Now the terror with which large animals regard 
 this class of reptiles, is its protection; and this terror is 
 founded in the formidable revenge, which a few of the num- 
 ber, compared with the whole, are capable of taking. The 
 species of serpents, described by Linnaeus, amount to two 
 hundred and eighteen, of which thirty-two only are poi- 
 sonous. 
 
 4. It seems to me, that animal constitutions are pro- 
 vided, not only for each element, but for each state of the 
 elements, i. e. for every climate, and for every emperature; 
 and that part of the mischief complained of, arises from an- 
 imals (the human animal most especially) occupying situ- 
 ations upon the earth which do not belong to them, nor 
 were ever intended for their habitation. The folly and 
 wickedness of mankind, and necessities proceeding from 
 these causes, have driven multitudes of the species to seek 
 a refuge amongst Irurning sands whilst countries, blessed 
 
THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 
 
 261 
 
 with hospitable skies, and with the most fertile soils, re-^ 
 main almost without a human tenant. We invade the ter- 
 ritories of wild beasts and venomous reptiles, and then com- 
 plain that we are infested by their bites and stings.^ Some 
 accounts of Africa place this observation in a strong point 
 of view. “ The deserts,” says Adanson, are entirely bar- 
 ren, except where they are found to produce serpents; and 
 in such quantities, that sonfe extensive plains are almost 
 entirely covered with them.” These are the natures ap- 
 propriated to the situation. Let them enjoy their exist- 
 ence; let them have their country. Surface enough will 
 be left to man, though his numbers were increased a hun- 
 dred fold, and left to him, where he might live exempt 
 from these annoyances. 
 
 The SECOND CASE, viz. that of animals devouring one 
 another, furnishes a consideration of much larger extent. 
 To judge Avhether, as general provision, this can be deem- 
 ed an evil, even so far as we understand its consequences, 
 which, probably, is a partial understanding, the following 
 reflections are fit to be attended to. 
 
 1. Immortality upon this earth is out of the question 
 Without death there could be no generation, no sexes, no 
 parental relation, i, e. as things are constituted, no animal 
 happiness. The particular duration of life, assigned to dif- 
 ferent animals, can form no part of the objection; because, 
 whatever that duration be, whilst it remains finite and lim- 
 ited, it may always be asked, why it is no longer. The 
 natural age of different animals varies, from a single day 
 to a century of years. No account can be given of this; 
 nor could any be given, whatever other proportion of life 
 had obtained amongst them. 
 
 The term then of life in different animals being the same 
 as it is, the question is, what mode of taking it away is the 
 best even for the animal itself ? 
 
 Now, according to the established order of nature, (which 
 we must suppose to prevail, or we cannot reason at all upon 
 the subject,) the three methods by which life is usually put 
 an end to, are acute diseases, decay, and violence. The 
 simple and natural life o^brutes, is not often visited by acute 
 distempers; nor could it be deemed an improvement of 
 their lot, if they were. Let it be considered, therefore, in 
 what a condition of suffering and misery a brute animal is 
 placed, which is left to perish by decay. In human sickness 
 or infirmity, there is the assistance of man’s rational fel- 
 low creatures, if not to alleviate his pains, at least to min- 
 
^62 
 
 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 
 
 .«ter to nis hecessities, and to supply the place of his own 
 activity A brute, in his wild and natural state, does every 
 thing for himself. When his strength therefore, or his 
 speed, or his limbs, or his senses fail him, he is delivered 
 over, either to absolute famine, or to the protracted wretch- 
 edness of a life slowly wasted by the scarcity of food. Is 
 it then to see the world filled with drooping, superannua- 
 ted, half starved, helpless, and unhelped animals, that you 
 would alter the present system of pursuit and prey? 
 
 2. Which system is also to them the spring of motion 
 and activity on both sides. The pursuit of its prey forms 
 the employment, and appears to constitute the pleasure, of 
 a considerable part of the animal creation. The using of 
 the means of defence, or flight, or precaution, forms also 
 the business of another part. And even of this latter tribe, 
 we have no reason to suppose, that their happiness is much 
 molested by their fears. Their danger exists continually; 
 and in some cases they seem to be so far sensible of it, as 
 to provide in the best manner they can against it; but it 
 is only when the attack is actually made upon them, that 
 they appear to suffer from it. To contemplate the insecu- 
 rity of their condition with anxiety and dread, requires a 
 degree of reflection, which (happily for themselves) they do 
 not possess. A hare, notwithstanding the number of its 
 dangers and its enemies, is as playful an animal as any 
 other. 
 
 3. But, to do justice to the question, the system of animal 
 destruction ought always to be considered in strict connex- 
 ion with another property of animal nature, viz. superfecun^ 
 dity. They are countervailing qualities. One subsists by 
 the correction of the other. In treating, therefore, of the 
 subject under this view, (which is, I believe, the true one,) 
 our business will be, first, to point out the advantages which 
 are gained by the powers in nature of a superabundant mul- 
 tiplication; and then to show, that these advantages are 
 so many reasons for appointing that system of animal hos- 
 tilities, which we are endeavouring to account for. 
 
 In almost all cases, nature produces her supplies with 
 profusion. A single cod-fish spawns, in one season, a 
 greater number of eggs than all the inhabitants of England 
 amount to. A thousand other instances of prolific genera- 
 tion might be stated, which, though not equal to this, would 
 carry on the increase of the species with a rapidity wliich 
 outruns calculation, and to an immeasurable extent. The 
 advantages of such a constitution are tw : : first, that it tends 
 
THE GOODNESS OF THE DEIT7. 
 
 263 
 
 to keep the world always full: whilst, seccnJly, it allows 
 the proportion between the several species of animals to be 
 differently modified, as different purposes require, or as 
 different situations may afford for them room and food. 
 Where this vast fecundity meets with a vacancy fitted to 
 -eceive the species, there it operates with its whole effect; 
 there it pours in its numbers, and replenishes the waste. 
 We complain of what we call the exorbitant multiplication 
 of some troublesome insects; not reflecting that large por- 
 tions of nature might be left void without it. If the ac- 
 counts of travellers may be depended upon, immense tracts 
 of forest in North America would be nearly lost to sensitive 
 existence, if it were not for gnats. “ In the thinly inhab- 
 ited regions of America, in which the waters stagnate and 
 the climate is warm, the whole air is filled with crowds of 
 these insects.” Thus it is, that where we look for solitude 
 and deathlike silence, we meet with animation, activity, 
 enjoyment; with a busy, a happy, and a peopled world. 
 Again; hosts of mice are reckoned amongst the plagues of 
 the northeast part of Europe; whereas vast plains in Sibe- 
 ria, as we learn from good authority, would be lifeless with- 
 out them. The Caspian deserts are converted by their 
 presence into crowded warrens. Between the Volga and 
 the Yaik, and in the country of Hyrcania, the ground, says 
 Pallas, is in many places covered with little hills, raised by 
 the earth cast out in forming the burrows. Do we so 
 envy these blissful abodes, as to pronounce the fecundity 
 by which they are supplied with inhabitants, to be an evil; 
 a subject of complaint, and not of praise? Farther; by 
 virtue of this same superfecundity, what we term destruc- 
 tion, becomes almost instantly the parent of life. What we 
 call blights, are oftentimes legions of animated beings, 
 claiming their portion in the bounty of nature. What cor- 
 rupts the produce of the earth to us, prepares it for them. 
 And it is by means of their rapid multiplication, that they 
 take possession of their pasture; a slow propagation would 
 not meet the opportunity. 
 
 But in conjunction with the occasional use of this fruit- 
 fulness, we observe, also, that it allows the proportion be- 
 tween the several species of animals, to be differently mod- 
 ified, as different purposes of utility may require. When 
 the forests of America come to be cleared, ana the swamps 
 drained, our gnats will give place to other inhabitants. If 
 the population of Europe should spread to the north and 
 the east, the mice will retire before the husbandman and 
 
iG4 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 
 
 the shepherd, and yield their station to herds and flocks. In 
 what concerns the human species, it may be a part of the 
 scheme of Providence, that the earth should be inhabited 
 by a shifting, or perhaps a circulating population. In this 
 economy, it is possible that there may be the following ad- 
 vantages: When old countries are become exceedingly 
 corrupt, simpler modes of life, purer morals, and better in- 
 stitutions, may rise up in new ones, whilst fresh soils reward 
 he cultivator with more plentiful returns. Thus the diflei- 
 ent portions of the globe come into use in succession as 
 the residence of man; and, in his absence, entertain 
 other guests, which, by their sudden multiplication, fill the 
 chasm. In domesticated animals, we find the effect of their 
 fecundity to be, that we can always command numbers; 
 we can always have as many of any particular species as 
 w^e please, or as we can support. Nor do we complain of 
 its excess; it being much more easy to regulate abundance, 
 than to supply scarcity. 
 
 But then this superfeciindity, though of great occasional 
 use and importance, exceeds the ordinary capacity of nature 
 to receive or support its progeny. All superabundance 
 supposes destruction, or must destroy itself. Perhaps there 
 is no species of terrestrial animals whatever, which would 
 not overrun the earth, if it were permitted to multiply in 
 perfect safety; or of fish, which would not fill the ocean: at 
 least, if any single species were left to their natural increase 
 without disturbance or restraint, the food of other species 
 would be exhausted by their maintenance. It is necessary, 
 therefore, that the effects of such prolific faculties be cur- 
 tailed. In conjunction with other checks and limits, all sub- 
 servient to the same purpose, are the thinnings which take 
 place among animals, by their action upon one another. In 
 some instances we ourselves experience, very directly, the 
 use of these hostilities. One species of insects rids us of 
 another species; or reduces their ranks. A third species, 
 perhaps, keeps the second within bounds; and birds or liz * 
 ards are a fence against the inordinate increase by which 
 even these last might infest us. In other more numerous, 
 and possibly more important instances, this disposition of 
 things, although less necessary or useful to us, and of course 
 less observed by us, may be necessary and useful to certain 
 other species; or even for the preventing of the loss of cer- 
 tain species from the universe: a misfortune which seems 
 to be studiously guarded against. Though there may be 
 the appearance of failure in some of the details of Nature’s 
 
THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 
 
 265 
 
 works, in her great purposes there never are. Her species 
 never fail. The provision which was originally made for 
 continuing the replenishment of the world, has proved itself 
 to be effectual through a long succession of ages. 
 
 What farther shows, that the system of destruction 
 amor.gst animals holds an express relation to the system of 
 fecundity ;^hat they are parts indeed of one compensatory 
 scheme; is, that in each species the fecundity bears a 
 proportion to the smallness of the animal, to the weakness, 
 to the shortness of its natural term of life, and to the dan- 
 gers and enemies by which it is surrounded. An elephant 
 produces but one calf: a butterfly lays six hundred eggs. 
 Birds of prey seldom produce more than two eggs: the 
 sparrow tribe, and the duck tribe, frequently sit upon a 
 dozen. In the rivers, we meet with a thousand minnows 
 for one pike; in the sea, a million of herrings for a single 
 shark. Compensation obtains throughout. Defenceless- 
 ness and devastation are repaired by fecundity. 
 
 We have dwelt the longer upon these considerations, be- 
 cause the subject to which they apply, namely, that of ani- 
 mals devouring one another, forms the chief, if not the only 
 instance, in the works of the Deity; of an economy, stamp- 
 ed by marks of design, in which the character of utility can 
 be called in question. The case of venomous animals is of 
 much inferior consequence to the case of prey, and in 
 some degree, is also included under it. To both cases, it 
 is probable that many more reasons belong, than those of 
 which we are in possession 
 
 Our FIRST PROPOSITION, and that which we have hither- 
 to been defending, was, ‘‘that, in a vast plurality of in- 
 stances in which contrivance is perceived, the design of the 
 contrivance is beneficial.’’ 
 
 Our SECOND PROPOSITION is, “that the Deity has ad- 
 ded pleasure to animal sensations, beyond what was neces- 
 sary for any other purpose, or when the purpose, so far as 
 it was necessary, might have been effected by the opera- 
 tion of pain.” 
 
 This proposition may be thus explained: The capaci- 
 ties which, according to the established course of nature, are 
 necessary to the supporter preservation of an animal, how- 
 ever manifestly they may be the result of an organization 
 contrived for the purpose, can only be deemed an act or 
 a part of the same will, as that which decreed the exis- 
 tence of the animal itself; because, whether the creation 
 Droceedoi from a benevolent or a malevolent being, these 
 
 
266 
 
 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITF. 
 
 capacities must have been given, if the animal existed a, 
 all. Animal properties therefore, which fall under this de^ 
 scription, do not strictly prove the goodness of God: they 
 may prove the existence of the Deity; they may prove a 
 high degree of power and intelligence: but they do not 
 prove his goodness: forasmuch as they must have been 
 found in any creation which was capable of continuance, 
 although it is possible to suppose, that such a creation 
 might have been produced by a being, whose views tested 
 upon misery. 
 
 But there is a class of properties, which may be said to 
 be superadded from an intention expressly directed to hap- 
 piness; an intention to give a happy existence distinct from 
 the general intention of providing the means of existence; 
 and that is, of capacities for pleasure, in cases wherein, 
 so far as the conservation of the individual or of the species 
 IS concerned, they were not wanted, or wherein the pur- 
 pose might have been secured by the operation of pain. 
 The provision which is made of a variety of objects, not 
 necessary to life, and ministering only to our pleasures; and 
 fhe properties given to the necessaries of life themselves, 
 by which they contribute to pleasure as well as preserva- 
 tion; show a farther design than that of giving existence.^ 
 
 A single instance will make all this clear. Assuming 
 the necessity of food for the support of animal life; it is re- 
 quisite, that the animal be provided with organs, fitted for 
 the procuring, receiving, and digesting of its food. It may 
 also be necessary, that the animal be impelled by its sensa- 
 tions to exert its organs. But the pain of hunger would do 
 all this. Why add pleasure to the act of eating; sweetness 
 and relish to food.^ Why a new and appropriate sense 
 for the perception of the pleasure.^ Why should the juice 
 of a peach, applied to the palate, affect the part so different- 
 ly from what it does when rubbed upon the palm of the 
 hand? This is a constitution, which, so far as appears to 
 me, can be resolved into nothing but the pure benevolence 
 of the Creator. Eating is necessary; but the pleasure at- 
 tending it is not necessary; and that this pleasure depends 
 not only upon our being in possession of the sense of taste, 
 which is different from every other, but upon a particular 
 
 * See this topic considered in Dr. Balguy’s Treatise upon the Divine 
 Benevolence. This excellent author, first, I think, proposed it; and 
 nearly in the terms in which it is here stated. Some other observations 
 also under thi? head, are taken from that treatise. 
 
THE GOODNE'S^ OF THE DEITY 
 
 267 
 
 state of the organ in which it resides, a felicitous adapta- 
 tion of the organ to the object^ will be confessed by any 
 one, who may happen to have evperienced that vitiation of 
 taste which frequently occurs m fcvors, when every taste is 
 irregular, and every one bad. 
 
 In mentioning the gratifications cf the palate, it may be 
 said, that we have made choice of a ti iRlng example. I am 
 not of that opinion. They afford a share of enjoyment to 
 man: but to brutes, I believe that they are of very great 
 importance. A horse at liberty passes a great part of his 
 waking hours in eating. To the ox, the sheep, the deer, 
 and other ruminating animals, the pleasure is doubled 
 Their whole time almost is divided between browsing upon 
 their pasture and chewing their cud. Whatever the pleas- 
 ure be, it is spread over a large portion of their existence 
 If there be animals, such as the lupous fish, which swallow 
 their prey whole, and at once, without any time, as it should 
 seem, for either drawing out, or relishing the taste in the 
 mouth, is it an improbable conjecture, that the seat of taste 
 with them is in the stomach.^ or, at least, that a sense ot 
 pleasure, whether it be taste or not, accompanies the disso- 
 lution of the food in that receptacle, which dissolution in 
 general is carried on very slowly ? If this opinion be right, 
 they are more than repaid for their defect of palate. The 
 feast lasts as long as the digestion. 
 
 In seeking for argument, we need not stay to insist upon 
 the comparative importance of our example; for the obser- 
 vation holds equally of all, or of three at least, of the other 
 senses. The necessary purposes of hearing might have 
 been answered without harmony; of smell, without fra- 
 grance; of vision, without beauty. Now, ‘‘If the Deity 
 had been indifferent about our happiness or misery, we 
 must impute to our good fortune (as all design by this suppo- 
 sition is excluded) both the capacity of our senses to receive 
 pleasure, and the supply of external objects fitted to excite 
 it.’' I allege these as two felicities, for they are different 
 things, yet both necessary: the sense being formed, the 
 objects which were applied to it might not have suited it; 
 the :)biects being fixed, the sense might not have agreed 
 wita them. A coincidence is here required, which no acci- 
 dent can account for. There are three possible suppositions 
 upon the subject, and no more. The first, that the sense 
 by its original constitution, was made to suit the object: the 
 second, that the object, by its original constitution, was 
 made to suit the sense: the third, that the sense is so con- 
 
268 
 
 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 
 
 stituted, as to be able, either universally, or with.n certain 
 limits, by habit and familiarity, to render every object 
 pleasant. Whichever of these suppositions we adopt, the 
 effect evinces, on the part of the Author of IVature, a stu- 
 dious benevolence. If the pleasures which we derive from 
 any of our senses depend upon an original congruity be- 
 tween the sense and the properties perceived by it, we 
 know by experience, that the adjustment demanded, with 
 respect to the qualities which were conferred upon the 
 objects that surround us, not only choice and selection, 
 out of a boundless variety of possible qualities, with which 
 these objects might have been endued, but a proporlioning 
 also of degree, because an excess or defect of intensity 
 spoils the perception, as much almost as an error in the 
 kind and nature of the quality. Likewise the degree of 
 dulness or acuteness in the sense itself, is no arbitrary 
 thing, but in order to preserve the congruity here spoken 
 of, requires to be in an exact or near correspondency 
 with the strength of the impression. The duiness of the 
 senses forms the complaint of old age. Persons in fe- 
 vers, and, I believe, in most maniacal cases, experience 
 great torment from their preternatural acuteness. An in- 
 creased, no less than an impaired sensibility, induces a 
 state of disease and suffering. 
 
 The doctrine of a specific congruity between animal 
 senses and their objects, is strongly favored by what is ob- 
 served of insects in the selection of their food. Some of 
 these will feed upon one kind of plant or animal, and upon 
 no other: some caterpillars upon the cabbage alone; some 
 upon the black currant alone. The species of caterpillar 
 which eats the vine, will starve upon the elder; nor will 
 that which we find upon fennel, touch the rosebush. Some 
 insects confine themselves to two or three kinds of plants 
 or animals. Some again show so strong a preference, as 
 to afford reason to believe, that, though they may be driv- 
 en by hunger to others, they are led by the pleasure of 
 taste to a few particular plants alone: and all this, as it 
 should seem, independently of habit or imitation. 
 
 But should we accept the third hypothesis, and even car- 
 ry it so far, as to ascribe everything which concerns the 
 question to habit, (as in certain species, the human spe- 
 cies most particularly, there is reason to attribute some- 
 thing,) we have then before us an animal capacity, not less 
 perhaps to be admired than the native congruities which 
 the other scheme adopts. It cannot be shown to result 
 
THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 
 
 ^269 
 
 trom any fixed necessity in nature, that what is frequently 
 applied to the senses should of course become agreeable to 
 them. It is, so far as it subsists, a power of accommoda- 
 tion provided in these senses by the Author of their struc- 
 ture, and forms a part of their perfection. 
 
 In whichever way we regard the senses, they appear to 
 be specific gifts, ministering, not only to preservation, but 
 to pleasure. But what we usually call the senses are prob- 
 ably themselves far from being the only vehicles of enjoy- 
 ment, or the whole of our constitution, which is calculated 
 for the same purpose. We have many internal sensations 
 of the most agreeable kind, hardly referable to any of the 
 five senses. Some physiologists have holden, that all se- 
 cretion is pleasurable; and that the complacency which in 
 health, without any external assignable object to excite it, 
 we derive from life itself, is the effect of our secretions go- 
 ing on well within us. All this may be true; but if true, 
 what reason can be assigned for it, except the will of the 
 Creator? It may reasonably be asked, why is anything a 
 pleasure? and I know of no answer which can be returned 
 to the question, but that which refers it to appointment. 
 We can give no account whatever of our pleasures in the 
 simple and original perception; and, even when physical 
 sensations are assumed, we can seldom account for them in 
 the secondary and complicated shapes in which they take 
 the name of diversions. I never yet met with a sportsman, 
 who could tell me in what the sport consisted; who could 
 resolve it into its principle, and state that principle. I 
 have been a great follower of fishing myself, and in its 
 cheerful solitude have passed some of the happiest hours of 
 a sufficiently happy life; but to this moment, I could never 
 trace out the source of the pleasure which it afforded me. 
 
 The ‘‘ quantum in rebus inanq^!” whether applied to our 
 amusements or to our graver pursuits, (to which in truth 
 it sometimes equally belongs,) is always an unjust com- 
 plaint. If trifles engage, and if trifles make us happy, the 
 true reflection suggested by the experiment, is upon the 
 tendency of nature to gratification and enjoyment; which 
 is, in other words, the goodness of its Author toward his 
 sensitive creation. 
 
 Rational natures also, as such, exhibit qualities which 
 help to confirm the truth of our position. The degree of 
 understanding found in mankind, is usually much greater 
 than what is necessary for mere preservation. The pleasure 
 of choosing for themselves, and of prosecuting the object 
 
 Y* 
 
270 
 
 THE GOODNESS OF THi. DEITY. 
 
 of their choice, should seem to be ai. original source of 
 enjoyment. The pleasures received from things, greats 
 beautiful, or new, from imitation, or from the liberal arts 
 are in some measure, not only superadded, but unmixed, 
 gratifications, having no pains to balance them.* 
 
 I do not know whether our attachment to property be 
 not something more than the mere dictate of reason, or 
 even than the mere effect of association. Property com- 
 municates a charm to whatever is the object of it. It is 
 the first of our abstract ideas; it cleaves to us the closest 
 and the longest. It endears to the child its plaything, to 
 the peasant his cottage, to the landholder his estate. It 
 supplies the place of prospect and scenery. Instead of 
 coveting the beauty of distant situations, it teaches every 
 man to find it in his own. It gives boldness and gran- 
 deur to plains and fens, tinge and coloring to clays and 
 fallows. 
 
 All these considerations come in aid of our second pro- 
 position. The reader will now bear in mind what our two 
 propositions were. They were, firstly, that in a vast plu- 
 rality of instances in which contrivance is perceived, the 
 design of the contrivance is beneficial: secondly, that the 
 Deity has added pleasure to animal sensations beyond what 
 was necessary for any other purpose; or when the purpose, 
 so far as it was necessary, might have been effected by the 
 operation of pain. 
 
 Whilst these propositions can be maintained, we are 
 authorised to ascribe to the Deity the character of benevo- 
 lence: and what is benevolence at all, must in him be i/i- 
 Jinite benevolence, by reason of the infinite, that is to say, 
 the incalculably great, number of objects upon which it is 
 exercised. 
 
 Of the ORIGIN OF EVIL, no universal solution has been 
 discovered; I mean, no solution which reaches to all cases 
 of complaint. The most comprehensive is that which 
 arises from the consideration of general rules. We may, I 
 think, without much difficulty, be brought to admit the four 
 following points: first, that important advantages may ac- 
 crue to the universe from the order of nature proceeding ac- 
 cording to general laws: secondly, that general laws, how 
 ever well set and constituted, often thwart and cross one 
 another: thirdly, that from these thwar^.ings and crossings, 
 frequent particular inconveniences will arise: and, fourth 
 
 ^ Balguy on the Divine Benevolence. 
 
THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 
 
 271 
 
 ly, tLat it agrees with our observation to suppose, that 
 some degree of these inconveniences takes place in the 
 works of nature. These points may be allowed; and it 
 may also be asserted, that the general laws with which we 
 are acquainted, are directed to beneficial ends. On the 
 other hand, with many of these laws we are not acquaint- 
 ed at all, or we are totally unable to trace them in theii 
 branches, and in their operation; the effect of which igno- 
 rance is, that they cannot be of importance to us as meas- 
 ures by which to regulate our conduct. The conservation 
 of them may be of importance in other respects, or to other 
 beings, but we are uninformed of their value or use; unin- 
 formed, consequently, when, and how far, they may or may 
 not be suspended, or their effects turned aside, by a presi- 
 ding and benevolent will, without incurring greater evils 
 than those which would be avoided. The consideration, 
 therefore, of general laws, although it may concern the 
 question of the origin of evil very nearly, (which I think it 
 does,) rests in views disproportionate to our faculties, and 
 in a knowledge which we do not possess. It serves rather 
 to account for the obscurity of the subject, than to supply 
 us with distinct answers to our difficulties. However, 
 whilst we assent to the above stated propositions as princi- 
 ples, whatever uncertainty we may find in the application, 
 we lay a ground for believing, that cases of apparent evil, 
 for which ice can suggest no particular reason, are govern- 
 ed by reasons, which are more general, which lie deeper 
 in the order of second causes, and which on that account 
 are removed to a greater distance from us. 
 
 The doctrine of imperfections, or, as it is called, of evils 
 of imperfection, furnishes an account, founded, like the 
 former, in views of universal nature. The doctrine is 
 briefly this: — It is probable, that creation may be better 
 replenished by sensitive beings of different sorts, than by 
 sensitive beings all of one sort. It is likewise probable, 
 that it may be better replenished by different orders of be- 
 ings rising one above another in gradation, than by beings 
 possessed of equal degrees of perfection. Now, a grada- 
 tion of such beings, implies a gradation of imperfections. 
 No class can justly complain of the imperfections which 
 belong to its place in the scale, unless it were allowablo 
 for it to complain, that a scale of being was appointed in 
 rature; for which appointment there appear to be reasons 
 of wisdom and goodness. 
 
 In ike manner, finiteness, or what is resolvable into 
 
272 
 
 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 
 
 finiteness^ in inanimate subjects, can never be a just sub- 
 ject of compldint, because if it were ever so, it would be 
 always so: we mean, that we can never reasonably de^ 
 mand that things should be larger or more, when the same 
 demand might be made, whatever the quantity or number 
 was. 
 
 And to me it seems, that the sense of mankind has so 
 far acquiesced in these reasons, as that we seldom complain 
 of evils of this class, when wejclearly perceive them to be 
 such. What 1 have to add, therefore, is, that we ought not 
 lo complain of some other evils which stand upon the same 
 foot of vindication as evils of confessed imperfection. We 
 never complain, that the globe of our earth is too small; 
 nor should we complain, if it were even much smaller.' But 
 where is the difference to us, between a less globe, and 
 part of the present being uninhabitable.^ The inhabitants 
 of an island may be apt enough to murmur at the sterility 
 of some parts of it, against its rocks, or sands, or swamps; 
 but no one thinks himself authorised to murmur, simply 
 because the island is not larger than it is. Yet these are 
 the same griefs. 
 
 The above are the two metaphysical answers which have 
 been given to this great question. They are not the worse 
 for being metaphysical, provided they be founded (which I 
 think they are) in right reasoning: but they are of a na- 
 ture too wide to be brought under our survey, and it is of- 
 ten difficult to apply them in the detail. Our speculations, 
 therefore, are perhaps better employed Avhen they confine 
 themselves within a narrower circle. 
 
 The observations which follow, are of this more limited, 
 but more determinate, kind. 
 
 Of bodily pain, the principal observation, no doubt, is 
 that which we have already made, and already dwelt upon, 
 viz. ‘‘ that it is seldom the object of contrivance ; that when 
 it is so, the contrivance rests ultimately in good.” 
 
 To which, however, may be added, that the annexing of 
 pain to the means of destruction is a salutary provision; 
 inasmuch as it teaches vigilance and caution; both give 
 notice of danger, and excites those endeavours which may 
 be necessary to preservation. The evil consequence which 
 sometimes arises from the want of that timely intimation of 
 danger which ])ain gives, is known to the inhabitants of 
 cold countries by the example of frost-bitten limbs. I have 
 conversed with patients who have lost toes and fingers by 
 this cause. They ha^e in general told rne, that they were 
 
THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 
 
 273 
 
 totally unconscious of an} local uneasiness at the time 
 Some I have heard declare, that whilst they were about 
 their employment, neither their situation, nor the state of 
 the air was unpleasant. They felt no pain; they suspect- 
 ed no mischief; till, by the application of warmth, they 
 discovered, too late, the fatal injury which some of their ex- 
 tremities had suffered. I say that this shows the use of pain, 
 and that we stand in need of such a monitor. I believe 
 also, that the use extends farther than we suppose, or can 
 now trace; that to disagreeable sensations we, and all an- 
 imals, owe, or have owed, many habits of action which are 
 salutary, but which are become so familiar, as not easily to 
 be referred to their origin. 
 
 Pain ^Iso itself is not without its alleviations. It may be 
 violent and frequent; but it is seldom both violent and long 
 continued: and its pauses and intermissions become posi- 
 tive pleasures. It has the power of shedding a satisfaction 
 over intervals of ease, which I believe few enjoyments ex- 
 ceed. A man resting from a fit of the stone or gout, is, for 
 the time, in possession of feelings which undisturbed health 
 cannot impart. They may be dearly bought, but still they 
 are to be set against the price. And, indeed, it depends 
 upon the duration and urgency of the pain, whether they be 
 dearly bought or not. I am far from being sure, that a man 
 IS not a gainer by suffering a moderate interruption of bod- 
 ily ease for a couple of hours out of the four-and-twenty. 
 Two very common observations favor this opinion: one is, 
 that remissions of pain call forth, from those who experi- 
 ence them, stronger expressions of satisfaction and of grati- 
 tude towards both the author and the instruments of their 
 relief, than are excited by advantages of any other kind: 
 the second is, that the spirits of sick men do not sink in 
 proportion to the acuteness of their sufferings; but rather 
 appear to be roused and supported, not by pain, but by the 
 high degree of comfort which they derive from its cessa- 
 tion, or even its subsidency, whenever that occurs; and 
 which they taste with a relish that diffuses some portion of 
 mental complacency over the whole of that mixed state of 
 sensations in which disease has placed them. 
 
 In connexion with bodily pain may be considered bodily 
 disease, whether painful or not. Few diseases are fatal. 
 I have before me the account of a dispensary in the neigh- 
 bourhood which states six years* experience as follows: 
 “ admitted 6,420 — cured 5,476 — dead 234.** And this I 
 suppose nearly to agree with what other similar institutions 
 
274 
 
 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 
 
 exhib t. Now, in all these cases, some disorder must have 
 been felt, or the patients would not have applied, for a rem 
 edy; yet we see how large a proportion of the maladies 
 which were brought forward, have either yielded to propel 
 treatment, or, what is more probable, ceased of their own 
 accord. We owe these frequent recoveries, and where re- 
 covery d jes not take place, this patience of the human con- 
 stitutio r under many of the distempers by which it is visit- 
 ed, to -WO benefactions of our nature. One is, that she 
 works within certain limits; allows of a certain latitude 
 within which health may be preserved, and within the con- 
 fines of which it only suffers a graduated diminution. Dif- 
 ferent quantities of food, different degrees of exercise, dif- 
 ferent portions of sleep, different states of the atmosphere, 
 are compatible with the possession of health. So likewise 
 't is with the secretions and excretions, with many internal 
 fvmctions of the body, and with the state, probably, of most 
 of its internal organs. They may var}' considerably, not 
 only without destroying life, but withoi.t occasioning any 
 high degree of inconveniency. The other property of our 
 nature, to which we are still more beholden, is its constant 
 endeavour to restore itself, when disordered, to its regular 
 course. The fluids of the body appear to possess a power 
 of separating and expelling any noxious substance which 
 may have mixed itself with them. This they do in erup- 
 tive fevers, by a kind of despumation, as Sydenham calls 
 it, analogous in some measure to the intestine action by 
 which fermenting liquors work the yeast to the surface. 
 The solids, on their part, when their action is obstructed, 
 not only resume that action, as soon as the obstruction is 
 removed, but they struggle with the impediment. They 
 take an action as near to the true one, as the difficulty and 
 the disorganization, with which they have to contend, will 
 allow of. 
 
 Of mortal diseases, the great use is to reconcile us to 
 death. The horror of death proves the value of life. But 
 it is in the power of disease to abate, or even extinguish, 
 this horror; which it does in a wonderful manner, and of- 
 tentimes by a mild and imperceptible gradation. Every 
 man who has been placed in a situation to observe it, is 
 surprised with the change which has been wrought in him- 
 self, when he compares the view which he entertains of 
 death upon a sick-beJ, with the heart-sinking dismay with 
 which he sliould some time ago have met it in health. 
 There is no similitude between the sensations of a man 
 
THE GOODNESS OF IHB DEITY 
 
 ^75 
 
 icd to execution, and the calm expiring of a patient at the 
 close of his disease. Death to him is only the last of a 
 long train of changes; in his progress through which, it is 
 possible that he may experience no shocks or sudden tran- 
 sitions. 
 
 Death itself, as a mode of removal and of succession, is 
 so connected with the whole order of our animal world, that 
 almost everything in that world must be changed, to be 
 able to do without it. It may seem likewise impossible If 
 separate the fear of death from the enjoyment of life, oi 
 the perception of that fear from rational natures. Brutes 
 are, in a great measure, delivered from all anxiety on this 
 account by the inferiority of their faculties; or rather, they 
 seem to be armed with the apprehension of death just suf- 
 ficiently to put them upon the means of preservation, and 
 no farther. But would a human being wish to purchase 
 this immunity, at the expense of those mental powers 
 which enable him to look forward to the future.^ 
 
 Death implies separation: and the loss of those whom 
 we love must necessarily be accompanied with pain. To 
 the brute creation, nature seems to have stepped in with 
 some secret provision for their relief, under the rupture of 
 their attachments. In their instincts towards their off- 
 spring, and of their offspring to them, I have often been 
 surprised to observe how ardently they love, and how soon 
 they forget. The pertinacity of human sorrow (upon 
 which, time also, at length, lays its softening hand) is 
 probably, therefore, in some manner connected with the 
 qualities of our rational or moral nature. One thing how- 
 ever is clear, viz. that it is better that we should possess 
 affections, the sources of so many virtues and so many 
 joys, although they be exposed to the incidents of life, as 
 svell as the interruptions of mortality, than, by the want of 
 them, be reduced to a state of selfishness, apathy, and 
 quietism. 
 
 Of other external evils, (still confining ourselves to 
 what are called physical or natural evils,) a considerable 
 part come within the scope of the following observation: 
 The great principle of human satisfaction is engagement 
 It is a most just distinction, which the late Mr. Tucker has 
 dwelt upon so largely in his works, between pleasures in 
 which we are passive, and pleasures in which we are ac- 
 tive. And, I believe, every attentive observer of human 
 life will assent to his position, that however grateful the 
 sensations may occasionally be in which we are passive, it 
 
2T6 
 
 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 
 
 is not these, but the latter class of our pleasures, which • 
 stitute satisfaction; which supply that regular strean? of 
 moderate and miscellaneous enjoyments, in which happi- 
 ness, as distinguished from voluptuousness, consists. Now 
 for rational occupation, which is, in other words, for the 
 very material of contented existence, there would be no 
 place left, if either the things with which we had to do 
 w ere absolutely impracticable to our endeavours, or if they 
 were too obedient to our uses. A world, furnished with 
 advantages on one side, and beset with difficulties, wants, 
 and inconveniencies on the other, is the proper abode of 
 free, rational, and active natures, being the fittest to stim- 
 ulate and exercise their faculties. The very refractoriness 
 of the objects they have ^.o deal with, contributes to this 
 purpose. A world in which nothing depended upon our- 
 selves, however it might have suited an imaginary race of 
 beings, would not have suited mankind. Their skill, pru- 
 dence, industry ; their various arts, and their best attain- 
 ments, from the application of which they draw, if not their 
 highest, their most permanent gratifications, would be insig- 
 nificant, if things could be either moulded by our volitions, 
 or, of their own accord, conformed themselves to our views 
 and wishes. Now it is in this refractoriness that we dis- 
 cern the seed and principle of physical evil, as far as i 
 arises from that which is external to us. 
 
 Civil evils, or the evils of civil life, are much more easily 
 disposed of than physical evils; because they are, in truth, 
 of much less magnitude, and also because they result, by a 
 kind of necessity, not only from the constitution of our na- 
 ture, but from a part of that constitution which no one 
 would wish to see altered. The case is this: Mankind 
 will in every country breed up to a certain point of distress. 
 That point may be different in different countries or ages 
 according to the established usages of life in each. It wdll 
 also shift upon the scale, so as to admit of a greater or less 
 number of inhabitants, according as the quantity of provi- 
 sion, which is either produced in the country, or supplied 
 to it from other countries, may happen to vary. But there 
 must always be such a point, and the species will always 
 breed up to it. The order of generation proceeds by some- 
 thing like a geometrical progression. The increase of 
 provision, under circumstances even the most advanta- 
 geous, can only assume the form of an arithmetic series 
 Whence it follows, that the population will always overtake 
 he provision, will pass beyond the line of plenty, and will 
 
THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY 
 
 277 
 
 continue to increase till checked by the difficulty of pro- 
 curing subsistence.* Such difficulty therefore, along with 
 its attendant circumstances, must be found in every old 
 country: and these circumstances constitute what we call 
 poverty, which necessarily imposes labor, servitude, re- 
 straint. 
 
 It seems impossible to people a country with inhabitants 
 who shall be all in easj circumstances. For suppose the 
 thing to be done, there would be such marrying and giving 
 in marriage amongst them, as would in a few years change 
 the face of affairs entirely; i, e. as would increase the con- 
 sumption of those articles, which supplied the natural or 
 habitual wants of the country, to such a degree of scarcity, 
 as must leave the greatest part of the inhabitants unable to 
 procure them without toilsome endeavours, or, out of the 
 different kinds of these articles, to procure any kind except 
 that which was most easily produced. And this, in fact, 
 describes the condition of the mass of the community in 
 all countries; a condition unavoidably, as it should seem, 
 resulting from the provision which is made in the human, 
 in common with all animal constitutions, for the perpetuity 
 and multiplication of the species. 
 
 It need not however dishearten any endeavours for the 
 public service, to know that population naturally treads up- 
 on the heels of improvement. If the condition of a people 
 be meliorated, the consequence will be, either that the mean 
 happiness will be increased, or a greater number partake of 
 it; or, which is most likely to happen, that both effects will 
 take place together. There may be limits fixed by nature 
 to both, but they are limits, not yet attained, nor even ap- 
 proached, in any country of the world. 
 
 And when we speak of limits at all, we have respect on- 
 ly to provisions for animal wants. There are sources, and 
 means, and auxiliaries, and augmentations of human hap- 
 piness, communicable without restriction of numbers; as 
 capable of being possessed by a thousand persons as by 
 one. Such are those which flow from a mild, contrasted 
 with a tyrannic government, whether civil or domestic; 
 those which spring from religion; those which grow out 
 of a sense of security; those which depend upon habits of 
 virtue, sobr::5ty, moderation, order; those, lastly, which 
 are found iri the possession of well-directed tastes and de- 
 sires, con pared with the dominion of tormenting, |^rni 
 clous, CO tradictory, unsatisfied, and unsatisfiable passions. 
 
 * See statement of this subject, in a late treatise upon population. 
 
 Z 
 
278 
 
 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 
 
 The distinctions of civil life are ap enough to be re- 
 garded as evils, by those who sit under them: but, in my 
 opinion, with very little reason. 
 
 In the first place, the advantages which the higher con- 
 ditions of life are supposed to confer, bear no proportion in 
 value to the advantages which are bestowed by nature. 
 The gifts of nature always surpass the gifts of fortune. 
 How much, for example, is activity better than attendance- 
 beauty than dress; appetite, digestion, and tranquil bowe.s, 
 than all the studies of cookery, or than the most costly 
 compilation of forced or far-fetched dainties.^ 
 
 Nature has a strong tendency to equalisation. Habit, 
 the instrument of nature, is a great leveller; the familiari- 
 ty which it induces, taking off the edge both of our plea- 
 sures and our sufferings. Indulgences which are habitual 
 keep us in ease, and cannot be carried much farther. So 
 that, with respect to the gratifications of which the senses 
 are capable, the difference is by no means proportionable 
 to the apparatus. Nay, so far as superfluity generates 
 fastidiousness, the difference is on the wrong side. 
 
 It is not necessary to contend, that the advantages de- 
 rived from wealth are none, (under due regulations they 
 are certainly considerable,) but that they are not greater 
 than they ought to be. Money is the sweetener of human 
 toil, the substitute for coercion, the reconciler of labor 
 with liberty. It is, moreover, the stimulant of enterprise 
 in all projects and undertakings, as well as of diligence in 
 the most beneficial arts and employments. Now did afflu- 
 ence, when possessed, contribute nothing to happiness, or 
 nothing beyond the mere supply of necessaries; and the 
 secret should come to be discovered; we might be in dan- 
 ger of losing great part of the uses which are at present 
 derived to us through this important medium. Not only 
 would the tranquillity of social life be put in peril by the 
 want of a motive to attach men to their private concerns; 
 but the satisfaction which all men receive from success in 
 their respective occupations, which collectively constitutes 
 the great mass of human comfort, would be done away in 
 its very principle. 
 
 With respect to station, as it is distinguished from rich- 
 es, whether it confer authority over others, or be invested 
 with honors which apply solely to sentiment and imagina- 
 tion, the truth is, that what is gained bv rising through the 
 ranks of life, is not more than sufficient to draw forth the 
 exertions of those who are engaged in the pursuits which 
 
THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 
 
 279 
 
 lead to advancement, and which in general are such as 
 ought to be encouraged. Distinctions of this sort are sub- 
 jects much more of competition than of enjoyment: and in 
 that competition their use consists. It is not, as hath been 
 rightly observed, by what the Lo7'd Mayor feels in his 
 coach, but by what the apprentice feels who gazes at him, 
 that tlie public is served. 
 
 As we approach the summits of human greatness, the 
 comparison of good and evil, with respect to personal com- 
 fort, becomes still more problematical ; even allowing to am- 
 bition all its pleasures. The poet asks, “What is grandeur, 
 what is power?’’ The philosopher answers, “ Constraint 
 and plague: et in maxima quaque fortuna minimum 
 licere.” One very common error misleads the opinion of 
 mankind upon this head, viz. that universally, authority is 
 pleasant, submission painful. In the general course of hu- 
 man affairs, the very reverse of this is nearer to the truth. 
 Command is anxiety, obedience ease. 
 
 Artificial distinctions sometimes promote real equality. 
 Whetherthey be hereditary, or be the homage paid tooffice, 
 or the respect attached by public opinion to particular pro- 
 fessions, they serve to confront that grand and unavoidable 
 distinction which arises from property, and which is most 
 overbearing where there is no other. It is of the nature of 
 property, not only to be irregularly distributed, but to run 
 into large masses. Public laws should be so constructed as 
 to favor its diffusion as mq|ph as they can. But all that 
 can be done by laws consistently with that degree of gov- 
 ernment of his property which ought to be left to the sub- 
 ject, will not be sufficient to counteract this tendency. 
 There must always therefore be the difference between 
 rich and poor; and this difference will be the more grind- 
 ing, when no pretension is allowed to be set up against it. 
 
 So that the evils, if evils they must be called, which 
 spring either from the necessary subordinations of civil 
 life, or from the distinctions which have, naturally, though 
 not necessarily, grown up in most societies, so long as they 
 are unaccompanied by privileges injurious or oppressive to 
 the rest of the community, are such as may, even by the 
 most depressed ranks, be endured with very little prejudice 
 to their comfort. 
 
 The mischiefs, of which mankind are the occasion to one 
 another, by their private wickednesses and cruelties; by 
 tyrannical exercises of power; by rebellions against just 
 authority; by wars, by national jealousies and competi- 
 
280 
 
 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 
 
 tions operating to the destruction of their countries, or by 
 other instances of misconduct either in individuals or soci 
 eties, are all to be resolved into the cjiaracter of man as & 
 free agent. Free agency in its very essence contains lia- 
 bility to abuse. Yet, if you deprive man of his free agency, 
 you subvert his nature. You may have order from him and 
 regularity, as you may from the tides or the trade-winds, 
 but you put an end to his moral character, to virtue, to merit, 
 to a ’countableness, to the use indeed of reason. To which 
 must be added the observation, that even the bad qualities 
 of mankind have an origin in their good ones. The case 
 is this: human passions are either necessary to human wel- 
 fare, or capable of being made, and, in a great majority of 
 instances, in fact made, conducive to its happiness. These 
 passions are strong and general; and perhaps would not an- 
 swer their purpose unless they w^ere so. But strength and 
 generality, when it is expedient that particular circum- 
 stances should be respected, become, if left to themselves, 
 excess and misdirection. From which excess and misdi- 
 rection, the vices of mankind (the causes no doubt of 
 much misery) appear to spring. This account, whilst it 
 shows us the principle of vice, shows us, at the same time, 
 the province of reason and of self-government; the want also 
 of every support which can be procured to either from the 
 aids of religion; and it shows this, without having recourse 
 to any native gratuitous malignity in the human constitu- 
 tion. Mr. Hume, in his posthumous dialogues, asserts 
 indeed of idleness^ or aversion to labor (which he states to 
 lie at the root of a considerable part of the evils which 
 mankind suffer,) that it is simply and merely bad. But 
 how does he distinguish idleness from the love of ease.^ or 
 is he sure, that the love of ease in individuals is not the 
 chief foundation of social tranquillity.^ It will be found, I 
 believe, to be true, that in every community there is a 
 large class of its members, whose idleness is the best qual- 
 ity about them, being the corrective of other bad ones. 
 If it were possible, in every instance, to give a right de- 
 termination to industry, we could never have too much of 
 it. But this is not possible, if men are to be free. And 
 without this, nothing would be so dangerous as an inces- 
 sant, universal, indefatigable activity. In the civil world, 
 as well as in the material, it is the vis inertice which keeps 
 :hings ii .heir places. 
 
THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 
 
 281 
 
 Naturai Theology has ever been pressed with this 
 question: ^V^hy, under the regency of a supreme and be- 
 nevolent Will, should there be, in the world, so much as 
 there is of the appearance of chancel 
 
 The question in its whole compass lies beyond our 
 reach: but there are not wanting, as in the origin of evil, 
 answers which seem to have considerable weight in partic- 
 ular cases, and also to embrace a considerable number of 
 cases. 
 
 I. There must be chance in the midst of design: b_y 
 which we mean, that events which are not designed, neces- 
 sarily arise from the pursuit of events which are designed. 
 One man travelling to York, meets another man travelling 
 CO London. Their meeting is by chance, is accidental, 
 and so would be called and reckoned, though the journeys 
 which produced the meeting were, both of them, under- 
 taken with design and from deliberation. The meeting, 
 though accidental, was nevertheless hypothetically necessa- 
 ry, (which is the only sort of necessity that is intelligible:) 
 for, if the two journeys were commenced at the time, pur- 
 sued in the direction, and with the speed, in which and 
 with which they were in fact begun and performed, the 
 meeting could not be avoided. There was not, therefore, 
 the less necessity in it for its being by chance. Again, 
 the rencounter might be most unfortunate, though the er- 
 rands, upon which each party set out upon his journey, 
 were the most innocent or the most laudable. The by 
 effect may be unfavorable, without impeachment of the 
 proper purpose, for the sake of which the train, from the 
 operation of which these consequences ensued, was put in 
 motion. Although no cause acts without a good purpose, 
 accidental consequences, like these, may be either good or 
 bad. 
 
 II. The appearance of chance will always bear a pro- 
 portion to the igi) orance of the observer. The cast of a 
 die as regularly follows the laws of motion, as the going of 
 a watch; yet, because we can trace the operation of those 
 laws through the works and movements of the watch, and 
 cannot trace them in the shaking and throwing of the die, 
 (though the laws be the same, and prevail equally in both 
 cases,) we call the turning up of the number of the die 
 chance, the pointing of the index of the watch machinery, 
 order, or by some name which excludes chance. It is the 
 same in those events which depend upon the will of a free 
 a id rational agent. The verdicit of a jury, the sentence ol 
 
 Z* 
 
282 
 
 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 
 
 a judje, the resolution of an assembly, the issue of a con 
 tested election, will have more or less of the appearance 
 of chance, might be more or less the subject of a wager, 
 according as we were less or more acquainted with the 
 reasons which influenced the deliberation. The differ- 
 ence resides in the information of the observer, and not 
 in the thing itself; which, in all the cases proposed, 
 proceeds from intelligence, from mind, from counsel, from 
 design. 
 
 Now when this one cause of the appearance of chance, 
 viz. the ignorance of the observer, conies to be applied to 
 the operations of the Deity, it is easy to foresee how fruit- 
 fil it must prove of difficulties, and of seeming confusion. 
 It is only to think of the Deity, to perceive, what variety 
 of objects, what distance of time, what extent of space 
 and action, his counsels may, or rather must, comprehend. 
 Can it be wondered at, that, of the purposes which dwell in 
 such a mind as this, so small a part should be k’Mown to 
 us.? It is only necessary, therefore, to bear in our thought, 
 that in proportion to the inadequateness of our information, 
 will be the quantity, in the world, of apparent chance. 
 
 III. In a great variety of cases, and of cases compre- 
 hending numerous subdivisions, it appears, for many rea- 
 sons, to be better that events rise up by chance, or, more 
 properly speaking, with the appearance of chance, than ac- 
 cording to any observable rule whatever. This is not sel- 
 dom the case even in human arrangements. Each person’s 
 place and precendency in a public meeting, may be deter- 
 mined by lot. Work and labor may be allotted. Tasks 
 and burdens may be allotted : — 
 
 Operumque laborem 
 
 Partibiis scquabat justis, aut sorte trahebat. 
 
 Military service and station may be allotted. The dis- 
 tribution of provision may be made by lot, as it is in a sail- 
 or’s mess; n some cases also, the distribution of favors 
 may be made by lot. In all these cases, it seems to be ac- 
 knowledged, that there are advantages in permitting events 
 to chance, superior to those which would or could arise 
 from regulation. In all these cases, also, though events 
 rise up in the way of chance, it is by appointment that they 
 do so. 
 
 In other events, and such*as are independent of human 
 will, the reasons for this preference of uncertainty to rule, 
 appear to be still stronger. For example, it seems to bo 
 expedient thal the period of human life should be uncertain 
 
THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 
 
 ns 
 
 Did mortality follow any fixed rule, it would produce a se- 
 curity in those that were at a distance from it, which would 
 lead to tlie greatest disorders; and a horror in those who 
 approached it, similar to that which a condemned prisorier 
 feelj on the night before his execution. But, that death be 
 uncertain, the young must sometimes die, as well as the 
 old. Als), were deaths never sudden, they who are in 
 health wou.d he too confident of life. The strong and the 
 active, who want most to be warned and checked, would 
 live without appr^^hension or restraint. On the other hand, 
 were sudden deaths very frequent, the sense of constant 
 jeopardy would interfere too much with the degree of ease 
 and enjoyment intended for us; and human life be too pre- 
 carious for the business and interests which belong to it. 
 There could not be dependence either upon our own lives, 
 or the lives of those with whom we are connected, suffi- 
 cient to carry on the regular offices of human society. 
 The manner, therefore, in which death is made to occur, 
 conduces to the purposes of admonition, without overthrow- 
 ing the necessary stability of human affairs. 
 
 Disease being the forerunner of death, there is the same 
 reason for its attacks coming upon us under the appear- 
 ance of chance, as there is for uncertainty in the time ot 
 death itself. 
 
 The seasons are a mixture of regularity and chance. 
 They are regular enough to authorise expectation, whilst 
 their being in a considerable degree irregular, induces, on 
 the part of the cultivators of the soil, a necessity for per- 
 sonal attendance, for activity, vigilance, precaution. It is 
 this necessity which creates farmers; which divides the 
 profit of the soil between the owner and the occupier ; which, 
 by requiring expedients, by increasing employment, and 
 by rewarding expenditure, promotes agricultural arts and 
 agricultural life, of all modes of life the best, being tne 
 most conducive to health, to virtue, to enjoyment. I 
 believe it to be found in fact, that where the soil is the 
 most fruitful, and the seasons the most constant, there the 
 condition of the cultivators of the earth is the most de- 
 pressed. Uncertainty, therefore, has its use, even to those 
 who sometimes complain of it the most. Seasons of scar- 
 city themselves are not without their advantages. They 
 call forth new exertions; they set contrivance and ingenui- 
 ty at work ; they give h rth to improvements in agriculture 
 and economy; they promote the investigation and manage- 
 ment of public resources. 
 
284 
 
 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 
 
 Again; there are strong intelligible reasons, why there 
 should exist in human society great disparity of xoealth 
 and station; not only as these things are acquired in dif- 
 ferent degrees, but at the first setting out of life. In order, 
 for instance, to answer the various demands of civil life, 
 Ihere ought to be amongst the members of every civil soci- 
 ety a diversity of education, which can only belong to an 
 original diversity of circumstances. As this sort of dispar- 
 ity, which ought to take place from the beginning of life, 
 must, ex hjpMesi, be previous to the merit or demerit of 
 the persons upon whom it falls, can it be better disposed of 
 than by chance? Parentage is that sort of chance: yet it 
 is the commanding circumstance which in general fixes 
 each man’s place in civil life, along with everything which 
 appertains to its distinctions. It may be the result of a 
 beneficial rule that the fortunes or honors of the father de- 
 volve upon the son; and, as it should seem, of a still more 
 necessary rule, that the low or laborious condition of the 
 parent be communicated to his family ; but with respect to 
 the successor himself, it is the drawing of a ticket in a lot- 
 tery. Inequalities therefore of fortune, at least the great- 
 est part of them, viz. those which attend us from our birth, 
 and depend upon our birth, may be lefl, as they are left, to 
 chance, without any just cause for questioning the regency 
 of a supreme Disposer of events. 
 
 But not only the donation, when by the necessity of the 
 case they must be gifts, but even the acquirability of civil 
 advantages, ought perhaps, in a considerable degree, to lie 
 at the mercy of chance. Some would have all the virtuous 
 rich, or at least removed from the evils of poverty, with- 
 out perceiving, I suppose, the consequence, that all the 
 poor must be wicked. And how such a society could be 
 kept in subjection to government, has not been shown; 
 for the poor, that is, they who seek their subsistence by 
 constant manual labor, must still form the mass of the com- 
 munity; otherwise the necessary labor of life could not be 
 carried on; the work would not be done, which the wants 
 of mankind, in a state of civilisation, and still more in a 
 state of refinement, require to be done. 
 
 It appears to be also true, that the exigencies of social 
 life call not only for an original diversity of external circum- 
 stances, but for a mixture of different faculties, tastes, and 
 tempers. Activity and contemplation, restlessness and qui- 
 et, CO :rage and timidity, ambition and contentedness, not 
 
 say even indolence and dulness, are all wanted in the 
 
THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 
 
 285 
 
 world, all conduce to the well going on of human affairs, 
 just as the rudder, the sails, and the ballast of a ship, all 
 perform their part in the navigation. Now, since these 
 characters require for their foundation different original 
 talents, different dispositions, perhaps also different bodily 
 constitutions; and since, likewise, it is apparently expe- 
 dient, that they be promiscuously scattered amongst the 
 different classes of society; can the distribution of talents, 
 dispositions, and the constitutions upon which they depend 
 be better made than by c/iance? 
 
 The opposites of apparent chance are, constancy and 
 sensible interposition; every degree of secret direction be- 
 ing consistent with it. Now, of constancy, or of fixed and 
 known rules, we have seen in some cases the inapplicabili- 
 ty; and inconveniences which we do not see, might attend 
 their application in other cases. 
 
 Of sensible interposition we may be permitted to remark, 
 that a Providence, always and certainly distinguishable, 
 would be neither more nor less than miracles rendered fre- 
 quent and common. It is difficult to judge of the state 
 into which this would throw us. It is enough to say, that 
 it would cast us upon a quite different dispensation from 
 that under which we live. It would be a total and radical 
 change. And the change would deeply affect, or per- 
 haps subvert, the whole conduct of human affairs. I can 
 readily believe, that, other circumstances being adapted to 
 it, such a state might be better than our present state. 
 It may be the state of other beings; it may be ours hereaf- 
 ter. But the question with which we are now concerned 
 is, how far it would be consistent wfith our condition, sup- 
 posing it in other respects to remain as it is? And in this 
 question there seems to be reasons of great moment on the 
 negative side. For instance; so long as bodily labo. 
 continues, on so many accounts, to be necessary for the 
 bulk of mankind, any dependency upon supernatural aid, 
 by unfixing those motives which promote exertion, or by 
 relaxing those habits which engender patient industry, 
 might introduce negligence, inactivity, and disorder, into 
 the most useful occupations of human life; and thereby 
 deteriorate the condition of human life itself. 
 
 As moral agents, we should experience a still greatei 
 alteration; of which more will be said under the next 
 article. 
 
 Although therefore the Deity, who possesses the power 
 of winding and turning, as he pleases, the course of causes 
 
2^6 
 
 THE GOODNESS OP THE DEITY. 
 
 i\'hich issue from himself, do in fact interpose to alter oi 
 intercept effects, which without such interposition would 
 have taken place; yet it is by no means incredible, that his 
 Providence, which always rests upon final good, may have 
 made a reserve with respect to the manifestation of his in- 
 terference, a part of the very plan which he has appointed 
 for our terrestrial existence, and a part conformable with, 
 or in some sort required by, other parts of the same plan. 
 It is at any rate evident, that a large and ample province 
 remains for the exercise of Providence, without its being 
 naturally perceptible by us; because obscurity, when appli- 
 ed to the interruption of laws, bears a necessary proportion 
 to the imperfection of our knowledge when applied to the 
 laws themselves, or rather to the effects which these laws, 
 under their various and incalculable combinations, would 
 of their own accord produce. And if it be said, that the 
 doctrine of Divine Providence, by reason of the ambigu- 
 ity under which its exertions present themselves, can be 
 attended with no practical influence upon our conduct; 
 that, although we believe ever so firmly that there is a Prov- 
 idence, we must prepare, and provide, and act, as if there 
 were none; I answer that this is admitted; and that w^e 
 farther allege, that so to prepare, and so to provide, is con- 
 sistent with the most perfect assurance of the reality of a 
 Providence: and not only so, but that it is probably, one 
 advantage of the present state of our information, that our 
 provisions and preparations are not disturbed by it. Or if 
 it be still asked, of what use at all then is the doctrine, if 
 it neither alter our measures nor regulate our conduct.^ I 
 answer again, that it is of the greatest use, but that it is a 
 doctrine of sentiment and piety, not (immediately at least) 
 of action or conduct; that it applies to the consolation of 
 men’s minds, to their devotions, to the excitement of grat- 
 itude, the support of patience, the keeping alive and the 
 strengthening of every motive for endeavouring to please 
 c(ir Maker; and that these are great uses. 
 
 Of all views under which human life has ever been con- 
 sidered, the most reasonable, in my judgment, is that which 
 regards it as a state of probation. If the course of the 
 world were separated from the contrivances of nature, I do 
 not know that it w^ould be necessary to look for any other 
 account of it than what, if it may be called an account, is 
 contained in the answer, that events rise up by chance. 
 But since the contrivances of nature decidedly evince m/en- 
 hon; and since the course of the world and the contrivan- 
 
THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 
 
 287 
 
 ces of nature have the same author; we are, by the force 
 of this connexion, led to believe, that the appearance un^- 
 der which events take place, is reconcilable with the sup- 
 position of design on the part of the Deity. It is enough 
 that they be reconcilable with this supposition , and it is un- 
 doubtedly true, that they may be reconcilable, though we 
 cannot reconcile them. The mind, however, which contem- 
 plates the works of nature, and in those works sees so much 
 of means directed to ends, of beneficial effects brought about 
 by wise expedients, of concerted trains of causes terminat- 
 ing in the happiest results; so much, in a word, of counsel, 
 intention, and benevolence; a mind, I say, drawn into the 
 habit of thought which these observations excite, can hardly 
 turn its view to the condition of our own species, without 
 endeavouring to suggest to itself some purpose, some de- 
 sign, for which the state in which we are placed is fitted, 
 and which it is made to serve. Now we assert the most 
 probable supposition to be, that it is a state of moral 
 probation; and that many things in it suit with this hy- 
 pothesis, which suit no other. It is not a state of unmixed 
 happiness, or of happiness simply: it is not a state of de- 
 signed misery, or of misery simply: it is not a state of re- 
 tribution: it is not a state of punishment. It suits with none 
 of these suppositions. It accords much better with the idea 
 of its being a condition calculated for the production, exer- 
 cise, and improvement of moral qualities, with a view to a 
 future state, in which these qualities, after being so pro- 
 duced, exercised, and improved, may, by a new and more 
 favoring constitution of things, receive their reward, or be- 
 come their own. If it be said, that this is to enter upon a 
 religious rather than a philosophical consideration, I an- 
 swer, that the name of religion ought to form no objec- 
 tion, if it shall turn out to be the case, that the more reli- 
 gious our views are, the more probability they contain 
 The degree of beneficence, of benevolent intention, and of 
 power, exercised in the construction of sensitive beings, 
 goes strongly in favor, not only of a creative, but of a con- 
 tinuing care, that is, of a ruling Providence. The degree 
 of chance which appears to prevail in the world, requires to 
 be reconciled with this hypothesis. Now it is one thing to 
 maintain the doctrine of Providence along with that of a fu- 
 ture state, and another thing without it. In my opinion, 
 the two doctrines must stand or fall together. For although 
 more of this apparent chance may perhaps upon other prin- 
 ciples, be accounted for, than is generally supposed, yet 
 
288 
 
 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY 
 
 a future state alone rectifies all disorders: and if it can be 
 shown, that the appearance of disorder is consistent with 
 he uses of life as a preparatorij state, or that in some re- 
 spects it promotes these uses, then, so far as this hypo- 
 thesis may be accepted, the ground of the difficulty is done 
 away. 
 
 In the wide scale of human condition, there is not per- 
 japs one of its manifold diversities which does not bear 
 upon the design here suggested. Virtue is infinitely vari- 
 ous There is no situation in which a rational being is 
 placed, from that of the best instructed Christian down to 
 the condition of the rudest barbarian, which affords not 
 room for moral agency ; for the acquisition, exercise, and 
 display of voluntary qualities, good and bad. Health and 
 sickness, enjoyment and suffering, riches and poverty, 
 knowledge and ignorance, power and subjection, liberty 
 and bondage, civilisation and barbarity, have all their offi- 
 ces and duties, all serve for the formation of character: for 
 when we speak of a state of trial, it must be remembered, 
 that characters are not only tried, or proved, or detected 
 but that they are generated also, and formed by circumstan 
 ces. The best dispositions may subsist under the most de- 
 pressed, the most afflicted fortunes. A West Indian slave, 
 who, amidst his wrongs, retains his benevolence, I, for my 
 part, look upon, as amongst the foremost of human candi- 
 dates for the rewards of virtue. The kind master of such 
 a slave, that is, he who, in the exercise of an inordinate 
 authority, postpones in any degree his own interest to his 
 slaves’ comfort, is likewise a meritorious character: but 
 still he is inferior to his slave. All however which I con- 
 tend for is, that these destinies, opposite as they may be 
 in every other view, are both trials; and equally such. 
 The observation may be applied to every other condition; 
 to the whole range of the scale, not excepting even its 
 lowest extremity. Savages appear to us all alike; but it 
 is owing to the distance at which we view savage life, that 
 we perceive in it no discrimination of character. I make 
 no doubt, but that moral qualities, both good and bad, are 
 called into action as much, and that they subsist in as 
 great a variety in these inartificial societies as they are, or 
 do, in polished life. Certain at least it is, that the good 
 or ill treatment which each individual meets with, depends 
 more upon the choice and voluntary conduct of those about 
 him, than it does, or ought to do, under regular civil insti- 
 tutions, and the coercion of public laws. So again, to turn 
 
THE GOODNESS OF THE DE jTY. 
 
 289 
 
 our eyes to the other end of the scale, namely, that part 
 of it which is occupied by mankind enjoying the benefits 
 of learning, together with the lights of revelation, there 
 also, the advantage is all along probalionary. Christianity 
 itself, I mean the revelation of Christianity, is not only 
 a blessing, but a trial. It is one of the diversified means 
 by which the character is exercised: and they who require 
 of Christianity, that the revelation of it should be univer- 
 sal, may possibly be found to require, that one species of 
 probation should be adopted, if not to the exclusion of 
 others, at least to the narrowing of that variety which the 
 wisdom of the Deity hath appointed to this part of his 
 moral economy.* 
 
 Nevv if this supposition be well founded; that is, if it be 
 true that our ultimate, or most permanent happiness will 
 depend, not upon the temporary condition into which we 
 are cast, but upon our behavior in it; then is it a much 
 more fit subject of chance than we usually allow or appre- 
 hend it to be, in what manner the variety of external cir- 
 cumstances which subsist in the human world, is distributed 
 amongst the individuals of the species. “This life beings 
 a state of probation, it is immaterial,’* says Rousseau, ' 
 “what kind of trials we experience in it, provided they 
 produce their effects.” Of two agents who stand indiffer- 
 ent to the moral Governor of the universe, one may be ex- 
 ercised by riches, the other by poverty. The treatment 
 of these two shall appear to be very opposite, whilst in 
 truth it is the same: for though, in many respects, there 
 be great disparity between the conditions assigned, in one 
 main article there may be none, viz. in that they are alike 
 trials; have both their duties and temptations, not less ar- 
 duous or less dangerous in one case than the other; so that 
 if the final award follow the character, the original distribu- 
 tion of the circumstances under which that character is 
 formed, may be defended upon principles not only of jus- 
 tice but of equality. What hinders, therefore, but that man- 
 kind may draw lots for their condition? They take their 
 
 * The reader will observe, that I speak of the revelation of Ch/ istian- 
 ity as distinct from Christianity itself. That dispeiisation may £. heady 
 be universal. That part of mankind which never heard of Christ’s r.rme, 
 may nevertheless be redeemed, that is, be placed in a better condition, 
 with respect to their future state, by his intervention; may be the objects 
 of his benignity and intercession, as well as of the propitiatoiy virtue of 
 his passion. But this is not “ natural theology,” therefore I will not 
 dwell longer upon it. 
 
 Aa 
 
290 
 
 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 
 
 portion of faculties and opportunities, as any unki owi. 
 cause, or concourse of causes, or as causes acting for other 
 purposes, may happen to set them out: but the event is gov 
 erned by that which depends upon themselves, the applica- 
 tion of what they have received. In dividing the talents, 
 no rule was observed; none was necessary: In rewarding 
 the use of them, that of the most correct justice. The chief 
 difference at last appears to be, that the right use of more 
 talents, i. e, of a greater trust, will be more highly reward 
 ed, than the right use of fewer talents, i. e. of a less trust 
 And since, for other purposes, it is expedient that there be 
 an inequality of concredited talents here, as well, probably, 
 as an inequality of conditions hereafter, though all remuner- 
 atory; can any rule, adapted to that inequality, be more 
 agreeable, even to our apprehensions of distributive justice 
 than this is ? 
 
 We have said that the appearance of casualty y which 
 attends the occurrences and events of life, not only does 
 not interfere with its uses, as a state of probation, but that 
 it promotes these uses. 
 
 Passive virtues, of all others the severest and the most 
 sublime; of all others, perhaps, the most acceptable to the 
 Deity; would, it is evident, be excluded from a constitution, 
 in which happiness and misery regularly followed virtue and 
 vice. Patience and composure under distress, affliction, 
 and pain; a steadfast keeping up of our confidence in God, 
 and of our reliance upon his final goodness, at the time 
 when everything present is adverse and discouraging; and 
 (what is no less difficult to retain) a cordial desire for the 
 happiness of others, even when we are deprived of our own: 
 these dispositions, which constitute, perhaps, the perfec- 
 tion of our moral nature, would not have found their pro- 
 per office and object in a state of avowed retribution; and 
 in which, consequently, endurance of evil would be only 
 submission to punishment. 
 
 Again: One man’s sufferings may be another man’s 
 trial. The family of a sick parent is a school of filial 
 piety. The charities of domestic life, and not only these, 
 but all the social virtues, are called out by distress But 
 then, misery, to be the proper object of mitigation, or of 
 that benevolence which endeavours to relieve, must be real- 
 \y or apparently casual. It is upon such sufferings alone 
 that benevolence can operate. For were there no evils in 
 the world, but what were punishments, properly and intel- 
 ligibly such, benevolence would only stand in the way of 
 
THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 
 
 291 
 
 justice. Such evils, consistently with the administration 
 of moral government, could not be prevented or alleviated, 
 that is to say, could not be remitted in whole or in part, 
 except by the authority which inflicted them, or by an ap- 
 pellate or superior authority. This consideration, which is 
 founded in our most acknowledged apprehensions of the na- 
 ture of penal justice, may possess its weight in the Divine 
 counsels. Virtue perhaps is the greatest of all ends. In 
 human beings, relative virtues form a large part of the whole. 
 Now relative virtue presupposes, not only the existence of 
 evil, without which it could have no object, no material to 
 work upon, but that evils be, apparently at least, misfortunes ; 
 that is, the effects of apparent chance. It may be in pur- 
 suance, therefore, and in furtherance of the same scheme 
 of probation, that the evils of life are made so to present 
 themselves. 
 
 I have already observed, that, when we let in religious 
 considerations, we often let in light upon the difficulties of 
 nature. So in the fact now to be accounted for, the degree 
 of happiness which we usually enjoy in this life, may be 
 better suited to a state of trial and probation, than a great- 
 er degree would be. The truth is, we are rather too much 
 delighted with the world, than too little. Imperfect, broken, 
 and precarious as our pleasures are, they are more than suffi- 
 cient to attach us to the eager pursuit of them. A regard 
 to a future state can hardly keep its place as it is. If we 
 were designed, therefore, to be influenced by that regard, 
 might not a more indulgent system, a higher, or more unin- 
 terrupted state of gratification, have interfered with the de- 
 sign.^ At least it seems expedient, that mankind should 
 be susceptible of this influence, when presented to them: 
 that the condition of the world should not be such as to 
 exclude its operation, or even to weaken it more than it 
 does. In a religious view (however we may complain of 
 them in every other,) privation, disappointment, and satiety, 
 ere not without the most salutary tendencies. 
 
292 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 C iAPTER XXVII. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 Lf all cases, wherein the mind feels itself in danger of 
 being confounded by variety, it is sure to rest upon a fe\> 
 strong points, or perhaps upon a single instance. Amongst 
 a multitude of proofs, it is one that does the business. If 
 we observe in any argument, that hardly two minds fix 
 upon the same instance, the diversity of choice shows the 
 strength of the argument, because it shows the number and 
 competition of the examples. There is no subject in which 
 the tendency to dwell upon select or single topics is so usu- 
 al, because there is no subject, of which, in its full extent, 
 the latitude is so great, as that of natural history applied to 
 the proof of an intelligent Creator. For my part, I take 
 my stand in human anatomy; and the examples of mechan- 
 ism I should be apt to draw out from the copious catalogue 
 which it supplies, are the pivot upon which the head turns, 
 the ligament within the socket of the hip-joint, the pulley 
 or trochlear muscles of the eye, the epiglottis, the bandages 
 which tie down the tendons of the wrist and instep, the slit 
 or perforated muscles at the hands and feet, the knitting of 
 the intestines to the mesentery, the course of the chyle into 
 the blood, and the constitution of the sexes as extended 
 throughout the whole of the animal creation. To these 
 instances the reader^s memory will go back, as they are 
 severally set forth in their places; there is not one of the 
 number which I do not think decisive; not one which is 
 not strictly mechanical; nor have I read or heard of any 
 solution of these appearances, which, in the smallest de- 
 gree, shakes the conclusion that we build upon them. 
 
 But, of the greatest part of those, who, either in this book 
 or any other, read arguments to prove the existence of a 
 God, it will be said, that they leave off only where they be- 
 gan; that they were never ignorant of this great truth, nev- 
 er doubted of it; that it does not, therefore, appear what is 
 gained by researches from which no new opinion is learned, 
 and upon the subject of which no proofs were wanted. 
 Now 1 answer, that, by invKsU ^ration, the following points 
 are always gained, in favor ofdoctriries even the most gen- 
 erally acknowledged, (supposing them to he true,) viz. 
 stability and impression. Occasions will arise to try the 
 firmness of our most habitu'.l opinions. And upon these oc- 
 
COxVCLUSION. 
 
 293 
 
 casions, it is a matter of incalculable use to feel our foun- 
 dation; to find a support in argument for what we had taken 
 up upon authority. In the present case, the arguments 
 upon which the conclusion rests, are exactly such as a 
 truth of universal concern ought to rest upon. They are 
 sufficiently open to the views and capacities of the unlearn- 
 ed, at tlie same time that they acquire new strength and 
 lustre from the discoveries of the learned.” If they had 
 been altogether abstruse and recondite, they would not 
 have found their way to the understandings of the mass of 
 mankind; if they had been merely popular, they migbt 
 have wanted solidity. 
 
 J3ut, secondly, what is gained by research in the stability 
 of our conclusion, is also gained from it in impression. 
 Physicians tell us, that there is a great deal of difference 
 between taking a medicine, and the medicine getting into 
 the constitution. A difference not unlike which, obtains 
 with respect to those great moral propositions, which ought 
 to form the directing principles of human conduct. It is 
 one thing to assent to a proposition of this sort; and another, 
 and a very different thing, to have properly imbibed its in- 
 fluence. I take the case to be this: Perhaps almost every 
 man living has a particular train of thought, into which his 
 mind glides and falls, when at leisure from the impressions 
 and ideas that occasionally excite it; perhaps, also, the 
 train of thought here spoken of, more than any other thing, 
 determines the character. It is of the utmost consequence, 
 therefore, that this property of our constitution be well reg- 
 ulated. Now it is by frequent oi continued meditation upon 
 a subject, by placing a subject in different points of view, 
 by induction of particulars, by variety of examples, by ap- 
 plying principles to the solution of phenomena, by dwelling 
 upon proofs and consequences, that mental exercise is drawn 
 into any particular channel. It is by these means, at least, 
 that we have any power over it. The train of spontaneous 
 thought, and the choice of that train, may be directed to 
 different ends, and may appear to be more or less judiciously 
 fixed, according to the purpose, in respect of which we con- 
 sider it: but, in a moral view, I shall not, I believe, be con- 
 tradicted when I say, that, if one train of thinking be more 
 desirable than another, it is that which regards the pheno- 
 mena of nature with a constant reference to a supreme 
 intelligent Author. JTo have made this the ruling, the habit- 
 ual sentiment of ou * minds, is to have laid the foundation 
 of everything whio*"' s religious. The world thenceforth 
 Aa* 
 
294 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 becomes a temple, and life itself one continued act of ado- 
 ration. The change is no less than this; that whereas form- 
 erl)^ God was seldom in our thoughts, we can now scarcely 
 look upon anything without perceiving its relation to him. 
 Every organized natural body, in the pro\ isions which it 
 contains for i s sustentation and propagation, testifies a 
 care, on the part of the Creator, expressly directed to these 
 purposes. We are on all sides surrounded by such bodies; 
 examined in their parts, wonderfully curious; compared 
 with one another, no less wonderfully diversified. So that 
 the mind, as well as the eye, may either expatiate in vari 
 ety and multitude, or fix itself down to the investigation 
 of particular divisions of the science. And in either case 
 it will rise up from its occupation, possessed by the subject, 
 in a very different manner, and with a very diferent degree 
 of influence, from what a mere assent to any verbal pro- 
 position which can be formed concerning the existence of 
 the Deity, at least that merely complying assent with which 
 those about us are satisfied, and with which we are too 
 apt to satisfy ourselves, will or can produce upon the 
 thoughts. More especially may this difference be per- 
 ceived, in the degree of admiration and of awe with which 
 the Divinity is regarded, when represented to the under- 
 standing by its own remarks, its own reflections, and its 
 own reasonings, compared with what is excited by any 
 language that can be used by others. The works of nature 
 want only to be contemplated. When contemplated, they 
 have everything in them which can astonish by their great- 
 ness: for, of the vast scale of operation through which our 
 discoveries carry us, at one end we see an intelligent Pow- 
 er arranging planetary systems, fixing, for instance, the 
 trajectory of Saturn, or constructing a ring of two hundred 
 thousand miles diameter to surround his body, and be sus- 
 pended like a magnificent arch over the heads of his in- 
 habitants; and, at the other, bending a hooked tooth, con- 
 certing and providing an appropriate mechanism, for the 
 clasping and reclasping of the filaments of the feather of the 
 humming bird. We have proof, not only of both these 
 works proceeding from an intelligent agent, but of their 
 proceeding from the same agent: for, in the first place, we 
 can trace an identity of plan, a connexion of system, from 
 Saturn to our own globe: and when arrived upon our globe, 
 we can, in the second place, pursue the connexion through 
 all the organized, especially the animated, bodies which it 
 supports. We can observe marks of a common relation 
 
CONCLUSION. 
 
 295 
 
 as well to one another as to the elements of which then 
 habitation is composed Therefore one mind hath planned 
 or at least hath prescribed, a general plan for all these pro- 
 ductions. One Being las been concerned in all. 
 
 Under this stupendous Being we live. Our happiness, 
 our existence, is in his hands. All we expect must come 
 from him. Nor ought we to feel our situation insecure. 
 In every nature, and in every portion of nature, which we 
 can descry, we find attention bestowed upon even the mi- 
 nutest parts. The hinges in the wings of an earivig, and 
 the joints of its antennae, are as highly wrought, as if the 
 Creator had nothing else to finish. We see no signs of 
 diminution of care by multiplicity of objects, or of distrac- 
 tion of thought by variety. We have no reason to fear, 
 therefore, our being forgotten, or overlooked, or neglected. 
 
 The existence and character of the Deity, is, in every 
 view, the most interesting of all human speculations. In 
 none, however, is it more so, than as rt facilitates the l^e- 
 lief of the fundamental articles of Revelation. It is a step 
 to have it proved, that there must be something in the world 
 more than what we see. It is a farther step to know, that 
 amongst the invisible things of nature, there must be an in- 
 telligent mind, concerned in its production, order, and sup- 
 port. These points being assured to us by Natural The- 
 ology, we may well leave to Revelation the disclosure of 
 many particulars, which our researches cannot reach, re- 
 specting either the nature of this Being as the original cause 
 of all things, or his character and designs as a moral gov- 
 ernor; and not only so, but the more full confirmation of 
 other particulars, of which, though they do not lie alto- 
 gether beyond our reasonings and our probabilities, the 
 certainty is by no means equal to the importance. The 
 true theist will be the first to listen to any credible commu- 
 nication of Divine knowledge. Nothing which he has 
 learned from Natural Theology, will diminish his desire 
 of farther instruction, or his disposition to receive it with 
 humility and thankfulness. He wishes for light: he re- 
 joices in light. His inward veneration of this great Being, 
 will incline him to attend with the utmost seriousness, not 
 only to all that can be discovered concerning him by re- 
 searches into nature, but to all that is taught by a revela- 
 tion, which gives reasonable proof of having proceeded 
 from him. 
 
 But above every ether article of revealed religion, does 
 the anterior belief of a Deity bear w‘ h the strongest force 
 
296 
 
 CONCl USION 
 
 upon that gtand point, which gives indeed interest and im 
 portance to all the rest — the resurrection of the human 
 dead. The thing might appear hopeless, did we not see 
 a power at work adequate to the effect, a power under the 
 guidance of an intelligent will, and a power penetrating the 
 inmost recesses of all substance. I am far from justifying 
 the opinion of those, who ‘‘thought -it a thing incredible 
 that God should raise the dead:” but I admit, that it is first 
 necessary to be persuaded, that there is a God to do so. 
 This being thoroughly settled in our minds, there seems to 
 be nothing in this process (concealed and mysterious as we 
 confess it to be) which need to shock our belief. They 
 who have taken up the opinion, that the acts of the human 
 mind depend upon organization, that the mind itself indeed 
 consists in organization, are supposed to find a greater dif- 
 ficulty than others do, in admitting a transition by death to 
 a new state of sentient existence, because the old organiza- 
 tion is apparently dissolved. But I do not see that any im- 
 practicability need be apprehended even by these; or that 
 the change, even upon their hypothesis, is far removed 
 from the analogy of some other operations, which we know 
 with certainty that the Deity is carrying on. In the ordi- 
 nary derivation of plants and animals from one another, a 
 particle, in many cases, minuter than all assignable, all con- 
 ceivable dimension; an aura, an effluvium, an infinitesimal; 
 determines the organization of a future body; does no less 
 than fix, whether that which is about to be produced shall 
 be a vegetable, a merely sentient, or a rational being; an 
 oak, a frog, or a philosopher; makes all these differences, 
 gives to the future body its qualities, and nature, and spe- 
 cies. And this particle, from which springs, and by which 
 is determined a whole future nature, itself proceeds from, 
 and owes its constitution to, a prior body; nevertheless, 
 which is seen in plants most decisively, the incepted organ- 
 ization, though formed within, and through, and by a pre- 
 ceding organization, is not corrupted by its corruption, or 
 destroyed by its dissolution; but, on the contrary, is some- 
 times extricated and developed by those very causes; sur- 
 vives and comes into action, when the purpose for which 
 it w^as prepared requires its use. Now an economy which 
 nature has adopted, when the purpose was to transfer an 
 organization from one individual to another, may have some- 
 thing analogous to it, when the purpose is to transmit an 
 organization from one state of being to another state: and 
 they who found thought in organization, may see something 
 
CONCLUSION. 
 
 297 
 
 in tliis analogy applicable to their difficulties, for, what- 
 ever can transmit a similari.y of organization will answer 
 their purpose, because, according even to their own theory, 
 it may be tbe vehicle of consciousness; and because con- 
 sciovisness carries identity and individuality along with it 
 through all changes of form or of visible qualities. In the 
 most general case, that, as we have said, of the derivation 
 of plants and animals from one another, the latent organi- 
 zation is either itself similar to the old organization, or 
 has the power of communicating to new matter the old 
 organic form. But it is not restricted to this rule. There 
 are other cases, especially in the progress of insect life, in 
 which the dormant organization does not much resemble 
 that which encloses it, and still less suits with the situation 
 in which the enclosing body is placed, but suits with a dif- 
 ferent situation to which it is destined. In the larva of the 
 libellula, which lives constantly, and has still long to live, 
 under water, are descried the wings of a fly, which two 
 yeaVs afterwards is to mount into the air. Is there nothing 
 in this analogy? — It serves at least to show, that even in 
 the observable course of nature, organizations are formed 
 one beneath another; and, amongst a thousand other in- 
 stances, it shows completely, that the Deity can mould and 
 fashion the parts of material nature, so as to fulfil any pur- 
 pose whatever which he is pleased to appoint. 
 
 They who refer the operations of mind to a substance 
 totally and essentially different from matter, (as most cer- 
 tainly these operations, though affected by material caus- 
 es, hold very little affinity to any properties of matter with 
 which we are acquainted,) adopt perhaps a juster reaspning 
 and a better philosophy ; and by these the considerations 
 above suggested are not wanted, at least in the same de- 
 gree. But to such as find, which some persons do find, an 
 insuperable difficulty in shaking off an adherence to those 
 analogies which the corporeal world is continually suggest- 
 ing to their thoughts; to such, I say, every consideration 
 will be a relief, which manifests the extent of that intelli- 
 gent power which is acting in nature, the fruitfulness of 
 iU resources, the variety, and aptness, and success of its 
 means; most especially every consideration which tends to 
 show, that, in the translation of a conscious existence, 
 there is no even in their own way of regarding it, any- 
 thing greatly beyond, or totally unlike, what takes place 
 
298 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 in such parts (probably small parts) of the order of nature 
 as are accessible to our observation. 
 
 Again; if there be those who think, that the contracted- 
 ness and debility of the human faculties in our present 
 state, seem ill to accord with the high destinies which the 
 expectations of religion point out to us, I would only ask 
 them, whether any one, who saw a child two hours after its 
 birth, could suppose that it would ever come to understand 
 fluxions;^ or who then shall say, what farther amplification 
 of intellectual powers, what accession of knowledge, what 
 advance and improvement, the rational faculty, be its con- 
 stitution what it will, may not admit of, when placed amidst 
 new objects, and endowed with a sensorium adapted, as it 
 undoubtedly will be, and as our present senses are, to the 
 perception of those substances, and of those properties of 
 things, with which our concern may lie. 
 
 Upon the whole ; in everything which respects this awful, 
 but, as we trust, glorious change, we have a wise and 
 powerful Being (the author, in nature, of infinitely various 
 expedients, for infinitely various ends) upon whom to rely 
 for the choice and appointment of means, adequate to the 
 execution of any plan which his goodness or his justice 
 may have formed, for the moral and accountable part of his 
 terrestrial creation. That great office rests with him: be 
 it ou7's to hope and to prepare, under a firm and settled 
 persuasion, that, living and dying, we are his; that life is 
 passed in his constant presence, that death resigns us to 
 bis merciful disposal. 
 
 * See Sea sh’s Light of Nature, passim. 
 
VOCABULARY 
 
 A. 
 
 Abdomen, the cavity of the belly. 
 
 Accretion, a growth; increase in size or extent 
 
 Adifose, fatty, containing fat. 
 
 Alkalies, a peculiar class of chemical substances which have the fiop- 
 erty of combitmg with and neutralizing the properties of acids. 
 
 Anconceus, the name of one of the muscles which extend the e'.bow 
 joint. 
 
 Anal, a term applied to one of the fins of fish, situated near the anus of 
 vent. 
 
 Anhelation, breathing hard or panting. 
 
 Annular, in the form of a ring. 
 
 Annuli, rings — applied to the muscular fibres which surroun^i the bodies 
 of some animals like rings. 
 
 Antennae, organs of touch, situated near the mouths of insects having 
 many joints. 
 
 Antherae, small bodies which contain the pollen or fertilizing dust of 
 flowers ; the antherae are fixed generally on the ends of slender fila- 
 ments, and surround the germ or seed vessel. 
 
 Aorta, the main artery of the body, which receives the blood directly 
 from the heart and distributes it to the body. 
 
 Auricle, a cavity of the heart. Its external shape gives it the appear- 
 ance of an appendage to the organ, and its name is derived from its 
 supposed resemblance to an ear, (auricula.) 
 
 Automaton, a machine having a power of motion within itself, but des- 
 titute of life. 
 
 B. 
 
 Buccinator, the principal muscle of the cheek. 
 
 Biceps, one of the muscles which bend the elbow-joint. 
 
 Bivalve, consisting of two valves or shells, as in shell-fish — e g thf 
 oyster. 
 
 Brachiceus, the name of two muscles moving the arm. 
 
 Brevis, short. 
 
 C. 
 
 Calyx, the flower cup ; the external or outermost part of the flower, 
 generally resembling the leaves in color, and containing the othe- 
 parts of the flower within it. It is often wanting. 
 
 Camera ohscura, or dark chamber. An optical instrument in which 
 the rays of light from external objects are made to pass through a con- 
 vex lens into a dark box where they are received upon a screen, and 
 produce a representation of external objects. 
 
 Capsule, the seed vessel of plants. 
 
 Carnivorous, feeding or living on flesh. 
 
300 
 
 VOCABULARY. 
 
 Carotid, the name of the arteries which pass up the neck on ^ach sid<r 
 of the windpipe, and convey the blood to the head. 
 
 Cartilaginous, gristly; formed from or consisting of gristle. 
 
 Cellular, consisting of cells. 
 
 Centripetal, having a tendency towards the centre. All bodies on the 
 surface, have a tendency to fall towards the centre of the earth. 
 
 Cetaceous, of the whale kind. 
 
 Chrysalis, an insect in the second stage of its metamorphosis. 
 
 Cicat7'ix, a scar. 
 
 Comminuted, broken up into small pieces. 
 
 Conatus, attempt, endeavour, effort. 
 
 Condyles, prominences at the ends of some of the bones which are in- 
 tended to afford surfaces for the formation of joints. 
 
 Co7ige7'ies, a heap or pile of bodies accumulated together. 
 
 Connate, produced or being born together; having their origin at the 
 same time, and from the same cause. 
 
 Convolution, the turning, rolling, or winding of anything. The convo- 
 lutions of a snail’s shell are the spiral windings of the tube in which it 
 exists around a central pillar or basis. 
 
 Co7'nea, the transparent coat at the front part of the eye, through which 
 we see the pupil and the iris. 
 
 Corolla. This term includes what are commonly called the leaves of 
 the flower, viz. the various colored leaves which give their beauty 
 and fragrance to most flowers. 
 
 Cretaceous, formed of, or consisting of chalk. It is applied not merely 
 to substances consisting of chalk, commonly so called, but to a variety 
 of others, which resemble it merely in having the same chemical com- 
 position, such as the shells of shell-fish, &c. 
 
 Cubital, an anatomical term used to designate parts in, and relating to, 
 the cubit or fore-arm, which extends from the elbow to the hand. 
 
 D. 
 
 Deglutition, the act of swallowing. 
 
 Diaphragm, a muscular membrane which is stretched completely acrcss 
 the cavity of the body like a curtain, and divides the chest from the 
 belly, and by its contraction performs an important part in the act of 
 respiration. 
 
 Diopt7'ic, a term applied to that part of the science of optics which 
 treats of the passage of light through, and its refraction by means of, 
 transparent substances. 
 
 Dorsal, appertaining to the back. 
 
 Ductus arteriosus, a duct or canal leading from the pulmonary arteries 
 to the aorta, by which the blood is before birth conveyed from the pul- 
 monary arteries to the aorta without passing through the lungs. It is 
 closed after birth. 
 
 Duodenum, the first of the small intestines, being the next in order 
 to the stomach, and receiving the food from it. 
 
 E. 
 
 Elytra, the external, hard, scaly wings of many insects, such as iho 
 beetles. 
 
 Ento7nology, the science relating to insects. 
 
 Epiglottis, a valve which covers the passage from the mouth into the 
 windpipe. 
 
 Eruca labra, the name of an insect 
 
VOCAtULARY. 
 
 301 
 
 Eustachian, applied to parts first discovered Dy Eustachias. 
 
 Exility, slenderness, smallness. 
 
 Exuviae, the cast off skins, shells, or other coverings of animals 
 
 Exsiccation, drying, parting with moisture to air or lieat. 
 
 Evagation, wandering, deviation from an appointed course. 
 
 F. 
 
 Farina. This word is sometimes used instead of pollen for the fertili- 
 zing dust produced from the stamens and anthers of flowers, and col- 
 lected by bees. It is so used by our author. 
 
 Fibula, a small long bone, extending from the knee to the ankle-joint, 
 parallel to and connected with the tibia or principal bone of the leg on 
 its outside. The lower end of it forms the outer ankle. 
 
 Foramen ovale, or oval hole, an opening in the foetal state, between 
 the two ventricles of the heart, permitting the passage of blood from 
 one to the other. It is closed after birth. 
 
 Fusee, see Plate of the parts of the watch. 
 
 G. 
 
 Gallinaceous. Birds of a particular order, living generally upon grains 
 or seeds of plants, of a stately aspect, and confined powers of flight, 
 ^uch are the common domestic fowl, the turkey, the peacock, &c. 
 
 Gestation, the act of carrying the young within the body of the parent, 
 whether in the state of the egg or of the living foetus. 
 
 Graminivorous, living or feeding upon grass. 
 
 Granivorous, living or feeding upon grain* and seeds. 
 
 Gregarious, herding together — flocking together — assembling in herds 
 and companies. 
 
 H. 
 
 Halitus, the watery vapor which is thrown out from the lungs with the 
 air at every act of respiration. 
 
 Hemiplegia, a paralysis or palsy of one half of the body, consisting in a 
 loss of the sense of feeling; or of the power of voluntary motion; or of 
 both. 
 
 Herbivorous, living upon herbs, or rather upon vegetable substances b 
 general. A term used in contra-distinction to carnivorous. 
 
 Homologous, having the same relation or proportions. Lines drawn 
 through any two similar bodies of different sizes, are said to be homo- 
 logous when they are drawn through corresponding parts of each. 
 
 Hybernacula, the habitations, coverings, or retreats in which animals 
 pass the winter. Animals when residing in them are generally in a 
 torpid state. 
 
 Hydrocanthari, a name of insects 
 
 I. 
 
 Ignited, a chemical term applied to a body raised to a high degree of 
 heat. 
 
 Inertia, a property of all matter which disposes it to remain in the state 
 in which it is, whether of motion or rest. 
 
 JriSy plural Hides ; the colored ring surrounding the pupil of the eye. 
 
 L. 
 
 Lachrymal, appertaining to or relating to the tears, or to the apparatus 
 for their production. 
 
 Lacteals, capillary or hair-like vessels opening upon the internal surface 
 
 Bb 
 
309 
 
 VOCABULARY. 
 
 of the intestines, absorbing the chyle or nutritious fluid prepared by 
 the digestive organs from the food, and conveying it through the me- 
 sentery to the thoracic duct and thence into the circulating mass of the 
 blood. 
 
 Lamella^ a thin plate or edge. 
 
 Laminae, thin plates or layers. 
 
 Larynx, the upper part of the windpipe, including the organs of voice 
 
 Lens, a circular glass whose surfaces are either convex or concave. It 
 is also applied to any other transparent body of the same shape, as ice, 
 crystal, or diamond. 
 
 Levitation, the making an object lighter ; giving to it a buoyant ten- 
 dency. 
 
 Longus, long. A name applied to several muscles of the Jody on ac- 
 count of their length when compared with other muscles. 
 
 Lubricity, facility of the slipping or gliding of one surface over another 
 witnoui friction, whether in consequence of the smoothness of the sur 
 faces, or the interposition of some soft, slippery fluid, or substance. 
 
 Lubricate, to give lubricity. 
 
 Luxation, dislocation of a bone, throwing a bone out of joint. 
 
 Lymphatics, small vessels in the bodies of animals carrying lymph. 
 
 M. 
 
 Masseter, a strong muscle which closes the jaw in chewing, situated at 
 the back part of the cheek towards the ear. It may be felt in chewing. 
 
 Mediastinum, a fold of the membrane lining the chest, by which it is 
 divided into two cavities. 
 
 Medullary, formed or consisting of marrow. Applied to the substance 
 of the brain and nerves, and to that in the cavities of some of the bones. 
 
 Menstruum, any liquid or fluid in which another body is dissolved. 
 
 Mesentery, a double fold of the membrane lining the abdomen and cover- 
 ing the intestines, by which the latter are suspended, and are connected 
 to the walls of the cavity. It gives passage to vessels, nerves, and to 
 the lacteals. 
 
 Monopetalous, applied to flowers consisting of a single petal or flower 
 cup. 
 
 N. 
 
 Mectaria, that part of the corolla of plants which produces honey. 
 
 JYictitating, winking. Applied generally to the third eyelid of birds .inO 
 some other animals. 
 
 JSrigella, the name of a plant. 
 
 JSTymphae, insects in the second preparatory state, before their fma 
 transformation. 
 
 O. 
 
 Oblate. A sphere flattened at the poles is said to be oblate. 
 
 Oesophagus, the tube or canal which conveys food from the mouth to tr^s 
 stomach. 
 
 Omentum, the caul; a kind of apron formed of fat and membrane which 
 hangs down and covers the intestines within the abdomen. 
 
 Os hyoides, the bone of the tongue and throat. 
 
 Os pubis, the bone whicli arches forward from the pelvis, and supporti 
 the lower part of the belly. 
 
 Ossification, a change of structure into bone. 
 
 Oviparous, bringing forth or bearing young by means of eggs. 
 
VOCABULARY. 
 
 303 
 
 P. 
 
 Pahnated, liaving a palm like that of the hand. 
 
 Pancreas^ a gland within the abdomen, just below the stomacn, and 
 providing a fluid to assist in digestion. 
 
 Papillae^ little projections on the surface of organs, as on the tongue, 
 which are the seats of sensation. 
 
 Papilionaceous i of or resembling butterflies. Applied to a certain tiibe 
 of flowers on account of their resemblance in shape to those insects. 
 
 Pectoral^ of or relating to the chest. 
 
 Pelvis, the broad flat basin, constituting the lower part of the abdomen, 
 composed principally of the broad flat bones usually called the hip and 
 haunch bones. 
 
 Peritonaeum, a membrane lining the cavity of the abdomen and giving 
 a close covering to all its contents. 
 
 Peristaltic, applied to the crawling, worm-like motion of the intestines. 
 
 Pericardium, the bag containing the heart. 
 
 Pericnrpium, a kind of seed vessels of plants. 
 
 Periosteum, the membrane which adheres to, and closely invests the 
 surface of bones. 
 
 Petals, the flower leaves, or leaves of the corolla of plants. 
 
 Pharynx, the cavity at the back part of the mouth which receives the 
 food just before swallowing, and transmits it to the oesophagus. 
 
 Phosphoric, of or resembling phosphorus. 
 
 Pistil, the part of a flower intended to receive the pollen or fertilizing 
 dust of the stamens. 
 
 Piston, a movable cylinder in the tube of some machines, intended to 
 take ofF 'rv its motion the pressure of the air, or to receive the impulse 
 from steam; as in the pump and steam-engine. 
 
 Plaiitule, a little plant. Applied to the part which first sprouts from the 
 seed when it begins to grow. It refers to the same part with Plumule, 
 
 Pleura, the membrane lining the chest. 
 
 Plumule, see plantule. 
 
 Pneumatic, of or relating to the air or wind. 
 
 Polleti, the fertilizing dust of flowers, produced by the stamens, and falling 
 upon the pistils in order to render a flower capable of producing seed 
 or fruit. 
 
 Primordial, original. 
 
 R. 
 
 Radicle, the little root which is first sent out by a seed when it begins to 
 grow. 
 
 Refraction, generally applied to the change of direction which takes place 
 when a ray of light moves from one medium into another of a diflerent 
 density. 
 
 Renitency, resistance. 
 
 Retina, a very sensible and delicate membrane at the back part of the 
 eye, intended to receive the images ofobjects like the screen of a camera 
 obscura. Supposed to be an expansion of the nerve of the eye. 
 
 Rictus, the extent of the mouth when opened widely as in gaping. 
 
 S. 
 
 Sanguiferous, carrying blood. 
 
 Sensorium, the seat or centre of sensations, to which all the impressions 
 made upon the external organs of sense are transuJlted, and where 
 they are perceived. 
 
304 
 
 VOCABULARY 
 
 Spheroid, approaching in form to, or resembling a sphere. 
 
 Spiculae, spines or sharp projections. 
 
 Sternum, the breast bone. 
 
 Stigma, plural, stigmata; the extremity of the pistil of plants. 
 
 Storgee, the sentiment or instinct of parental affection. 
 
 Stum, an unfermented mass of liquor. 
 
 Subclavian, a term applied to parts which are situated beneath the cluvh 
 cle or collar bone as the subclavian artery, &c. 
 
 Sugescent, employed in sucking. 
 
 Sui generis, of a peculiar kind or character. 
 
 Sutures, the union of bones by their edges, without movable joints, 
 as in the flat bones of the skull. The edges in this case are offer, 
 notched like the teeth of a saw, and the line of union resembles a 
 seam. Whence called a suture. 
 
 Synovia, the liquid which lubricates the internal surfaces of the joints to 
 give facility of motion. 
 
 T. 
 
 Telum imbelle, a harmless weapon. 
 
 Thorax, the chest. 
 
 Tibia, the main bone of the leg, extending from the knee to the foot. 
 Its projecting extremity forms the inner ankle, and iu ends enter into 
 the formation of both the knee and ankle joints. 
 
 Trachea, the windpipe. 
 
 Tubercle, a swelling or prominence. 
 
 U. 
 
 Umbilical, proceeding from or relating to the navel or umbilicus 
 Univalve, consisting of a single valve or shell, such as the snail, cockle. 
 Urachus, a vessel leading from the bladder to the navel before birth, 
 which is converted into a ligament after birth. 
 
 Ureter, the tube conveying the urine from the kidneys to the bladder 
 
 V. 
 
 Vallisneria, the name of a plant. 
 
 Valvulae conniventes, folds formed by the internal membrane of tho 
 intestines, constituting partial valves, and intended to retard the pas- 
 sage of the food. ^ 
 
 Vascular, containing or consisting of vessels. 
 
 Uena cava, one of the great veins which brings the blood from the ox 
 tremities of the body to the heart. 
 
 Ventral, of or appertainmg to the belly. 
 
 Ventricle, a term applied to s'everal small internal cavities in the body 
 as the ventricles of the brain and of the heart. * 
 
 Vertebrae, the separate bones constituting the back bone. 
 
 Viscus, plural Viscera; the internal organs of the body, as iunffs, heart 
 stomach, liver, brain, &c. j ^ • 
 
 Viviparous, producing or bringing forth young alive. 
 f ortex, plural Vortices ; anything whirled round. The heavenly bod- 
 les have been formerly supposed to be carried around in their orbits by 
 certain vertices or whirlpools which were imagined to exist. 
 
PAXTON’S ILLUSTRATIONS, 
 
 WITH 
 
 DESCRIPTIONS. 
 
 INDEX TO THE PLATES. 
 
 Plate 
 
 Page 
 
 Plate 
 
 
 I’age 
 
 1. 
 
 The watch 
 
 307 
 
 24. 
 
 The opossum 
 
 376 
 
 2. 
 
 The eye 
 
 310 
 
 25. 
 
 Claw of the heron — Bill of 
 
 
 3. 
 
 The eye of birds and of the 
 
 
 
 the Soland goose . . . 
 
 379 
 
 
 eel 
 
 313 
 
 26. 
 
 Stomach of the camel . . 
 
 382 
 
 4. 
 
 The lachrymal apparatus 
 
 
 27. 
 
 Tongue of the woodpecker. 
 
 
 
 and nictitating membrane 316 
 
 
 and skull of the baby- 
 
 
 5. 
 
 The human ear, and tym- 
 
 
 
 rouessa 
 
 385 
 
 
 panum of the elephant . 
 
 319 
 
 28. 
 
 Temporary and permanent 
 
 
 6. 
 
 Trochlear muscle of the eye 
 
 
 
 teeth 
 
 388 
 
 
 and kidney 
 
 322 
 
 29. 
 
 Foramen ovale, and ductus 
 
 
 7. 
 
 Vertebrae of the human 
 
 
 
 arteriosus 
 
 391 
 
 
 neck 
 
 325 
 
 30. 
 
 Fore extremity of the mole 
 
 
 8. 
 
 Bones of the arm .... 
 
 328 
 
 
 — Head of the elephant — 
 
 
 9. 
 
 The spine 
 
 331 
 
 
 Finger-like extremity of 
 
 
 10. 
 
 The chest, patella, and 
 
 
 
 the proboscis — Section of 
 
 
 
 shoulder-blade .... 
 
 334 
 
 
 the proboscis — Bat’s wing 
 
 
 11. 
 
 The hip, knee and ankle- 
 
 
 
 — Bill of the parrot — 
 
 
 
 joints 
 
 337 
 
 
 Eyes of insects — Eyes of 
 
 
 12. 
 
 The sartorius and oblique 
 
 
 
 a spider 
 
 394 
 
 
 muscles of the head . . 
 
 340 
 
 31. 
 
 The chameleon, and intes- 
 
 
 13. 
 
 The muscles of the arm . 
 
 343 
 
 
 tine of the sea-fox . . . 
 
 397 
 
 14. 
 
 The muscles that raise the 
 
 
 32. 
 
 The wings of the beetle. 
 
 
 
 eye-lids, and sphincter or 
 
 
 
 awl, sting of the bee, pro- 
 
 
 
 circular muscles . . . 
 
 346 
 
 
 boscis, &c 
 
 400 
 
 15. 
 
 The digastric muscle . . 
 
 349 
 
 33. 
 
 Silk secretors of the silk- 
 
 
 16. 
 
 The tendons of the toes . 
 
 350 
 
 
 worm — Spinnerets of the 
 
 
 37. 
 
 The heart 
 
 355 
 
 
 spider — Panorpa commu- 
 
 
 18. 
 
 The stomach, gall-bladder, 
 
 
 
 nis — Female and male 
 
 
 
 &c 
 
 358 
 
 
 glow-worm — Larva libel- 
 
 
 19. 
 
 The lacteals and thoracic 
 
 
 
 lulae — Breathing spiracu- 
 
 
 
 duct 
 
 361 
 
 
 Ise — Pupa of gnat — Stra- 
 
 
 20. 
 
 The parotid gland . . . 
 
 364 
 
 
 tyomis chameleon . . . 
 
 403 
 
 21. 
 
 The larynx 
 
 367 
 
 34. 
 
 The capsule, pistil, stamina 
 
 
 22. 
 
 Package of the viscera and 
 
 
 
 of nigella; plumule, and 
 
 
 
 mesentery . . . . . 
 
 370 
 
 
 radicle 
 
 406 
 
 23. 
 
 Nerves of the bill of a duck 
 
 
 35. 
 
 Vallisneria 
 
 409 
 
 
 — Valvulae conniventes — 
 
 
 36. 
 
 Cuscuta Europaea .... 
 
 412 
 
 
 Chap. XIII. Air-bladder 
 
 
 37. 
 
 The autumnal crocus . . 
 
 415 
 
 
 of a fish, and fang of the 
 
 
 38. 
 
 The dionaea muscipula . . 
 
 418 
 
 
 viper 
 
 373 
 
 39. 
 
 Astronomy 
 
 422 
 
 
 Bb^ 
 
 
 
 305 
 
 
CHAPTER 1. 
 
 Plate I. — the watch. 
 
 Fig. 1. The box, or barrel, containing the main spring, which k 
 rlie first power ; and the chain, which communicates the power 
 to— “ 
 
 Fig. 2. The/w^ee and great wheel. The fusee \% tapered at the 
 top to correct the irregular recoil of the spring. The great wheel 
 turns — 
 
 Fig. 3. The cenfre wheel and pinion, which makes one revolution 
 in an hour, carries the minute nand, and turns — 
 
 Fig. 4. The third wheel and pinion, which turns the contrite 
 wheel. 
 
 Fig. 5. The contrite wheel, which makes one revolution in a 
 minute, and turns the balance or escape wheel. 
 
 Fig. 6. The balance wheel, which acts upon the pallats of the 
 verge, and escapes or drops from one pallat to another alternately, 
 thereby keeping the balance in constant vibration. 
 
 Fig. 7. The balance verge and balance ov pendxdum which 
 
 regulates the whole machine. 
 
 Fig. 8. The cannon pinion, affixed to the centre whee^ arbour, 
 on which the minute hand is placed. 
 
 Fig. 9. The minute wheel. 
 
 Fig. 10. The hour wheel. The two last mentioned wheels are 
 turned by the cannon pinion, and having a greater number of teeth, 
 move much slower than the cannon pinion, and mark the hour by 
 the hand on the dial. 
 
 The above is a description of the several wheels alluded to by 
 Paley. Their relative situation, and combined movement, may 
 be seen by the simple inspection of a watch. 
 
 306 
 
PLATE r. 
 
 10 
 
PLATE II, 
 
 7 
 
CHAPTER 111. 
 
 Plate II. — the eye. 
 
 F^ig. 1. The crystalline lens of a fish; it is proporiionably larg:er 
 than in other animals, and perfectly spherical. 
 
 Fig. 2. A section of the human eye. It is formed of \arioiii 
 coais^f or membranes, containing pellucid humours of different de- 
 grees of density, and calculated for collecting the rays of light into 
 a focus, upon the nerve situated at the bottom of the eye-bail. 
 
 The external membrane, called sclerotic^ is strong and firm, and 
 is tne support of the sphericat figure of the eye : it is deficient in the 
 centre, but that part is supplied by the cornea^ which is transparent 
 and projects like the segment of a small globe from one of larger 
 size. The interior of the sclerotic is lined by the choroif which is 
 covered by a dark mucous secretion, termed pigme7itum in- 
 
 tended to absorb the superfluous rays of light. The choroid is rep- 
 resented in the plate by the black line. The third and inner mem- 
 brane, which is marked by the white line, is the retina, the expanded 
 optic nerve. 
 
 Within these coats of the eye, are the humours, a, the aqueous 
 humour, a thin fluid like water ; h, the aystalline lens, of a dense 
 texture; c, the vitreous humour, a very delicate gelatinous substance, 
 named from its resemblance to melted glass. Thus the ciystalline 
 is more dense than the vitreous, and the vitreous more dense than 
 the aqueous humour: they are all perfectly transparent, and togeth- 
 er make a compound lens, which refracts the rays of light issuing 
 from an object, d, and delineates its figure e, in the focus upon the 
 reiina, inverted. 
 
 Fig. 3. The lens of the telescope. 
 
 Fig. 4. The crystalline lens, or, as it has been called, the crystal 
 line humour, of the eye. 
 
 Fig. 5, 6. A plan of the circular and radiated fibres which tne 
 iris is supposed to possess ; the former contracts, the latter dilates 
 the pupil, or aperture formed by the inner margin of the iris. 
 
 Fig. 7. a, a, a, a, the four straight muscles, arising from the bol 
 tom of the orbit, where they suiTound, c, the optic nen^e ; and are 
 inso ted by broad, thin tendons at the fore part of the globe of the 
 eve into the tunica sclerotica. 
 
 311 
 
CHAPTER 111. 
 
 Plate III. — the eye of birds and of the eel. 
 
 Fig. 1,2. T^ie Jlexihle lim, or hoop, of the eye of birds, consist* 
 mg of bony plates, which occupy the front of the sclerotic; lying 
 close together and overlapping each other. These bony plates in 
 general form a slightly convex ring. Fig. 1, but in the accipitres 
 they form a concave ring, as in Fig. 2, the bony rim of a hawk. 
 
 Fig. 3, 4, 6. Exhibit the marsupium; it arises from the back of 
 the eye, proceeding apparently through a slit in the retina ; it pas- 
 ses obliquely into the vitreous humour, and terminates in that part, 
 as in the eagle. Fig. 3, a section of the eye of the falco chrysaetos. 
 In some species it reaches the lens, and is attached to it as in Fig. 
 4, 6. In the plate the marsupium is marked with a 
 
 Fig. 5. The head of an eel ; the skin is represented turned back ; 
 and as the transparent, homy covering of the eye, a, a, is a cuticular 
 covering, it is separated with it. Other fish have a similar, insensi- 
 ble, dense, and thick adnata, which is designed to protect the eye ; 
 and it seems es| ecially necessary, as fish have no eyelids. 
 
 312 
 
PLATE III. 
 
 5 
 
PLATE IV. 
 
 4 
 
 5 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 Plate IV. — the lachrymal apparatus and nictitatino 
 
 MEMBRANE. 
 
 Fig. 1. a, is the organ which supplies this fluid, called the lachry- 
 'nal gland, it is situated at the outer and upper part of the orbit of 
 the eye. This is the gland which secretes or separates the tears 
 from the blood. There are five or six ducts or tubes, b, which con 
 vey this fluid to the globe of the eye, for the purpose of keeping it 
 moist, and for facilitating its movements ; the motion of the eyelid 
 difliises the tears, and c, c, the puncta lachrymalia, take up the su- 
 perfluous moisture, which passes tlirougli d, the lachrymal sac and 
 duct into the nostril at e. 
 
 Fig. 2. The nictitating membrane, or tliird eyelid ; it is a thin 
 semi-transparent fold of the conjunctive, which, in a state of rest, 
 lies in the inner corner of the eye, with its loose edge nearly verti- 
 cal, but can be drawn out so as to cover the whole front of the 
 globe. In this figure it is represented in the act of being drawn 
 over the eye. By means of this membrane, according to Cavier, the 
 eagle is enabled to look at the sun. 
 
 Fig. 3. The two muscles of the nictitating membrane are vei v 
 singular in their form and action ; they are attached to the back of 
 the sclerotica; one of them, a, which from its shape is called quad- 
 ratus, has its origin from the upper and back part of the sclerotica ; 
 its fibres descend towards the optic nerve, and terminate in a cur- 
 ved margin with a cylindrical canal in it. The other muscle, b, 
 which is called pyramidalis, arises from the lower and back part of 
 the sclerotica. It has a long tendinous chord, c, which passes through 
 the canal of the quadratus, a, as a pulley, and having arrived at the 
 lower and exterior part of the eye-ball, is inserted into the loose 
 edge of the nictitating membrane. This description refei-s also to 
 Fig. 4, a profile of the eye, and Fig. 5, the membrane and its mus- 
 rle.s detached from the eye. 
 
 Cc* 
 
 317 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 P 1 .ATE V. THE HUMAN EAR, AND TYMPANUM OF THE iXEPHA^T 
 
 Fig. 1. The organ of hearing; a, the external ear ; Z>,the meaiiu 
 iiiditoj'ius extemus, or outward passage of the ear; leading to c, tlie, 
 memhrana tympanic or drum ; c?, the ossicula auditus, or httle hones 
 of tiie ear; e, the semicircular canals ;f, the cochlea; g, a section of 
 the eustacldan tube, which extends from the cavity of the tympa- 
 num, to the back of the mouth or fauces. 
 
 Fig. 2. The bones of the ear magnified, a, the malleus, or mal- 
 let, connected by a process to the tympanum ; the round head is 
 lodged in the body of, h, the incus, or anvil, and the incus is united 
 to, c, the os orbiculare, or round bone, and this to, d, the stapes, or the 
 stirrup. These bones are named from their shape, and the names 
 assist in conveying an idea of their form. They are united by lig- 
 aments, and form an uninterrupted chain to transmit the vibrations 
 of the atmosphere. 
 
 F iG. 3. The labyrinth, so named from the intricacy of its cavi 
 ties ; it is situated in the petrous part of the temporal bone, and con- 
 sists of the vestibule, or central cavity, three semicircular canals, and 
 cochlea, so named from its resemblance to the windings of a snail 
 shell, and is best explained by the plate. Fig. 1, and 3. 
 
 The vibrations of sounds, striking against the membrana tympa- 
 ni, are propagated by the intervention of these four little bones, to 
 the water contained within the cavities of the labyrinth ; and by 
 means of this water the impression is conveyed to the extremities 
 of the auditory nerve, and finally to the brain. 
 
 Fish require no tympanum, nor external opening to the ear; the 
 fluid in which they live is the medium for conducting souiuls 
 through the bones of the head. 
 
 Fig. 4. The tympanum of the elephant, of its natural size, show- 
 ng ils radiated fibres, supposed to be musculai*. 
 
 318 
 
PLATE V 
 
 4 
 

PLATE VI, 
 
CHAPTER VIL 
 
 Plate VL — trochlear muscle of the eye, and kidney. 
 
 Fig. 1. The trochlear or superior oblique muscle, aiiscs with the 
 straight muscles from the bottom of the orbit. Its muscular poriioiij 
 a, is extended over the upper part of the eye-ball, and gradually as- 
 sumes the form of a smooth, round tendon, 6, which passes through 
 the pulley, c, and is fixed to the inner edge of the orbit, d, then re- 
 turning backwards and downwards, eis inserted into,y5the sclerotic 
 membrane. The use of this muscle is to bring the eye forwards, 
 and to turn the pupil downwards and upwards. 
 
 Fig. 2. A section of the human kidney ; a, the emulgent artery^ 
 which conveys the blood to, 6, ihepapxlleB^ where the peculiar fluid 
 is secreted ; from whence it passes by tubes into, c, the pelvis; 6, the 
 ureter^ or tube, which conducts the secretion to its receptacle ; d^ 
 the emulgent vein^ for returning the blood, after it has been submit- 
 ted to the acti )n of the gland. 
 
 323 
 
CHAPTER VIIl. 
 
 Plate VIL — vertebras of the human neck. 
 
 Fig. 1. A representation of the head and the neck ; the latter is 
 composed of seven bones called verteircE. 
 
 Fig. 2. Exhibits the fii*st and second vertebi*?e, wth their mode 
 of connexion. The uppermost vertebra, termed the atlas, from iis 
 siip[)oiting the globe of the head, has an oval concave suidace on 
 either side, a, a, for the reception of two coiTesponding convex 
 surfaces placed on the lower part of the head, in such a manner 
 as only to admit of the action of bending and raising the head. 
 
 Fig. 3. The atlas. 
 
 Fig. 4. The second vertebra, called dentata, has two plane sur- 
 faces, a, a, adapted to the planes, a, a, Fig. 3, of the atlas: and this 
 manner of articulation provides for the turning of the head laterally 
 in almost every direction. Fig. 2. and 4, b, b, show the tooth-like 
 process which affords a firtn pivot for the produc tion of the lateral 
 motion just described. This process is received into a coiTespond- 
 ing indentation of the adas. Fig. 3, 6, and a strong ligament passes 
 behind it, serving as an effectual security against dislocation, and 
 consequent compression of the spinal marrow. Fig. 4, d, marks 
 the situation for the spinal marrow, which passes through the ring 
 of each vertebra. The letter, c, indicates a perforation in the lat- 
 eml process ; and, as there is a corresponding perforation in each 
 lateml, or as k is termed, transverse process of the seven cervical 
 vertebrjB, a contLuious passage is thus fonned for the protection 
 of two important blood-vessels destmed to supply the brain. 
 
 324 
 
PIRATE VII 
 

 
 ,/ 
 
 v;-. 
 
 
 
 If 
 
 
•PLATE VIII. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Plate VIII. — bones of the akm. 
 
 • 
 
 Fig. 1. a, the humerus; the head, 6, is a portion of a sphere, an i 
 exhibits an example of the hall and socket^ or univei*sal joint ; c, tlirt 
 hinge-jointy instanced in the elbow ; d, the radius ; e, the idncu 
 radius belongs more peculiarly to the wrist, being the bone which 
 supports the hand, and which turns with it in all its revolving mo- 
 tions. The ulna principally belongs to the elbow-joint, for by it we 
 perform all the actions of bending or extending the arm. 
 
 Fig. 2. a, the humerus : 6, shows the connexion of the radius, 
 with c, the ulna, at the elbow. The mode of articulation at the 
 wrist is seen, Fig. 1. 
 
 Dd* 
 
 329 
 
CHAPTER VIII, 
 
 Plate IX. — the spine. 
 
 Fig. 1. The human spine, so named from the series of shaip pro- 
 cesses projecting from the posterior part of the veitebrse. The 
 spine consists of seven vertebrai of the neck, distinguished by tJie 
 perforations in their transverse processes ; of twelve belonging tc 
 the back, and marked by depressions for the heads of the ribs and, 
 lastly, of ^ve belonging to the loins, which are larger than the other 
 vertebrae. 
 
 Fig. 2. A separated dorsal vertebra: a, the body of the vertebra^ 
 6, the ring through which the spinal marrow passes: c, c, the artic- 
 ulating surfaces to which the ribs are united. 
 
 Fig. 3. The vertebra of a veiy large seipent, drawn from a spe- 
 cimen belonging to the x\natomy School of Christ Church, Oxford. 
 This figure shows the socket of the vertebra. 
 
 Fig. 4. The ball or rounded joint, evidently calculated for ex- 
 tensive motion. 
 
 Fig. 5. A part of the spine of the same reptile ; it is exceedingly 
 strong, each bone being united to the other by fifteen surfaces of 
 articulation. 
 
 330 
 
PLATE IX, 
 
V. 
 
 I; 
 
PLATE X 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Plate X. — the chest, patella, 4nd shoulder-blade. 
 
 Fig. 1. The spine, ribs, and sternum, constitute the frame work 
 of the chest or thorax. Referring, however, to the plate, or to nature, 
 we observe that the ribs are not continued throughout from the spine 
 to the sternum, but intervening cartilages complete the form of the 
 chest, by connecting the end of the first ten ribs to the breast bone. 
 This is a farther provision, relative to the mechanical function of 
 the lungs, deserving notice. The muscles of respiration enlarge 
 the capacity of the v’hest by elevating the ribs; and during the 
 momentary interval of muscular action, the cartilages, fi'om their 
 great elasticity, restore tlie ribs to their former position. 
 
 Fig. 2. Represents the true shape of the patella, the antenor 
 surface convex. Fig. 3, the posterior surface, which has two con- 
 cave depressions adapted to the condyles of the thigh bone. The 
 projection of the patella, as a lever, or pulley, removes the acting 
 force from the centre of motion, by which means the muscles have 
 a greater advantage in extending the leg. That this bone is “ un- 
 like any other in the body,” is a mistake ; such bones are numerous, 
 though less obvious, for they do not exceed the size of a pea: these 
 are called sesamoid bones, and are formed in the flexor tendons of 
 the thumb, and sometimes in the fingers. They are frequently 
 found under the tendons of some of the muscles. Two of these 
 sort of bones are constantly found under the articulation of the great 
 toe with the foot : some also are discovered, though not so constant- 
 ly, under the corresponding joints of the other toes. The sesamoid 
 bones, like the patella, remove their tendons from the centre of mo- 
 tion, facilitate their glidings over the bone, and protect their artic- 
 ulations. 
 
 Fig. 4. The shoulder-blade [scapula] is joined to the collar bone 
 oy ligaments, and to the thorax by powerful muscles which are ca- 
 ()able of sustaining immense weights, and wnose action gives the 
 various directions to the arm, and enables it freely to revolve at thr 
 shoulder-joint. 
 
 Fig. 5. The os hyoides, a small bone situated at the root of the 
 tongue. It serves as a lever or point for attaching the muscles of 
 the tongue, larynx, and those of deglutition. 
 
 335 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Plate XL — the hip, knee and ankle joints. 
 
 F G. 1. The capsular ligament is here opened in order to shov^ 
 tlie ligament of the hip, named the round ligameiit It allows con- 
 siderable latitude of motion, at the same time that it is the gi*eai 
 safeguard against dislocation. 
 
 Fig. 2 and 4. The crucial or internal ligaments of the knee-joint 
 arise from each side of the depression between the condyles of the 
 thigh-bone ; the anterior is fixed into the centre, tlie posterior into 
 the back of the articulation of the tibia. This structure properly 
 limits the motions of the joint, and gives the firmness requisite for 
 violent exertions. Viewing the form of the bones, we should con- 
 sider it one oPthe weakest and most superficial, but the sti*ength of 
 its ligaments and the tendons passing over it, render it the most 
 secure, and the least liable to dislocation of any joint in the whole 
 Dody. 
 
 Fig. 3. One of the interarticular cartilages of the knee, from their 
 shape called semilunar ; it is also represented in situ, Fig. 2. The 
 outer edge of each cartilage is thick, the inner concave edge thin ; 
 the sockets for the condyles of the thigh-bone are thus rendered 
 deeper, and the cartilages are so fixed as to allow a little play on 
 the tibia, by which the joint moves with great freedom. 
 
 A moving cartilage is not common, but is peculiar to those joints 
 whose motions are veiy frequent, or which move under a great 
 weight. It is a contrivance found at the jaw-bone, the inner head 
 of the collar-bone and the articulation of the wrist, as well as at the 
 knee. The obvious use is to lessen friction and facilitate motion. 
 
 Fig. 4. a, the Jibula; b, the tibna, the lower extremities of which, 
 c, d, form the outer and inner ankle, and receive, c, the great artic- 
 ulating bone of the foot, called the astragalus between them. When 
 the foot sustains the weight of the body the joint is finn, but when 
 rfiised it easily rolls on the ends of these bones, so that the toe is 
 ilirected to the place on which we intend to step. 
 
 336 
 
 ft 
 
PLATE XI. 
 

 r 
 
PLATE XII. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Plate XIL — the sartorius and oblique muscles or thb 
 
 HEAD. 
 
 Fig. 1. a, a, the sartorius, is the longest muscle of the whole 
 fabi-ic : it is extended obliquely across the thigh from the fore part 
 of the hip, to the inner side of the tibia. Its office is to bend the 
 knee, and bring the leg inwards. 
 
 Fig. 2. There are two pairs of oblique muscles ; a, a, the ohliquus 
 capitis superior, arising from the transvei*se process of the atlas, and 
 uiserted into the occipital bone ; b, h, the ohliquus capitis inferior, 
 arising from the spinous process of the dentata, and inserted into 
 the transverse process of the atlas. I’hese muscles roll the head 
 on one side, ana draw it backwards. 
 
 Ee^ 
 
 341 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 Plate XIII. — the muscles of the ^rm. 
 
 Fig. I. a, the biceps, (biceps flexor cubiti) arise oy two portions 
 from the scapula ; tliey form a thick mass of flesh in the middle 
 of the arm, which is finally inserted into the upper end of the ra- 
 dius ; b, the brachiccus intemus, arises from the middle of the os 
 humeri, and is inserted into the ulna. Both these muscles bend the 
 fore-arm. c, the longus et brevis brachimis extemus ; these are bet- 
 ter named as one muscle, triceps extensor ciibiti. It is attached to 
 the inferior edge of the scapula, and to the os humeri, by three 
 distinct heads, which unite and invest the whole back part of the 
 none, becoming a strong tendon which is implanted into the elbow. 
 It is a powerful extensor of the fore-arm. d, the anconceiis, a small 
 triangular muscle, situated at the outer side of the elbow: it assists 
 the last muscle. ^ 
 
 Fig. I and 2. c, c, the annular ligament of the wrist, under 
 which pass the tendons of the muscles of the fingers. 
 
 Fig. 1. y; the deltoid muscle; the muscle at the shoulder by 
 which the arm is raised. 
 
 342 
 
PLATE XIII. 
 
PLATE XIV. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 Plate X1\ — the muscles that raise the eye-lids, and 
 
 SPHINCTER OR CIRCULAR MUSCLES. 
 
 Fig. 1. A front view of this muscle, named levator paJpebrcB sk^ 
 verioris: Fig. 2. a profile of the same in its natural position. This 
 muscle arises within the orbit, and is inserted by a broad tendon 
 into the upper eye-lid. Its name is expressive of its use. 
 
 Fig. 3. Exhibits examples of sphincter muscles: a, a, the orbi- 
 cidans palpebrarum^ encircling the eyelid ; it closes the eye, and 
 compresses it with spasmodic force, when injured by particles of 
 dust, &c. &, the orbicularis oris, surrounding the mouth ; its chief 
 use is to contract the lips. 
 
 347 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Plate XV — the digastric muscle. 
 
 Fig. 1 and 2. The digiistric muscle has its origin, a, at the lower 
 part of the temporal [)one; it runs downwards and forwards, and 
 forms a strong, round tendon, 6, which passes through a pei-foration 
 in the stylo-hyoideus muscle, f ; it is then fixed by a strong liga- 
 ment, c, to the os hyoides, d ; it again becomes fleshy, runs ilpwards, 
 and is inserted into, e, the chin. This description differe from Dr. 
 Paley’s, and it will be found by reference to dissections or the plate, 
 that the os hyoides furnishes a stay or brace instead of a pulley, 
 and that the hop or ring is in the stylo-hyoideus muscle. 
 
 348 
 
PLATE XV, 
 
PLATE 
 
 XVI, 
 
CHAITER IX. 
 
 Plate XVI. — the tendons of the toes. 
 
 Fio. 1. a, the tendon of the long flexor of the toes, which divides 
 about the middle of the foot into four portions, passing through the 
 slits in, h, the short flexor tendons. Fig. 2. explains a similar con- 
 trivance belonging to each finger: a, a tendon of the flexor sublimi ^ ; 
 b, a tendon of the flexor profundus, passing through it. 
 
 Fig. 3. a, b, tendons of the extensor muscles of the toes; c.a 
 tendon of a flexor of the foot. These are bound down and retain- 
 ed in situ by, c, the anmdar ligament of the instep, which consists 
 of two distinct cross bands, going from the outer ankle to the inner 
 ankle and neighbouring bones. 
 
 Ff* 
 
 353 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 Plate XVIL — the heart. 
 
 Fig. 1. A section of the human heart; a, a, the superior and in 
 ferior vena cava^ the a eins which convey the blood to the. 6, righi 
 mncle ; and thence into, c, the corresponding venfncZe ; from this 
 ventricle the blood is impelled through, e, the pulmonary artery^ in- 
 to the lungs ; and returning by^^/, the pidmonary veins, it is receiv- 
 ed into, g, the left aur'cle ; it flows next into, h, the left ventmcle ; 
 which by its contraction distributes the blood through the general 
 arterial system: — j, tlie aorta, the great artery which transmits 
 blood to the different parts of the body, from whence it is returned 
 by veins to the cav(B ; k, the right subclavian ; I, the right carotid 
 arteries, originating from one common trunk ; m, the carotid ; 
 n, the left subclavian ; d, the valves of the right ; i, the valves of 
 the left ventricle. 
 
 Fig. 2. The valves of the right side (tricuspid valves) separated 
 from tlie heart ; a, a, a, the camacB columnce, or muscular fibres of 
 the valves ; h, b, 6, the chordce tendincce, or tendinous filaments which 
 are attached to, c, the valves. 
 
 Fig. 3. Exliibits the aiiery cut open with tlie form of the semilu- 
 nar valves* 
 
 Fig. 4. A portion of the arteiy filled, showing how effectually 
 the valves prevent the retrograde motion of the blood in the aorta 
 and pulmonary zuteiy. 
 
 Fig. 5, 6. A section of a cutting and gidnding tooth, showing 
 the apertures at the root and the cavities for the vessels and nerves, 
 which supply the bony pait of the teeth, the enamel not being an 
 organized substance. 
 
 354 
 
plate xvii. 
 
PLATE XVIII, 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 Plate XVIIL — the stomach, gall-bladder, &:u. 
 
 Fig. 1. a, the stomach; 6, the cardia ; c, the 'pylorus. The gastric 
 juice is a secretion derived from the inner membrane of the stom- 
 ach, and digestion is principally performed by it. In the various 
 orders of animated beings it differs, being adapted to the food on 
 which they are accustomed to subsist. The food, when properly 
 masticated, is dissolved by the gastric fluid, and converted into 
 chyme ; so that most kinds of tlie ingesta lose their specific quauiies • 
 and the chemical changes to which they would otherwise be liable, 
 as putridity and rancidity, &c. are thus prevented. 
 
 In this plate, h, the liver is turned up, in order to show the gall- 
 bladder which is attached to its concave surface ; d, the duodenum ; 
 c, part of the small intestines ; f, the pancreas ; and g, the spleen. 
 
 Fig. 2. Explains the several ducts and their communicaticn with 
 ihe duodenum ; a, XhQ gcdl-hladder ; 6, the ductus cysticus; which 
 uniting with, c, the ductus hepaticus, forms, d, the ductus communis ; 
 which, after passing between the muscular and inner coats of the 
 intestine, opens into it at e, f, the pancreatic duct. The bile is said 
 to become more viscid, acrid, and bitter, from the thinner i)arts being 
 absorbed during its retention in the gall-bladder. 
 
 359 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 Pirate XIX. — the lacteals, and thoracic duct. 
 
 The figure in this plate represents the course of the food, from ite 
 CL ranee at the mouth to its assimilation with the blood ; a, the (Esoph 
 (tgus, extending from the pharynx to, 6, the stomach ; where the ali- 
 mentaiy matter, ha vuig undergone the digestive process, is converted 
 into chyme^ a soft, homogeneous substance, and escapes at c, the py- 
 lorus, into, d, the intestines. In this plate a large portion of the lat- 
 ter is spread out to show a part of the absorbent system, called lac- 
 teals : these collect and imbibe the chyle, or milky juice from the 
 chyme, and transmit it through e,e, the mesenteric glands, into one 
 general receptacle, f, (receptacidum chyli,) from wliich, g, the tho- 
 racic duct ascends in a more or less tortuous direction to the lower 
 vertebrsB of the neck, and after forming an arch, it descends and 
 entere h, the left subclavian vein, at the point where that vein is 
 united with the interned jugular. The absorbents of the right side 
 fiecpiently form a trunk, which enters the right subclavian vein. 
 
 360 
 
PLATE XIX 
 
PLATE XX. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 Plate XX. — the parotid gland. 
 
 Fig. 1. A dissection to exhibit tlie parotid gland. 
 
 Fig. 2. Explains the former ; a, a, the integuments turned hack; 
 parotid gla;nd ; c, its pipe or duct passing over the masseter, 
 then perforating, d, the buccinator muscle^ and opening into the 
 mouth opposite the second molar tooth. The flow of wiliva into 
 the mouth is incessant, and it is one oi' the most useful digestive 
 fluids. It is favorable to the maceration and division of the (bod, 
 it assists it in degluition and transformation into chyme; it also 
 rendera more easy the motions of the tongue in speech ainJ 
 singing. 
 
 Gg* 
 
 365 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 Plate XXL — the larynx. 
 
 Fig. 1 The larynx^ pharynx^ &c. a, the os hyoides^ 6, the epiglottis 
 pressed down, thus covering the glottis, or opening of the larynx ; 
 as it does in the act of deglutition. 
 
 Fig. 2. Exhibits the larynx, and trachea; which is a continua- 
 tion of the former ; h, the epiglottis ; g, the arytenoid cartilages ; e 
 die thyroid cartilage, exceedingly strong, for the protection of the 
 upper part of the air tube ; d, the cartilaginous ringlets of the trachea 
 or ivind-pipe, each forming nearly two-thirds of a circle, and com 
 pleted by f, a soft membrane, which, from its apposition to, e. Fig. 
 ], the oesophagus, accommodates itself to tne substances passing 
 into the stomach. 
 
 Fig. 3. The larynx or upper part of the wind-pipe of a liird. 
 Tliis is called the infenor larynx, where the vocal organ is formed 
 by a compression of the trachea, for it is here contracted into a 
 nari'ow chink, and divided into two openings by a slender bone, 
 or tense membrane, which, in producing sounds, resembles the 
 mechanism of a musical instrument. In the plate this part of the 
 larynx is a little turned up to show the tendinous hand at this ex- 
 tremity stretched across it, which is furnished from the surrounding 
 parts with muscles to modulate the tone. 
 
 366 
 
PLATE XXI 
 


PLATE XXII. 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 Plate XXIL— package of the viscera, and mesentery. 
 
 Fig. 1. In this plate the parietes of the chest and abdomen, with 
 die omentum, are removed to show the viscera in situ; a, tli<3 
 heart; 6, the aorta; c, the descending vena cava; d, the lungs divi- 
 der! by the mediastinum into two [lortions ; three lobes belong to 
 the right, and two to the left portion of the lungs; e,the diaphragm^ 
 or that muscle which separates the thorax from the abdomen ; /, the 
 liver ; g*, the gall-bladder ; h, the stomach ; i, tlie spleen ; k, the large 
 intestines ; I, the small intestines ; m, the bladder. 
 
 The viscera of the thorax and abdomen, i. e. the viscera of or- 
 ganic life, are irregidarhj disposed. The agents of volition are 
 double, but the instruments of involuntary motion, namely, the in- 
 terior life, are single, and at least are irregular in their form. 
 
 The several viscera are correctly described in the Theology, and 
 sufficient is said for the purposes for which they are introduced. 
 To the supposed use of the spleen only an objection must be taken : 
 various hypotheses have been entertained as to its office, but none 
 are conclusive ; the most probable is, that it is a source of supply 
 of blood for fumishing the gastric secretion, or that the blood un- 
 dergoes some important change in it. 
 
 Fig. 2. The mesentery. This membrane is fonried by a reflec- 
 tion of the periton(Eum from each side of the vertebrae ; it connects 
 the intestines loosely to the spine, to allow them a certain degi*ee 
 of motion, yet retains them in their places; and furnishes their ex- 
 terior covering. Between the laminae of, a, the mesentery, are re- 
 ceived the glands, vessels, and nerves ; and its extent admits of a 
 proj or distril ution of each. 
 
 871 
 
CIlAP'i’KK X!!. 
 
 Plate Will. — ^nerves uf the bill of a pick, .alvil.^ 
 
 tU>MVK.\TKS. CHAP. XIII. AIR-P> LAPPF H OF A PISH, AM; 
 
 FANG OF THE VIPER 
 
 Fig. 1. The iijiper mandiblt of the duck, on wliich are distri- 
 biiied the first and second branches of tlie fifth pair of neiTes; the 
 former passing through the orbit to the extremity of the bill, and, 
 together with the latter, supplying the whole palatine surface. 
 This gustatory sensibility is the more necessary to those races ot 
 birds called palmipedes, such as penguins, the wild goose, ducks, 
 &:c. and the grallte, such as water-hens, curlews, woodcocks, &c. 
 their sight being of no assistance to them in finding their prey in 
 the mire. 
 
 Fig. 2. A small portion of the human intestine cut open in 
 order to show the valvvla conniventes. It may be questioned, 
 whether these extremely soft rugae or folds of the villous coat of 
 the intestine can in the least retard the passage of the food througli 
 its canal ; nor does the erect attitude of man require them ; for, 
 since there are as many of the convolutions of the intestines ascend- 
 ing as there are descending, the weight of the food can have no in- 
 fluence in the action of the intestine : it is certain, however, that 
 this arrangement of the internal coat, affords a more extensive sur- 
 face for the lacteals and secreting vessels ; and this appeal's to be the 
 real use of the vcdvidce conniveiites. 
 
 Fig. 3. The air-bladder in the roach. This vessel diffei's in size 
 and shape, in difiercnt species of fish ; generally communicating, 
 by one or more ducts, either with the oesophagas or stomach ; by 
 which means the fish receives or expels the air, tlius sinking or 
 rising without effort: but as some are destitute of this organ, it is 
 consiilered as an accessary instrument of motion. Such fish live 
 almost uniformly at the bottom of the wat(‘r. 
 
 Fig. 4. The head of a viper of the natural size. 
 
 Fig. 5. The fang magnified, at the root of which is the gland 
 wMich secretes the venom : a hair is represented in the tube tlirougb 
 w iiich the poison is ejected. 
 
 F'ig. 6, 7. See note, p. 126. 
 
 372 
 
PILATE XXIII 
 

 
> 
 
 \ 
 
PLATE XXIV. 
 
CHAPTER XIIL 
 
 Plate XXIV. — the opossum. 
 
 •* 
 
 Fig. 1. The American opossum ; [didelphis marsupiulis virginia- 
 wa.) The body of the animal is of a grayish yellow color, some 
 haii*s entirely black, with others entirely white ; the tail furnished 
 with scales ; the hands, nose, and ears naked. The female has the 
 whole lengtli of the belly clefl or slit, and appears like a person’s 
 waistcoat buttoned only at the top and bottom. This cavity tho 
 animal has the power of fu'mly closing. Within are thirteen teats, 
 extremely small, one in the centre, and the rest ranged round it. 
 
 Fig. 2. One of the young of the opossum. 
 
 Fig. 3. The pelvis of the opossum ; a, a, the two bones {ossa 
 marsupialia) placed on the anterior part called the ossa pubis. 
 
 The kangaroo and several other animals of New Holland have 
 a sinflar structure. 
 
 Hh* 
 
 377 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Plate XXV. — claw of the heron, and bill of the soland 
 
 GOOSE. 
 
 Fig. I. The middle claw of the heroru 
 
 Fig. 2. The head of the Soland goose, {pelicantis hassanusy drawn 
 from a specimen in tlie Ashmolean Museum, Oxford. This bird 
 inhabits the coldest parts of Great Bntaln, more especially the nortli- 
 em isles of Scotland. The inhabitants of St. Kilda make it thek 
 principal article of food, and are said to consume annually near 
 30,000 young birds, beside an amazing quantity of eggs. 
 
 378 
 
PLATE XXV. 
 
 1 
 

 . -■ 
 
 
PLATE XXVI. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Plate XXVI. — stomach of the camel. 
 
 The figure in this plate exhibits the cells in the stomach of (hi 
 tamely from a prepai-ation in the museum of tlie Royal College of 
 Surgeons, London. In the camel, dromedary, and lama, there are 
 four stomachs, as in horned ruminants; but the structuje, in some 
 respects, differs from those of the latter. The camel tribe have iu 
 the first and second stomach numerous cells, several inches deep 
 formed by bands of muscular fibres crossing each other at right an- 
 gles ; these are constructed so as to retain the water, and conn»lete- 
 ly exclude the food. In a camel dissected by Sir E. Home, the cells 
 of the stomach were found to contJiin two gallons of water ; but in 
 consequence of the muscular contraction, which had taken jilace 
 immediately after death, he was leil to conclude this was a quanti- 
 ty much less than these cavities were caj)able of receiving in the 
 living animal. See Lectures on Comparative Anatomy, by Sir E. 
 Home, vol. i. p. IG8. 
 
 Mr. Bruce states, in his Travels, that he procured four gallons of 
 water from a camel, which fi'om necessity he slaughtered in Upper 
 Egypt. 
 
 383 
 
CHAPTER XIIL 
 
 Plate XXVII. — tongue of the woodpecker, and skull o 
 
 THE BABYROUESSA. 
 
 Fio. 1. The head of the woodpecker^ {picus viridis,) 
 
 Fig. 2. The tongtie, the natural size. 
 
 Fig. 3. The claw of the same bird, refeiTed to in Chap. V. 
 
 Fig. 4. The skidl of the babyroiiessa, from a specimen in the 
 Anatomy School, Christ Church, Oxford. 
 
 This animal is nearly the size of the common hog, and instead of 
 bristles, is covered w ilh fine short and woolly hair, of a deej) brown 
 or black color. It is also distinguished by the extraordinary position 
 and form of the upper tusks, which are not situated on the edge of 
 the jaw, as in other animals, but are placed externally, jierforating 
 the skin of the snout, and tuniing upwards towards the forehead. 
 
 The babyrouessa is found in large herds in many parts of Java, 
 Amboina, and other Indian islands, and feeds on vegetables. 
 
 884 
 
PLATE XXVII, 
 
 2 
 
PLATE XXVIII. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Plate XXVIIL — temporary and permanent teeth. 
 
 Fig. 1. The gums and oiuer plate of the bone are removec 
 showing the teeth of the infant, as they exist at the time of its biilh , 
 tiiey are without roots, and contained in a capsule witliin the jaws. 
 
 Fig. 2, In this figure, also, the outer alveolar plate of the jaws 
 has been removed to show the succession of teeth. This is the 
 state at six years of age. The temporal'll teeth are all shed between 
 the ages of seven and fourteen, and are supplied by the permanent 
 teeth already nearly perfectly formed, and situated at the roots of 
 tlie former. 
 
 li* 
 
 389 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Plate XXIX. — foramen ovale, and ductus arteriosus. 
 
 F 10. 1 . A view of the foetal heart ; a, the ascending, &, the de- 
 scending vena cava ; c, the right auricle ; d, c, yj mark the elevated 
 ring of the foramen ovale^ or the opening between the two auricles. 
 
 Fig. 2. The foetal heart; a, the pulmonary artery; &, 6, its 
 branches ; c, the ductus arteriosus^ or canal for transmitting the l)lood 
 into, d, the aorta. As the lungs are useless in the foetus, unless as 
 a “ prospective contrivance,” ilie heart has to carry on a single cir- 
 culation only: the free communication between the two auricles 
 identifies them as one cavity; and toe ventricles also force the 
 blood into one vessel, the aorta. 
 
 390 
 
PLATE XXIX. 
 
 2 
 
3 ^* 
 
 
 f' 
 
PLATE XXX, 
 
CIIAPTHRS XV. AWD XVL 
 
 Plate XXX. — fore extremity of the mole — head of the 
 
 El-EPHANT — finger-like EXTREMITY OF THE PROBtjSCIb SEC- 
 TION OF THE PROBOSCIS BAT’s WING BILL OF THE PARROT 
 
 — -EYES OF INSECTS EYES OF A SPIDER. 
 
 Fig. 1. Is the fore extremity of the mole ; a, the os humeri, is pe- 
 culiar, not only for its shortness, but in being articulated by b, one head 
 to the scapula, and by c, another to the clavicle ; it is altogether of such a 
 nature as tc turn the palm outwards for working. 
 
 The foot, or we may name it the hand, has eleven bones in the carpus 
 or wrist, wh.ch is two more than the carpus of man. One of which, d, 
 is remarkable, and from its shape is called the falciform hone; it gives 
 the shovel form to the hand. 
 
 Fig. 2. The head the Elephant, 
 
 Fig. 3. and 4. The digitated extremity of the proboscis. 
 
 Fig. 5. A transverse section of the proboscis, showing, a, a, the two 
 tubes or nostrils. Between the external integuments and the tubes are 
 two sets of small muscles ; an inner one running in a transverse, and an 
 outward one in a longitudinal direction : 6, b, the transverse faciculi of 
 n\uscles, some of which run across the proboscis, others in a radiated, and 
 some in an oblique direction : c, c, the radiated, and d, d, the f)hh.que fi- 
 bres approximate the skin and the tubes, without contracting the cavity of 
 the latter. The others, which pass across the proboscis, contract both 
 the surface of the organ, and the canals it contains ; they can, at the same 
 time, elongate the whole or a part of it : e, e, the lonoitudinal faciculi, 
 forming four large muscles, which occupy all the exterior of the organ. 
 
 Fig. 6. The extended wings of the bat. Ostrologically considered, 
 they are hands, the bony stretches of the membrane being tho finger 
 bones extremely elongated : a, a, the thumb, is short, and armed with a 
 nooked nail, which these animals make use of to hang by, and to creep. 
 The hind feet are weak, and have toes of equal length, armed also with 
 hooked nails ; the membrane constituting the wing, is continued from the 
 feet to the tail. 
 
 Fig. 7. The upper mandiMe of the parrot, which is articulated with 
 the cranium by an elastic ligament, admitting of a considerable degree 
 of motion. 
 
 Fig. 8. An eye compounded of a number of lenses. The eyes of in- 
 sects differ widely from vertebrated animals, by being incapable of mo- 
 tion ; the compensation, therefore, is a greater number of eyes, or an eye 
 compounded of a number of lenses. Hook computed the lenses in a 
 horse-fly to amount to 7,000, and Leuwenhoek found the almost incredi 
 ble number of 12,000 in the dragon-fly. 
 
 Fig. 9. The eyes of a spider, drawn from nature. The number ol 
 eyes in insects varies from two to sixteen. The spider here referrea to 
 answers the description of the garden spider, {Kpeira Dindema,) the 
 eyes of which are planted on three tul ercles, four on the central one, and 
 two on each side of the lateral ones. 
 
 BO 5 
 
CHAPTER XVL 
 
 pLAlE XXXL THE CHAMELEON, AND INTESTINE OF THE 
 
 SEA-FOX. 
 
 Fig. 1. The chameleon^ drawn from one of the species prcser\’ed 
 in the Anatomy School, Clirist Churcli, Oxford. The eyes of lliis 
 creature are very peculiar: they are remarkably large, and project 
 more than half their diameter. They are covered with a single 
 eye-lid, witli a small opening in it opposite the pupil. The eye-lid is 
 granulated like every part of the surface of the body, with this differ- 
 ence, over the eye the gi’anulations are disposed in concentric circles 
 which form folds in that part to which the eye is turned : and as 
 the lid is .attached to the front of the eye, so it follows all its move- 
 ments. The neck is not “inflexible,” but its shortness, and the 
 structure of the ceiTical vertebrae exceedingly limit the motion; 
 this, however, is admirably compens.ated by the not less singular 
 local position than motion of the eye, .as the animal can see behind, 
 before, or on either side, without turning the head. 
 
 Fig. 2. The spiral intestine of the cut open; taken from 
 
 a preparation in the museum of the Royal College of Surgeons, 
 London. The sea-fox is not, as Paley supposes, a “quadruped 
 but a species of sliark, (squalus vul[)es.) The convoluted intestinal 
 tube is also found in some other genera of fish. In this specimen 
 the internal membrane is converted into a spiral valve, having 
 thirty-six coils ; so that the alimentary substances, instead of passing 
 speedily away, by proceeding round the turns of the valve, traverse 
 a very consiilerable circuit: an extensive surface for the absorbents 
 .s thus provided. 
 
 Fig. 3. The spiral valve removed, showing the mode of its 
 soiling. 
 
 396 
 
PLATE XXXT. 
 
PLATE XXXII. 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Plate XXXII. — the wings of the beetle, awl, sting of 
 
 THE BEE, PROBOSCIS, &C. 
 
 Fig. 1. Is an instance of the homy and gauze wings in one of 
 the most beautiful of the becile class of tliis country, the cetonia 
 auraia, or rose chafer; showing the expanded elytra^ a, a: the true 
 wings, b, h. 
 
 Elytra are the wing covers of all the coleoptera order. They 
 are frequently grooved, and curiously ornamented, in some spe- 
 cies with scaly variegations of metallic lustre, as in the diamond 
 beetle, and some species of Buprestis. One of the latter, of extra- 
 ordinary brilliancy, forms an object in the “Cabinet of Beauty’- 
 in the Ashmolean Museum. The use of the elytra is to protect the 
 wings and body; and they are of some assistance in flying. 
 
 Fig. 2. A specimen of tlie elytra covering half the body in the 
 tar-ivig^ (forficula auricularia:) one of the elytra is .extended, and 
 the membranous wing unfolded ; showing the numerous diverging 
 nervures, or “ muscular tendons,” whicli run in horny tubes, to keep 
 the wing extended, a, a, anteim/B usually consist of a number of tu- 
 bular joints, with a free motion in each, enabling the insect to giv€' 
 them every necessary flexure; they vary in number and in shape 
 in tiie various orders, and are covered with hair, down, or bristles, 
 frequently elegant and diversifled, as every one may observe. En- 
 tomologists conceive, that the anteiinre, by a peculiar structure, 
 may collect notices from the atmosphere, receive vibrations, and 
 communicate tjiem to the sensorium, which, though not jirecisely 
 to be called hearing, is something analogous to it, or may answer 
 that purpose. 
 
 Fig. 3. The aivl of the cestruin bovis, or gad-fly, highly magni- 
 fied. It is formed of corneous substance, consisting of four joints, 
 which slip into each other: the last of these terminate in five 
 points, three of which are longer than the others, and are hooked : 
 when united, they form an instrument like an auger or gimlet, 
 with which the skin is pierced in a few seconds. 
 
 Fig. 4. One of the hooks. 
 
 Fig. 5. The sting of a bee, drawn from nature as it appears b} 
 means of a magnifier of very high powers: a, a, a, a, the appara- 
 tus for [irojecting the sting ; b, the exterior, c, the interior sheath of, 
 
 d, the true sting, which is divided into two parts barbed at the sides ; 
 
 e, the bag which contains the poison. 
 
 Fig. C. The proboscis of a bee extended, a, a, the case oi 
 sheath ; b, the tube ; c, the exterior; d, the interior fringes; e, the 
 tongue ; f, f, the exterior, g, g, the interior palpi. 
 
 Fig. 7. The appearance of the proboscis when contracted, and 
 folded up. 
 
 Fig. 8. The head of a buttei*fly, showing the coded proboscis 
 
 Fig. 9. Ovipositor of the buprestis. 
 
 Kk* 
 
 401 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Plate X.XXIIL — silk secretors of the sii^cworm — spin 
 
 NERETS OF THE SPIDER PANORPA COMMUNIS FEMALE AND 
 
 MALE GLOW-WORM LARVA LIBELLUL^ BREATHING SPIRACU- 
 
 L.^C PUPA OF GNAT — STRATYONIS CHAMELEON. 
 
 Fig. 1. The organs for forming the silk consist of two long vessels. 
 They unite to form the spinneret (fusulus) through which the larva draws 
 the silken thread employed in fabricating its cocoon. «, a, the silk bags, 
 6, the spinneret. 
 
 F’ig. 2. The web of spiders is also a kind of silk, remarkable for its 
 lightness and tenuity; it is spun from four or six anal spinnerets, the fluid 
 j matter forming the web being secreted in adjacent vessels, a, c, d. 
 the sjrinnerets. 
 
 Fig. 3. Panorpa corjwiunis y (Linn.) is an insect frequently seen in 
 meadows during the early part of summer. It is a long-bodicd fly, 
 of moderate size, with four transparent wings, elegantly variegated with 
 deep brown spots. 
 
 Fig. 4. The female glow-worm. 
 
 Fig. 5. The male of the same insect. 
 
 Fig. 6. The larva of some dragon-flies {csshna and lihellula, F.) swim 
 by strongly ejecting water from the anus. By first taking in the water, 
 and then expelling it, they are enabled to swim. This may be seen by 
 putting one of these larva into a plate with water. We find that while 
 the animal moves forward, a currant of water is produced by this pump- 
 ing in a contrary direction. Sometin)es it will raise its tail out of the 
 water, when a stream of water issues from it. 
 
 Fig. 7. The spiracnla, or breathing pores of insects, are small ori- 
 fices in the trunk or abdomen, opening into a canal called the trachece ; 
 by which the air enters the body, or is expelled from it. In the larvae or 
 caterpillars, a trachea runs on each side of the body, under the skin, and 
 generally opens externally by nine or ten apertures or spiraculae ; from 
 these the same nurnber of air-vessels of a silver color pass off to be dis- 
 persed through the body, a, a, spiracula ; h, b, trachea. 
 
 Fig. 8. The pupae of gnats suspend themselves on the surface of the 
 water, by two auriform respiratory organs on the anterior part of the trunk, 
 their abdomen being then folded under the breast ; when disposed to de- 
 scend, the animal unfolds it, and with sudden strokes which she gives 
 w'ith it and her anal swimmers to the water, she swims from right to 
 left, as well as upwards and dow'nwards, with the greatest ease. 
 
 F iG. 9. This is a well known fly, {stratyonis chamceleon, F.) cha- 
 meleon fly. In its first state it inhabits the water, and often remains 
 supported by its radiated tail, consisting of beautiful feathered hairs or 
 plumes, on the surface, with its head downwards. But when it is dis- 
 posed to seek the bottom or to descend, the radii of the tail is formed into 
 a concavity including in it an air bubble ; this is its swim bladder, and by 
 the bending of its body from righ to left, contracting itself into the form 
 of the letter S, and then extend ng itself again into a straight line, it 
 moves itself in any direction. 
 
 402 
 
PLATE XXXIII, 
 
u 
 
plate XXXIV. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Plate XXXIV. — the capsule, pistil, stamina, nioell.!, 
 
 PLUMULE, AND RADICLE. 
 
 Fig. 1. The capsule or seed-vessel of the poppy: (papaver 
 somniferum :) it is divided to exhibit its internal structure. 
 
 Fig. 2. Is an instance of an erect flower, the agave Americana; 
 in which the pistil is shorter than the stamina, a, the pistil ; 6, the 
 stigma ; c, the stamina ; d, the antherae. 
 
 Fig. 3. A flower of the crown-imperial. The relative length of 
 the parts is now inverted, a, the pistil ; 6, the stamina. 
 
 Fig. 4. A blossom of the nigclla. 
 
 Fig. 5. A grain of barley, showingthe plumule and radicle grow^ 
 ixgfrom iU 
 
 407 
 
 if 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Plate XXXV. — vallisneria. 
 
 Fig. 1. Valisneria spiralis. The female plants the flowers of 
 which arc purple. This is drawn from a specimen in the posses- 
 sion of Dr, Ogle. 
 
 Fig. 2. The male plants producing white flowers; these when 
 mature rise like air bubbles, and suddenly expandhig when they 
 reach the surface of the water, float about in such abundance as to 
 cover it entirely. “ Thus their pollen is scattered over the stigmas 
 of the fii*st mentioned blossoms, whose stalks soon afterwards re- 
 sume their spiral figure, and the fruit comes to maturity at the bot- 
 om of the water.” 
 
 Fig. 3. One of the separated male flowers magnified. 
 
 408 
 
-PLATE XXXVI. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Plate XXXVI. — cuscuta europjea. 
 
 This plant is a native of England, and is found in hedges, on 
 clover, or on beans, where it proves exceedingly injurious to the 
 crop. It flowers from June to August. The drawing was taken 
 from a sy)ecimen which grew in the Physic Gardens, Oxford. Ii 
 is represented twining about some nettles, on which it annually 
 attaches itself. 
 
 “ Of all the parasitical plants, the dodder (cuscuta) tribe are the 
 most singular, trusting for their nourishment entirely to those veg- 
 etables al)out which they twine, and into whose tender bark they 
 inseit small villous tubercles serving as roots, the original root of 
 the dodder withering away entirely, as soon as the young stem has 
 fixed itself to any other plant so that its connexion with the etuih 
 is cut off. ” English Botany, p. 55. 
 
 413 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Plate XXXV 11. — the autumnal cRdcua 
 
 The colchicum autumnale. This j)lam before us exliibits a mode 
 of fructification scarcely j)arallele(i among Hritish v^egetables. Tlie 
 flo\v»n-s appearing very late in autumn, the impregnated germen* 
 remains latent under ground close to tlie hulh till the foIItAving 
 spring, when the capsule rises above the surface accompanied by 
 several long upright leaves, and the seeds are ripened about June, 
 after which the leaves decay. See British Botany, vol. i. p. IBB. 
 The phint is represented as it appears in spring ; the root is divided 
 to show the seed vessel near the bulb. The flower is remarkable 
 for the length of its tube. 
 
 414 
 
PLATE 
 

 v'^ 
 
 
mr': 
 
PLATE XXXVIII. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 PliATE XXXVIIL — THE DIONJEA MUSCIPULA. 
 
 The dionaa muscipulay or Venus’s fly-trap. Some parts of this 
 plant are so remarkable as to desei*ve a particular descnption. It is 
 a native of North Carolina; the root perennial; leaves all radical, 
 supported on long fleshy and strongly veined footstalks, leaving a 
 small portion of this next the leaf naked : the leaf itself consists of 
 two semi-oval lobes jointed at the back, so as to allow them to fold 
 close together ; they are fleshy, and when viewed through a lense 
 glandular, sometimes of a reddish color on the upper surface ; the 
 sides of both lobes are furnished with a row of cartilaginous ciliae 
 which stand nearly at right angles with the surface of the leaf, and 
 lock into each other when they close. Near the middle of each lobe 
 are three small spines, which are supposed to assist in destroying 
 the entrapped insect. In warm weather liie lobes are fully expanded 
 and highly irritable, and if a fly or other insect at this time light 
 upon them they suddenly ^lose, and the poor animal is imprisoned 
 till it dies. See Curtis’s Botanical Magazine, No. 785. 
 
 419 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 Plate XXXIX. — astl onomy. 
 
 Fig. 1,2. The remarkable ring which surrouncs the planot 
 Saturn. 
 
 Fig. 3. The eaithan oblate spheroid. See note, p. 217, 
 
 Fig. 4. See note, p. 220 
 Fig. 5. See note, p. 223. 
 
 Fig, 6. Centripetal forces illustrated. See notes, pp. 219, 226. 
 
 420 
 
PJLATE XXXIX. 
 
 2 
 

GOULD & LINCOLN, 
 
 PUBLISHERS AND BOOKSELLERS, 
 
 59 WASHINGTON STREET, BOSTON, 
 
 CHARLES D. GOULD. JOSHUA LINCOLN^. 
 
 raSf- G. & L. would cnil attention to their extensive list of publications, embracing valuablo 
 works in Theology^ Science, I^itekatuke and Art, Text Books for Schools and 
 Colleges and Miscellaneous, etc., in large variety, the productions of some of the ablest 
 writers, and most seientilic men of the age, among which will be found those of Chambers, 
 Hugh Miller, Agassiz, Gould, Guyot, ^larcou, Bayne, Rogers, Dr. Harris, Dr. Wayland, Dr. 
 Williams, Dr. Ripley, Dr. Kitt», Dr. Krumniacher, Dr. Tweedic, Dr. Choules, Dr. Sprague, 
 Newcomb, iLnvard, “ Walter Aimwell,” Bungener, JMiall, Archdeacon Hare, and others of 
 bke standing and popularity ; and to this list they are constantly adding. Among their lato 
 publications arc the following, viz. : — 
 
 Knowledjjc is Power. The Productive] 
 voices of Modern Society, and the Results 
 of I.abor, Capital, and Skill. By Knight. 
 Illustrated. Am. Edi. Revised, with addi- 
 tions. By D. A. Wells. 12mo. Cloth, 
 ♦1.25. 
 
 Emphatically a book for the people, contain- 
 ing an immense amount of important infor- 
 mation, which everybody ought to possess. 
 
 Annnal of Scientific Discoyery in Sci- 
 ence and Art, exhibiting the most important 
 Discoveries and Improvements in Mechan- 
 ics, Useful Arts, Natural Philosophy, Chem- 
 istrj', Astronom„v, IMetcorology, Zoologj”, 
 Botany, IMincralogy, Geology, Geography, 
 Antiquities, &c. Edited by D. A. V/ellr, 
 A. jM. With a Portrait of Prof. Vfyman. 
 12m0' Cloth, $1.25. 
 
 VOLUMFS OF THE SAME WORK for 1850, 1851, 
 1852, 185o, 18.'54, 1855, 1850. AVith Portraits. 
 $1.25 per volume. 
 
 Chambers’ Cyclopsedia of English 
 
 Literature. The choicest productions of 
 English Aiithors, from the earliest to the 
 present time. Connected by a Biographical 
 llistory. 2 octavo vols. of "700 pages each. 
 300 elegant Illustrations. Cloth, $5. 
 
 Open where jmu will, you will find matter 
 for profit and delight. The selections are 
 gems, — “A xchole English Library fused into 
 one Cheap Book I ” 
 
 Chambers’ Miscellany, with illustra- 
 tions. Ten vols. Cloth, $7.50. 
 
 Chambers’ Home Kook. A Choice Se- 
 lection of Interesting and Instructive Read- 
 ing, for the Old and Young. 6 vols. IGmo. 
 Cloth, $3. 
 
 Cyelopjedia of Anecdotes. A Choice 
 
 Selection of Anecdotes of the various forms 
 of Literature and the Arts, and of the most 
 celebrated Literary Characters and Artists 
 By Kazlitt Arvine, A. M. With Illustra- 
 tions. 725 pages, octavo. Cloth, $3. 
 
 The choicest collection of anecdotes ever 
 published. It contains 3040 anecdotes, 350 fine 
 illustrations, and such is the Avonderful vari- 
 ctv, that it Avill be found an almost inexhaust- 
 ible fund of interest for every class of readers. 
 
 Works by Hn^li Miller: 
 
 Testimony of the Rocks. 
 Footprints of the Creator. 
 
 Old, Red Sand tone. 
 
 My First Impressions of England 
 and its People. 
 
 My Schools and Schoolmates. 
 
 Life of James Montgomery. Abridged 
 
 from the recent London seven vol. ed. By 
 Mrs. II. C. Knight, author of “Lady IIuu- 
 tincton and her Friends.” Illustrated. 12mo. 
 Cloth, $1.25. 
 
 Essays ; in Biography and Criticism. By 
 Peter Bayne, author of the “ Christian 
 Life.” 12mo. Cloth, $1.25. 
 
 Text Books : 
 
 AVayland’s IForal Science and Political 
 Economy. Tlie same, abridged. 
 
 Blake’s Philosophy and Astronomy. 
 Bailey’s Young Ladies' Class-Book. 
 'Dillaavay’s Ronain Antiquities. 
 
 Raley’s Theology. 
 
 Agassiz’ and Co ' ciAi ' s * Zoology. 
 
 Loomis’ Geology. 
 
 Haa^en’s Mental Philosophy. 
 
 Guyot’s Earth and 3lan, and Mxiral Maps. 
 Barton’s Grammar, and Exercises in Coin- 
 jxosition. 
 
 Tliesanrus OF English Words and 
 
 Phrases. So classified as to facilitate the 
 expression of ideas, and to assist in literary 
 composition. By Peter AIark Roget. 
 RcAused and Edited, Avith a List of Foreign 
 AVords defined in English, by Barnas 
 Sears, D. D., Pres, of BroAvn Univ. 12mo. 
 Clotli, $1.50. 
 
 Facilitates a AAwitcr in seizing upon just the 
 light word for his purpose. 
 
 Visits to European Celebrities. By 
 
 AV. B. SpRv\.gue, D. D. 12mo. Cl., $1.00. 
 A scries of graphic and life-like Personal 
 Sketches of the most Distinguished Men and 
 AVomen of Europe. 
 
 Cruise of the North Star. The Ex- 
 cursion made to England, Russia, Denmark, 
 France, Spain, Italy, Malta, Turkey, Ma- 
 deira, etc. By Rev. J. O. Choules, D. D. 
 Illustrations, etc. 12mo. Cloth, gilt, $1.50. 
 
 The iVatnral History of the human 
 
 Species ; Its Typical Forms and Primeval 
 Distribution. By Chas. Hamilton Smith. 
 AVithan Introduction containing an abstract 
 of the vicAvs of Avriters of repute. By Sam- 
 uel Knf.eland, Jr., M. D. AVith Illustra- 
 tions. 12mo. Cloth, $1.25. 
 
 Pile Camel : Ilis organization, Habits and 
 Uses, considered Avith reference to liis intro^ 
 duction into tlic TTnitcd States. By George 
 P ri'\PvSii, 1 '.tc 1^ S. Alinister at Constanti- 
 nople. 12mo. Cloth, 03 cts. 
 
 This book treats of a subject of great inter- 
 st, especially rttlic present time. It furnishes 
 he onlv complete and reliable account of tn* 
 darnel in the language. 
 
•V^LXJ^ELE WORKS 
 
 Diary and Correspondence OF THE I 
 
 late Amos Lawrence. Edited by his 
 sou, Wji, 11. 1..AWKEXCE, M. 1). Octavo, 
 cloth, $1.25 ; also, royal liinio. ed., cl., $1.00. 
 
 Ritto’s Popular Cyclopsedia OF Bib- 
 lical Literature. 500 illustrations. One 
 vol., octavo. 812 pages. Cloth, $8. 
 
 Intended for ministers, theological students, 
 arents. Sabbath-school teachers, and the great 
 ody of the religious public. 
 
 Analytical Concordance of the Holy 
 
 Scriptures ; or, The Bible presented 
 under Classitied Heads or Topics. By John 
 Eadie, D. D. Octavo, 836 pp. $3. 
 
 Dr. Williams’ Works. 
 
 Lectures on tire Lord’s Prayer — He- 
 ligious Progress —Miscellanies. 
 
 Dr. Williams is a profound scholar and 
 n brilliant writer. — A'eu; York Evangelist. 
 
 Modern Atheism. Considered under its 
 
 forms of Pantheism, IMaterialism, Secular- 
 ism, Development and Natural Laws. By 
 James Buchanan, D. D., LL. D. 12mo. 
 Cloth, $1.25. 
 
 The Halligs or the Sheepfold in the 
 Waters. A Tale of Humble Life on the 
 Coast of Schleswig. From the German, by 
 Mrs. George P. Marsh. 12mo. Cl., $1. 
 
 The Snfferinj^ Sarionr. By Dr. krum- 
 
 MACIIER. 12mo. Cloth, $1.25. 
 
 Heaven. By James Wm. Kimball. 12mo. 
 Christian’s Daily Treasury. Religious 
 
 Exercise for every Day in the Year. By 
 Rev. E. Temple. 12mo. Cloth, $1. 
 
 Wayland’s Sermons, Delivered in the 
 
 Chapel of Brown Univ. 12mo. Cl., $1.00. 
 
 Entertaining and Instructive Works 
 
 FOR THE Young. Elegantly illustrated. 
 IGmo. Cloth, gilt backs. 
 
 The American Statesman. Life and Char- 
 acter of Daniel Webster. — Young Americans 
 Abroad ; or Vacation in Europe. — The 
 Island Home ; or the Young Cast-a ways. — 
 Pleasant Pages for Young People. — The 
 Guiding Star. — The Poor Boy and Mer- 
 chant Prince. 
 
 The Aimwell Stories. Resembling 
 and quite equal to the “Hollo Stories.” — 
 Christian Register. By Walter Aimavell. 
 Oscar; or the Boy Avho had his own way. — 
 Clinton ; or Boy-Life in the Country. — Ella; 
 or Turning over a New Leaf. — Whistler ; 
 or The Manly Boy. — Marcus ; or the Boy 
 Tamer. 
 
 Works by Rev. Harvey Newcomb. 
 JIou) to he a Lady. — JIow to he a Man. — 
 Anecdotes for Boys. — Anecdotes for Girls. 
 
 Banvard’s Series of American His- 
 tories. Plymouth and the Pilgi'ims. — 
 Romance of American Jlistoi'y . — Novelties of 
 the New World, and Tragic Scenes in the His- 
 tory of Maryland and the old French War. 
 
 God Revealed in Nature and in 
 
 Christ. By Rev. James B. Walker. 
 Author of “ The Philosophy of the Plan of 
 Salvation.” 12mo. Cloth, $1. 
 
 Philosophy of the Plan of Salvation, 
 
 NeAV enlarged edition. 12mo. Cloth, 75 c. 
 
 Christian Life^ social and individual. 
 
 By Peter Bayne. l_mo. Cloth, $1.l5. 
 All agree in pronouncing it one of the mosi 
 admirable works of the age. 
 
 Yahveh Christ; or the Memorial Name. 
 By Alex. MacWiiorter. With an Intro- 
 ductory Letter, by Nath’l W. Taylor, D. 
 D., in Yale Theol. Sem. IGmo. Cloth, GO c. 
 
 The Signet Rin^, AND ITS Heavenly 
 Motto. From the German. IGmo. Cl., 31c. 
 
 The Marriage Ring ; or iiow to Make 
 
 Home Happy. 18mo. Cloth, gilt, 75 c. 
 
 Mothers of the Wise and Good. By 
 
 Jabez Burns, D. D. IGmo, Cloth, 75 c. 
 
 A sketch of the mothers of many of tho 
 most eminent men of the world. 
 
 My Motlicr ; or Recollections of Maternal 
 Influence. 12mo. Cloth, 75c. 
 
 The Excellent Woman ) with an Intro- 
 duction, by Rev. W. B. Sprague, D. D. 
 Splendid Illustrations. 12mo. Cloth, $1. 
 
 The Progress of Baptist Principles 
 
 IN THE Last Hundred Years. By T. F. 
 Curtis, Prof, of Theology in the Lewisburg 
 University. I2mo. CloBi, $1.25. 
 
 Dr. Harris’ Works. 
 
 Tlie Great Teacher. — The Great 
 Commission. — The Pre-Adamite 
 Earth. — Man Primeval. — Patri- 
 archy. — Posthumous Works, 4 
 volumes. 
 
 The Better Land ; OR The Believer’s 
 Journey and Future Home. By Rev. A. 
 C. Thompson. 12mo. Cloth, 85 c. 
 
 Kitto’s History of Palestine, from the 
 
 Patriarchal Age to the Present Time. With 
 201) Illustrations. 12mo. Cloth, $1.25. 
 
 An admirable work for the Family, the Sab- 
 bath and week-day School Librarj'. 
 
 The Priest and the Hngnenot; or. 
 
 Persecution in the Age of Louis XV. 
 From the French of L. F. Bungener. 
 Two vols., 12mo. Cloth, $2.25. 
 
 This is not only a work of thrilling interest, 
 but is a masterly Protestant production. 
 
 The Psalmist, A Collection of Hymns for 
 the Use of Baptist Churches. By Baron 
 Stow and S. F. Smith. With a Supple 
 MENT, containing an Additional Selection 
 of Hymns, by Richard Fuller, D. D., 
 and J. B. Jeter, D. D. Published in vari- 
 ous sizes, and styles of binding. 
 
 This is unquestionably the best collection, 
 of Hymns in the English language. 
 
 In addition to works published by themselves, they keep an extensive assortment of 
 Works in all departments of trade, which they supply at publishers’ prices. BO” They par- 
 ticularly invite the attention of Booksellers, Travelling Agents, Teachers, School^ Commit- 
 tees, Librarians, Clergymen, and professional men generally ^to whom a liberal discount is 
 uniformly made), to their extensive stock. To persons wishing copies of Text-books, for 
 •xamination, they will be forwarded, per mail or otherwise, nn the reception of one halfthc 
 price of the work desired. EST* Orders from any part of the coumtry attended to with faitli- 
 rulncss and dispatch. (10) 
 
VALUABLE TEXT-BOOKS. 
 
 THE LECTURES OF SIR WILLIAM HAMILTON, BART., laU 
 
 Professor of Logic and Metaphysics, University of Edinbui gh; embracing the Metaphysi- 
 cal and Logical Courses ; with Notes, from Original Materials, and an Appendix, con- 
 taining tlie Author’s Latest Development of his New Logical Theory. Edited by Rev. 
 Henry Longueville Mansel, B. D., Prof, of Moral and Metaphysical Philosophy in 
 Magdalen College, Oxford, and John Veitch, M. A^, of Edinburgh. In two royal octavo 
 volumes, vir., 
 
 I. Metaphysical Lectures {now ready). Royal octavo, cloth. 
 
 II. Logical Lectures (in preparation). 
 
 G. & L., by a special arrangement with the family of the late Sir William Hamilton, are 
 the Authorized American Publishers of this distinguished author’s matchless Lectures on Met- 
 aphysics AND Logic, and they are permitted to print the same from advance sheets furnished 
 them by the English publishers. 
 
 MEHTAL PHILOSOPHY ; Including the Intellect, the Sensibilities, and the 
 Will. By Joseph Haven, Prof, of Intellectual and Moral ]?hilosophy, Amherst College. 
 Royal 12mo, cloth, embossed, $1.60. 
 
 It is believed this work will be found pre-eminently distinguished. 
 
 1. The Completeness with which it presents the whole subject. Text-books generally treat 
 of only one class of faculties ; this work includes the whole. 2. It is strictly and thoroughly Sci- 
 entific. S. It presents a careful analysis of the mind, as a whole. 4. The history and literaturo 
 of each topic. 5. The latest results of the science. 6. The chaste, yet attractive style. 7. The 
 remarkable condensation of thought. 
 
 Prof. Park, of Andover, says : “ It is distinguished for its clearness of style, perspicuity of 
 method, candor of spirit, acumen and comprehensiveness of thought.” 
 
 The work, though so recently published, has met with most remarkable success ; having bees, 
 already introduced into a large number of the leading colleges and schools in various parts of tho 
 country, and bids fair to take the place of every other work on the subject now before the public. 
 
 THESAURUS OP ENGLISH WORDS AND PHRASES, so classi- 
 fied and arranged as to facilitate the expression of ideas, and assist in literary composi- 
 tion. New and Improved Edition. By Peter Mark Roget, late Secretary of the Royal 
 Society, London, &c. Revised and edited, with a List of Foreign Words defined in Eng- 
 lish, and other additions, by Ba^nas Sears, D. D., President of Brown University. A 
 New American Edition, with Additions and Improvements. 12mo, cloth, $1.50. 
 
 This edition is based on the London edition, recently issued. The first American Edition hav- 
 ing been prepared by Dr. Sears fox strictly educational purposes, those words and phrases properly 
 termed “ vulgar,” incorporated in the original work, were omitted. These expurgated portions have, 
 in the present edition, been restored, but by such an arrangement of the matter as not to inter» 
 fere with the educational purposes of the American editor. Besides this, it contains important 
 additions of words and phrases not in the English edition, making it in all respects more full and 
 perfect than the author's edition. The work has already become one of standard authority, both 
 In this country and in Great Britain. 
 
 PALEY’S NATURAL THEOLOGY. Hlustrated by forty Plates, with 
 Selections from the Notes of Dr. Paxton, and Additional Notes, Original and Selected, 
 with a Vocabulary of Scientific Terms. Edited by John Ware, M. D. Improved edition, 
 with elegant newly engraved plates. 12mo, cloth, embossed, $1.25. 
 
 This work is very generally introduced into our best Schools and Colleges throughout the coun- 
 try. An entirely new and beautiful set of Illustrations has recently been procured, which, with 
 Other improvements, render it the best and most complete work of the kind extant. 
 
 ( 32 ) 
 
VALUABLE TEXT-BOOKS. 
 
 PE-HSTCIPLES OP ZOOLOGY; Touching the Structure, Development, Dis* 
 tribution, and Natural Arrangement, of the Races op Animals, living and extinct 
 with numerous Illustrations. For the use of Schools and Colleges. Part I. Com^ 
 pARATivE Physiology. By Louis Agassiz and Augustus A. Gould. Revised edi% 
 tion, 12mo, cloth, $1.00. 
 
 “ It is not a mere book, but a work — yeal work in the form of a book. Zoology is an interesting 
 science, and here is treated with a masterly hand. It is a work adapted to colleges and schools, and 
 no young man should be without it.” -- Scientific American. 
 
 “ This work places us in possession of information half a century in advance of all our elementary 
 works on this subject. . . No work of the same dimensions has ever appeared in the English lan- 
 guage containing so much new and valuable information.”— Prof. James Hall, Albanj/. 
 
 “ The best book of the kind in our language.”— Christian Examimer, 
 
 PBmCIPIiES OF ZOOLOGY, PART II. Systematic Zoology. In 
 preparation, 
 
 THE ELEJ V L E HTS OP GEOLOGY ; adapted to Schools and Colleges. With 
 numerous Illustrations. By J. R. Loomis, President of Lewisburg University, Pa. 
 12mo, cloth, 75 cts. 
 
 “ It is surpassed by no work before the American public.” — M. B. Anderson^ LL. D., President 
 Rochester University. 
 
 “ This is just such a work as is needed for our schools. We see no reason why it should not 
 take its place as a text-book in all the schools in the land.” — N. U. Observer. 
 
 “Admirably adapted for use as a text-book in common schools and academies.” —Congregation^ 
 alist, Boston. 
 
 ELEMENTS OP MORAL SCIENCE. By Francis Wayland, D. D., late 
 President of Brown University. 12mo, cloth, $1.25. 
 
 MORAL SCIEHCE ABRIDGED, and adapted to the use of Schools and 
 Academies, by the Author. Half morocco, 50 cts. 
 
 The same, Cheap School Edition, boards, 25 cts. 
 
 This work is used in the Boston Schools, and is exceedingly popular as a text-book wherever it 
 has been adopted. 
 
 ELEMENTS OP POLITICAL ECONOMY. By Francis Wayland, 
 D. D. 12mo, cloth, $1.25. 
 
 POLITICAL ECONOMY ABRIDGED, and adapted to the use of Schoolg 
 and Academies, by the Author. Half morocco, 50 cts. 
 
 It deserves to be introduced into every private family, and to be studied by every man who 
 has an interest in the wealth and prosperity of his country. It is a subject little understood, even 
 practically, by thousands, and still less understood theoretically. It is to be hoped this will form 
 a class book, and be faithfully studied in our academies, and that it will find its way into every 
 family library ; not there to be shut up unread, but to afford rich material for thought and discus-, 
 sion in the family circle.” — Puritan Recorder. 
 
 All the above Works by Dr. Wayland are used as text-books in most of the colleges and higher 
 schools throughout the Union, and are highly approved. 
 
 (CJ* G. ifL. keep., in addition to works published by themselves.^ an extensive assort- 
 ment of works published by others., in all departments of trade., v:hich they supply 
 at publishers' prices. They invite the attention of Booksellers, Travelling Agents^ 
 Teachers, School Committees, Clergymen, and Professional men generally (to whom 
 a liberal discount is uniformly made'), to fbeir extensive stock. Copies of Text-books 
 for examination will be sent by mail or otherwise, to any one transmitting one 
 HALF the price of the same. Orders from any part of the country promptly 
 
 e^tetkded to with faithfulness and despatch. f33) 
 
VALUABLE WORKS. 
 
 THE PUIIITAE’S; or the Court, Church, and Parliament of England, during the 
 reigns of Edward YI. and Elizabeth. By Samuel IIopkixs, author of “ Lessons at the 
 Cross,” etc. In 3 vols. Yol. I. now ready. Octavo, cloth, per vol., $2.50. 
 
 YOL. II. READY IN FEBRUARY, “ “ “ “ $2.50. 
 
 It will be found the most interesting and reliable History of the Puritans yet published, narrating 
 in a dramatic style many facts hitherto unknown. 
 
 LIMITS OP KELIGIOIJS THOUGHT EXAMINED, in Eight Lec- 
 tures delivered in the Oxford University Pulpit, in the year 1858, on the “ Bampton 
 Foundation.” By Rev. II. Longueville Mansel, B. D., Reader in Moral and Meta- 
 physical Philosophy at Magdalen College, Oxford, and Editor of Sir William Hamilton’s 
 Lectures. With the Copious Notes translated for the American Ed. 12mo, cloth, $1.00. 
 
 This volume is destined to create a profounder sensation in this country than any philosophical 
 or religious work of this century. It is a defence of revealed religion, equal in ability to the 
 “ Analogy ” of Bishop Butler, and meets the scepticism of our age as effectually as that great work 
 in an earlier day. The Pantheism and Parkerism infused into our popular literature will here find 
 an antidote. The Lectures excited the highest enthusiasm at Oxford, and the Volume has already 
 reached a edition in England. The copious “Notes” of the author having been translated 
 for the American edition by an accomplished scholar, adds greatly to its value. 
 
 THE HISTOKICAL EVIDE]SrCES OP THE TRUTH OP THE 
 SemPTURE RECORDS, STATED ANEW, with Special Reference 
 to the Doubts and Discoveries of Modern Times. In Eight Lectures, delivered in the 
 Oxford University pulpit, at the Bampton Lecture for 1859. By Geo. Rawlinson, M. A., 
 Editor of the Histories of Herodotus. With the Copious Notes translated for the 
 American Edition by an accomplished scholar. 12mo, cloth, $1.00. 
 
 SIR WILLIAM HAMILTON’S LECTURES ON LOGIC. With 
 Notes from Original Materials, and an Appendix containing the Latest Development of 
 his New Logical Theory. Edited by Prof. H. Longueville Mansel, Oxford, and 
 John Yeitch, M. A., Edinburgh. Royal octavo, cloth, $3.00. (In press.) 
 
 MORAL PHILOSOPHY, including Theoretical and Practical Ethics. By Jo- 
 seph Haven, D. D., late Professor of Moral and Intellectual Philosophy in Amherst 
 College j author of “ Mental Philosophy.” Royal 12mo, cloth, embossed, $1.25. 
 
 It is eminently scientific in method, and thorough in discussion, and its views on unsettled ques- 
 tions in morals are discriminating and sound. It treats largely of Political Ethics — a department 
 of morals of great importance to American youth, but generally overlooked in text-books. In the 
 history of ethical opinions it is unusually rich and elaborate. 
 
 POPULAR GEOLOGY ; With Descriptive Sketches from a Geologist’s PoRfolio. 
 By Hugh Miller. With a Resume of the Progress of Geological Science during the 
 last two years. By Mrs. Miller. I2mo, cloth, $1.25. 
 
 This work is likely to prove the most popular of Hugh Miller’s writings, and to attain the widest 
 circulation. It is written in his best style, and makes the mysteries of Geology intelligible to the 
 common mind. As an architect explains the structure of a house from cellar to attic, so this ac- 
 complished geologist takes the globe to pieces, and explains the manner in which all its strata have 
 been formed, from the granite foundation to the alluvial surface. It supplies just the information 
 which many readers have been longing for, but unable to find. Also, 
 
 HUGH MILLER’S WORKS. Seven volumes, uniform style, in an elegant 
 box, embossed cloth, $8.25 •, library sheep, $10.00 •, half calf, $14.00 ; antique, $14.00. 
 
 MANSEL’S MISCELLANIES; including “Prolegomina Logica,” “Meta- 
 physics,” “ Limits of Demonstrative Evidence,” “ Philosophy of Kant,” etc. 12mo, cloth, 
 (in press.) (3g) 
 
WOEKS FOE BIBLE STUDENTS 
 
 KITTO’S POPUIiAK CYCLOPEDIA OP BIBLICAL LITEBA- 
 TCJBE. Condensed from the larger work. By the Author, John Kitto, D. D. As- 
 sisted by James Taylor, D. D., of Glasgow. With over five hundred Illustrations. One 
 volume, octavo, 812 pp. Cloth, $3.00 ; sheep, $3.50 5 cloth, gilt, $4.00 ; half calf, $4.00. 
 
 A Dictionary of the Bible. Serving, also, as a Commentary, embodying the products of 
 the best and most recent reseanihes in biblical literature in which the scholars of Europe and 
 America have been engaged. The work, the result of immense labor and research, and enriched 
 by the contributions of writers of distinguished eminence in the various departments of sacred liter- 
 ature, has been, by universal consent, pronounced the best work of its class extant, and the one best 
 suited to the advanced knowledge of the present day in all the studies connected with theological 
 science. It is not only intended for ministers and theological students, but it is also particularly 
 adapted to parents. Sabbath-school teachers, and the great body of the religious public. 
 
 THE HISTOBY OP PALESTINE, from the Patriarchal Age to the Present 
 Time *, with Chapters on the Geography and Natural History of the Country, the Cus- 
 toms and Institutions of the Hebrews. By John Kitto, D. D. With upwards of two 
 hundred Illustfations. 12mo, cloth, $1.25. 
 
 A work admirably adapted to the Family, the Sabbath, and the week-day School Library. 
 
 ANALYTICAL CONCOBDANCE TO THE HOLY SCBIP- 
 TUBES ; or, the Bible presented under Distinct and Classified Heads or Topics. By 
 John Eadie, D. D., LL. D., Author of “ Biblical Cyclopaedia,” “ Ecclesiastical Cyclopae- 
 dia,” “ Dictionary of the Bible,” etc. One volume, octavo, 840 pp. Cloth, $3.00 j sheop, 
 $3.50 } cloth, gilt, $4.00 *, half Turkey morocco, $4.00. 
 
 The ohiect of this Concordance is to present the Scriptures entire, under certain classified 
 and exhaustive heads. It differs from an ordinary Concordance, in that its arrangement depends 
 not on WORDS, but on subjects, and the verses are printed in full. Its plan does not bring it at 
 all into competition with such limited works as those of Gaston and Warden ; for they select doc- 
 trinal topics prncipally, and do not profess to comprehend as this the entire Bible. The work 
 also contains a Synoptical Table of Contents of the whole work, presenting in brief a system of 
 biblical antiquities and theology, with a very copious and accurate index. 
 
 The value of this work to ministers and Sabbath-school teachers can hardly be over-estimated t 
 and it needs only to be examined, to secure the approval and patronage of every Bible student. 
 
 CBUDEN’S CONDENSED CONCOBDANCE. A Complete Concord- 
 ance to the Holy Scriptures. By Alexander Cruden. Revised and Re-edited by the 
 Rev. David King, LL. D. Octavo, cloth backs, $1.25 ; sheep, $1.50. 
 
 Tl^ondensation of the quotations of Scripture, arranged under the most obvious heads, while 
 It dirmmshes the hulk of the work, greatly facilitates the finding of any required passage. 
 
 “ We have in this edition of Cruden the best made better. That is, the present is better adapted 
 to the purposes of a Concordance, by the erasure of superfluous references, the omission of unne. 
 cessary explanations, and the contraction of quotations, &c. It is better as a manual, and is better 
 adapted by its price to the means of many who need and ought to possess such a work, than the 
 former large and expensive edition,” — Puritan Recorder. 
 
 A COMMENTABY ON THE 0BIG3;NAL TEXT OF THE ACTS 
 OP THE APOSTLES. By Horatio B. Hackett, D. D., Prof, of Biblical Liter- 
 ature and Interpretation, in the Newton Theol. Inst. HIT A new, revised, and enlarged 
 : edition. Royal octavo, cloth, $2.25. 
 
 i^*“ This most important and very popular work has been thoroughly revised ; large portions 
 entirely re-written, with the addition of more than one hundred pages of new matter; the result of 
 thft author’s continued, laborious investigations and travels, since the publication of the first edition* 
 
 ( 22 > 
 
/o f 
 
 f 
 
 # 
 
 f 
 
 
/ 
 
 f 
 
 
 »